The Wedding Game Read Online Free PDF Page B

Constance said.
    “But that's just as bad as Douglas Farrell,” Chastity protested. “It's so mercenary. I just thought he might enjoy a loving companion. She doesn't have to be rich.”
    “No. No, of course not,” Prudence soothed. “But if perhaps she was, well, wouldn't that really gild the lily? Father wouldn't be thinking about money, and of course we wouldn't put someone in his way whom we didn't like. But . . .” She shrugged. “Money has its uses, Chas.”
    “As if I didn't know that,” Chastity said. “So, you think I'm being too nice in my objections to Farrell's mercenary attitude?”
    “Quite frankly, yes,” Prudence said, glancing at Constance, who nodded her agreement.
    Chastity frowned into her sherry glass, then she said, “Very well. I thought you'd say that anyway. But you didn't meet him, don't forget. He's a dour, calculating, mercenary Scotsman.”
    “But he's also a doctor,” Prudence reminded her. “He must have an interest in helping people. That should appeal to you, Chas.”
    “It would if I thought it was true,” her sister said. “But he reminded me of some Victorian industrialist who couldn't care what tools he used to advance himself, or whom he trampled on to get his way. He seemed to think that so long as he was honest about his greed, there was nothing to object to.”
    “You got all that in just a brief meeting in the National Gallery?” Constance asked in astonishment.
    Chastity flushed slightly. “It does seem a little extreme,” she admitted.
    “Maybe when you see him in an ordinary social situation you'll see him in a different light,” Prudence suggested.
    “Well, we can't issue any invitations until we have some prospective brides,” Chastity pointed out. “Who do we know rich and desperate enough to enter into a mutually convenient business partnership under the guise of marriage?”
    “At least we know they don't have to have beauty or brains,” Prudence said.
    “Or even character,” Chastity said with a touch of acid. “We do know our client is not in the least fussy about such minor matters.”
    “You've made your point, Chas.” Prudence rose to her feet. “We'd better go down to the drawing room, the first guests will arrive any minute.” She stuck her head around the bedroom door and called, “Gideon, we're going down. Hurry up.”
    Her husband appeared immediately, fastening his cuff links. “Is Sarah going to be in the drawing room before dinner?”
    “She's hoping so, but I said you'd have to decide.” Gideon had been Sarah's only parent for close to seven years and Prudence was still learning the moves of the stepparent dance—when it was appropriate to disagree or to make her own suggestions, and when to keep her opinions to herself.
    “Do you think she's old enough?” he asked, turning back to get his coat.
    “I would say so.”
    “Then, by all means. I'll be down in a couple of minutes.”
    The three women went to the drawing room. Sarah was hovering in the hall as they came down the stairs. “Can I stay for a little, Prue?”
    “Yes, until we go in to dinner,” her stepmother said. “Your father said it would be all right.” She examined the girl, who, in anticipation of this permission, had donned her best party dress. The ink on her fingers rather spoiled the effect, but Prudence didn't think it worth mentioning. She adjusted a hair clip to catch up a drifting lock of hair behind Sarah's right ear. “Perhaps you could pass around the canapés.”
    “Oh, yes, I could certainly do that,” Sarah agreed. She noticed Constance for the first time. “Hello, Aunt Con, I didn't hear you arrive. I must have been getting dressed.”
    “Yes, I'm sure that must be it,” Constance agreed gravely. “Your ears are far too sharp to have missed my arrival otherwise.”
    Sarah regarded her doubtfully for a second, as if trying to decide whether she was being made fun of, but then decided that it didn't matter if she was. She liked