The Bachelor List Read Online Free Page B

of Max Ensor drop. “Is Father dining in this evening?” she inquired. “I'm sure we won't see him at the Beekmans'. Opera singers are not quite in his style.”
    “The ones who go to Mayfair soirées, you mean,” Prudence responded with a judicious nod of her head. “I'm sure the more euphemistic opera singers are very much in his style.”
    Chastity raised an eyebrow at this caustic comment. “He is what he is,” she said pacifically.
    “Who is?” This from Constance, who had just returned with the curling iron. “Oh, you mean Father.”
    “Prue was accusing him of dancing attendance on opera singers.”
    “I'm sure he does. Mother wouldn't begrudge it, he's been a widower for three years.” She set the curling iron onto the trivet over the small fire in the grate, lit for just this purpose, although it also helped to keep at bay the residual dampness in the air from the afternoon's downpour.
    “I don't begrudge him anything but what it costs,” Prudence said with the same acidity. “We go without new gowns while some opera singer or whatever she is wears the latest fashions and is all hung about with jewelry.”
    “Oh, come on, Prue. You don't know that,” Chastity chided.
    “Oh, don't I?” her sister said darkly. “There was a bill from Penhaligon's the other morning for a bottle of perfume from the House of Worth, and I don't smell it on any of us.”
    “Ask him about it at dinner, if he's in,” Constance suggested. “See what he says.”
    “Oh, no, not I.” Prudence shook her head vigorously. “I'm not risking one of his tantrums. You know how he resents any suggestion that I might be looking over his bills.”
    “I don't mind the shouting so much.” Chastity took up the now hot iron and twisted her sister's ringlets around it. The smell of singeing hair rose momentarily. “I can't bear it when he looks sad and reproachful, and starts talking about
your dear mother,
and how she never would have dreamed of questioning his actions let alone his expenses.” She set down the curling iron.
    “Quite,” Prudence agreed. “You can ask him if you like, Con, but don't expect me to back you up. It's all right for me to manage the household accounts, but to pry into his own personal business? Oh, no!”
    “I shall be silent as the grave,” Constance assured. “Are we ready?” She went to the door.
    As they descended the wide curving staircase to the marble-floored hall the stately figure of Jenkins the butler emerged from the shadows as if he'd been waiting for them. “Miss Prue, may I have a word?” He stepped back into the gloom beneath the curve of the stairs.
    “Yes, of course.” They moved towards him into the shadows. “Trouble, Jenkins?” asked Constance.
    “His lordship, miss. It's the wine for tonight.”
    Jenkins pulled at his long, pointed chin. He was a tall, very thin man with a rather spectral appearance enhanced by his pale face, his black garments, and the shadows in which he stood. “Lord Duncan ordered two bottles of the '94 Saint-Estèphe to be brought up for dinner tonight.”
    “And of course there's none in the cellar,” Constance said with a sigh.
    “Exactly, Miss Con. We ran out some months ago and Lord Duncan instructed me to order replacements . . .” He spread out his hands palms up in a gesture of helplessness. “The price of a case is astronomical now, miss. When Lord Duncan bought the original to lay down it was quite inexpensive, but now that it's drinkable it's quite another matter.” He shook his head mournfully. “I didn't even attempt to put in an order to Harpers. I hoped his lordship would forget about it.”
    “A fond hope,” Constance said. “Father has the memory of an elephant.”
    “Couldn't you substitute another wine? Decant it so he can't see the label,” Chastity suggested, and then answered her own question. “No, of course not. He'd recognize it right away.”
    “Why don't we tell him that Harpers didn't have any more of that