How to Choose the Most Eligible Bachelor by Sally Forbes
Prologue
Jane glanced across the mahogany table at her friend. It was laden with tiny cakes, and the prettiest of china cups. Emily smiled, knowing Jane would be feeling as bored as she was. Her mother, Lady Laceford, was holding a tea party for them. The gossip had, as usual, turned to the London Season that year, which didn't interest either of the young women in the least. Jane's mama, Lady Faye Hayfield was, however, engrossed in the same conversation she had already had on several other occasions with Lady Laceford.
It was regarding Jane and Emily's chances of success in finding a husband amongst the currently available bachelors. It involved meticulously considering who would make the best suitor. That turned out to be, of course, the wealthiest. They had already dealt with the competition their daughters might face from other debutantes—especially those who had come out during the current year—who would also be attempting to attract the gentlemen's interest.
Lady Hayfield was trying to hide her embarrassment about what she regarded as Jane's failure to secure a marriage proposal, since this was her daughter’s third Season. She did this by laughing at the disadvantages suffered by some of the other young ladies, listing the causes in turn as poor dress sense or posture, talking too little or not enough, clearly being terrified of the gentlemen, and so on.
However, this ruse wasn't entirely successful because their hostess knew exactly how her friend was feeling. It was Emily's second London Season, and so far, not a whit of interest had been shown in her by any of the gentlemen, young or old. At least Jane didn't suffer from her daughter's increasingly obvious problem with her weight, nor short-sightedness, which she put down to her reading too many books, however many times she was told not to. The situation had deteriorated to such an extent that Emily seemed incapable of walking so much as a foot in front of her without those atrocious silver frames perched on the end of her nose. Certainly not an attractive feature for a young lady!
Then again, it was perfectly clear to Lady Laceford and the majority of the other discerning mamas of the ton, who regularly had similar conversations with each other, that Emily was exactly like Jane. Neither of the girls were in the least bit interested in making the most of the way they looked, which was truly shocking. If the two ladies had trusted each other sufficiently to speak of it, they would have agreed on the huge disadvantages these failures presented to both of their daughters. Nevertheless, determined to succeed, they pressed on regardless in planning suitable betrothals and weddings for them. As if both would soon be married to the most suitable bachelor of the 1816 Season.
Jane was by now twenty-one years of age, and Emily nineteen. They had met not long after Emily had come out the previous year, and quickly became firm friends. Their families had townhouses in Belgravia not far from each other, and the two debutantes had soon agreed that they were considerably less excited than their mothers about the balls and other social occasions they would be expected to attend. They had tired of them early in the Season, along with their mothers' endless complaints about the lack of suitable bachelors calling on them the following morning.
The women hadn't yet reached the inevitable point in the conversation where they would discuss the stories in the latest scandal sheets—and those unfortunate young ladies who had fallen foul of the writers. They risked ruin for such sins as speaking to a man without a chaperone present.
Lady Laceford noticed that both girls had a faraway look on their faces. She wished to discuss the latest scandal in depth with Lady Hayfield, a topic quite unsuited for their inexperienced ears.
"Emily, dear, take Jane into the garden. The red roses bloomed this morning, and their scent is delightful." She couldn't help adding with a nervous laugh, "After all, Emily, you can't possibly want to eat any more cake!"
Emily frowned at the plate of iced sponge cake in front of her, knowing she would have to do as her mother asked, though she desperately wanted another slice. Cook had cut the cake too thinly, and the slices were miniscule. Nevertheless, a visit to the garden would provide them with an escape from their mothers, and they would be able to talk freely to each other outside. So, she answered dutifully, "Yes, Mama. That will be nice."
"Don't forget to take your shawl, Jane. It would never do to catch a cold when you have so many balls and other events on your calendar. There is nothing attractive about a young lady having to stop dancing to blow her nose, not even into the whitest, most beautifully trimmed handkerchief," Lady Hayfield said, with distaste.
She then produced a lace-edged one from her sleeve and wiped her own nose delicately, much to Jane and Emily's amusement. Exchanging a quick glance, they carefully hid their mirth. The pair had already discussed at length what they regarded as Lady Hayfield's obsession with catching a cold, particularly on a warm afternoon in early June.
Jane also did as her mother had asked and picked up the shawl from a nearby chair. It had been left for her by Mary, her ladies' maid, in case she should need it. Once they were safely in the garden, she dropped it onto the first stone bench she saw before gazing in wonder at the rose bower.
"Your mother was right, Emily. The roses are gorgeous! No wonder the poets talk about them being the flower of love."
"Mmm, they are wonderful. One of the gardeners says they are an old variety. I am so annoyed with myself because I can't remember the name. I think it is French, but I shall ask him for it again. I love their perfume after the sun has been on them," Emily said, flinging her arms up to the sky before dancing across the grass. She was closely followed by Jane, who was also enjoying the freedom to do as they wished without being reminded by both of their mamas to be more ladylike.
When they stopped to catch their breath, the girls laughed. "This reminds me of the Shakespeare sonnet, Emily said. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?’" She was kneeling on the grass. "It's such a lovely afternoon, I feel like I could live forever."
"Yes, you are right, but I think Mama would probably prefer us to be thinking more along the lines of Lord Byron's ‘She walks in beauty like the night.’ Though I am not supposed to know anything about him or his poetry because of his wonderfully scandalous life. From what I do know, he wrote the words after seeing a beautiful woman at a London social event," Jane said, pulling her friend upwards so they could run across the grass to sit comfortably on the swing.
"Something awful has happened, Em," Jane said, taking her friend completely by surprise. She did not feel entirely comfortable with what she was about to reveal, and so she did not get straight to the point. "I do like the townhouse Papa has rented for us here in London, but I wish he hadn't sold our other one. I didn't think I would miss it so much, or the gardens, but the new house isn't the same.
I still haven't found a secluded spot where I can hide from Mama when I'm reading. She’s always insisting I should be practising my scales on the piano or doing embroidery. Apparently, they are much more ladylike activities that suitors find attractive. She is constantly reminding me that not all men like books, nor the young ladies who read them." Jane groaned. "The conversation always finishes me with being told that I must start thinking of things like this, especially as it's my third Season. As if I could forget! But that fact alone seems to make Mama even more convinced that she is right," she said as a tear slid down her cheek.
"I'm sorry," Emily said, quietly, leaning across the gap between the swings to slip her hand through her friend's arm. She didn’t remind her that the situation wasn't anything new. And there was a lot more to come, she expected. "If it's any consolation, don't forget that I'm catching up with you. I'll be on my third Season next year, and this one is almost finished. My mother is adamant that my weight and spectacles are at fault. She is always telling me that I can't eat so much because of my height. Although I am not convinced that even if I was taller, she would say anything different."
Jane looked at her friend with sympathy, seeing only kindness and compassion in her eyes. Emily did have a well-rounded figure, and her features were plainer than some of the other debutantes; some of them were stunningly beautiful. But she couldn't help thinking that changing the way she looked wasn't going to make Emily any nicer than she already was.
"There's something else too," she said, almost in a whisper. "I may as well tell you everything. Do you remember us wondering why Papa sold our house at the end of last Season, even though Mama loved it so much? All he said at the time was that he no longer liked it. Renting a townhouse is supposedly a temporary measure for this year, just in case he doesn't find another to buy in the meantime, he said. I think that might have been an excuse, Em. He is in trouble," Jane said, finishing the last sentence abruptly when she felt unable to carry on.
Emily stood up straight away, and went to put her arms around Jane to comfort her. "You must swear this will be our secret, Emily, and you'll not tell anyone else," Jane continued. "If the scandal sheets get to hear of it, Papa will be dishonoured and even ruined."
"Of course, I won't say anything,” Emily said immediately, feeling slightly offended that Jane felt she needed to ask.
"I couldn't sleep the night before last. I desperately wanted a glass of water, but it was a long time after midnight. I didn't want to wake Mary, or ring for one of the housemaids, not when they seem to get so little sleep anyway. It seemed mean to do that.
I knew Mama wouldn't approve or would call it improper, but she wasn't going to find out if I went downstairs and got the water myself from the kitchen. The last thing I expected to see was the door to Papa's study ajar and the candles still lit. When I went in. I saw he had fallen asleep with his head on the desk. The brandy decanter next to him was almost empty. I ran across the room to him, and . . ." Jane paused, feeling too ashamed to carry on.
"What happened?" Emily said, unable to wait to hear the rest.
"Several letters were scattered across his desk," Jane said, looking at her. "They were from creditors demanding money and threatening Papa with the consequences of not paying what he owed. It was horrible!" Jane said, clutching Emily's arm. "I still feel shocked when I think about it. Papa is an honourable man. I am certain of that. Something dreadful must have happened for him not to be able to pay them.
I haven't seen any sign of him being in trouble with money at home in Yorkshire. But not knowing what else to do that night, I blew out the candles, fetched my water, and went back to bed. No one knew I had been downstairs. It was impossible to go back to sleep after that. By the time morning came, I knew Mama was right. I have to find a wealthy husband, Emily, before this Season is finished, someone who will pay off Papa's debts. If I don't, the consequences will be too hard to bear. It'll be all my fault that he is ruined."
A sob escaped Jane's lips while Emily hugged her, knowing her friend was right. Jane had to find a rich husband this Season. Although, it could easily involve her being pushed into the arms of the next eligible bachelor who took an interest, however awful he might be, and ending up in a loveless marriage.
Emily took a step back from the swing, and said, firmly, "Jane, you must stop worrying. I'll help you. I promise. There has to be a way for you to find a rich husband whom you can also love. Why else would all the poets we read keep writing about falling in love if we can't also do it?" Emily blushed as soon as the words left her lips. She knew full well that this was one of the main reasons why their mothers were against them reading so much, particularly not the romantic poets. They had been told often enough that a good match was precisely that, even though it didn't always include love.
"If you would like me to, I'll draw up a list of the wealthiest gentlemen who are in London for the Season, so that you can concentrate on them in trying to find a good match," Emily said, giving Jane a reassuring look. "Once we take control of the situation, you'll find the perfect husband in no time at all!"
Jane tried her best to look pleased, even though she doubted that making a list was the answer to the problem. "Thank you," she said, trying to sound grateful because Emily was only trying her best to help.
"There's something else you may need to do," Emily added, wondering how Jane would react to what she was about to say. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but making a few small changes to the way you look could also help. I appreciate that we have often criticised the other debutantes for spending most of their time trying to look even more beautiful than they already are.
They are not like us, reading and learning what we can of the world. I can't stop wishing to remain a spinster and attend university. Though it’s not likely to happen But you are different, Jane. You can find a husband! You are beautiful, whereas the Lord gave me a plain face. If you try, I am sure you could be more flirtatious. You could change your hairstyle, wear a little more rouge, that sort of thing. Smiling more at the gentlemen, as Mama says, should also help you to get noticed."
The thought had already crossed Jane's mind that she needed to try harder. "Thank you, Emily. What would I do without you?" she said, hugging her friend before looking at her mischievously. "Of course, the other problem we have now is how to get you another slice of cake without your Mama discovering it." That made them both giggle as they hurried across the lawn to the kitchen, with the intention of persuading Cook to help them.