Page 2 of The Husband Gamble
Hythe stepped out of his way, and Pritchard, carrying Hythe’s dinner jacket as if it was the crown jewels, proceeded to lay the garment on the bed and return to the dressing room for the next item. “Dinner is at seven, my lord, with gathering in the drawing room from six thirty.”
It was Pritchard’s way of saying “You have at least two hours before dressing for dinner, so please go away so I can ensure anything you might choose to wear has been inspected and, if necessary, restored to a standard suitable for the Earl of Hythe.”
Hythe repressed a sigh and bowed to the inevitable, though he only went as far as the passage, where he stood for a moment, his eyes shut, bracing himself to meet all those people.
It was only for a week. He could resist any plots by Lady Osbourne or her protégés for one week.One of them might be the one for you. He rejected the errant thought. Everyone knew that Lady Osbourne had wagered with her cousin that she could find matches for the most awkward, difficult and challenging of wallflowers and hoydens and the most unprepossessing or rascally of grooms.
Hythe knew he had little to recommend him beyond his title and his wealth. Ladies seem to prefer a man of address, who could flatter them with elegant compliments and talk for hours about frivolous matters that bored Hythe witless. Someone at ease meeting strangers and comfortable in crowds of people.
For Hythe, social occasions were an ordeal. He could manage. He had memorised a hundred different meaningless but polite responses, and practiced them in front of a mirror. He had learned which ones to trot out on which occasion.
It was not so bad if he could find a meaningful conversation in which to immerse himself, but the ladies of Society and many of the men had no interest in topics that mattered. Hythe had discovered the trick of finding a quiet corner where he could take a few deep breathes before pasting on a smile and getting back to work.
The right wife would have the skills he lacked, as his sisters did. They were both brilliant political and diplomatic hostesses, and had been happy to give their brother the benefit of their skills. Until they married. Without them, life in Society was even more exhausting than before.
He had not been able to find a bride who offered what he needed as a man. What his title required made it even more difficult. The Earl of Hythe needed a countess who could burnish the reputation of the earldom and the family. Money was irrelevant. Looks were secondary. Behaviour…
Even in his thoughts, he could not agree that behaviour was everything. Important, yes. Hythe was the head of the Belvoir family, and no stain had ever attached to their family name. His parents had been renowned for their good ton as well as their wealth, their generosity, and their wide circle of friends. His sisters were models of propriety. Felicity, his younger sister, might at times allow her vivacity to bring her to the edge of proper behaviour, but never over.
However, Hythe wanted more from marriage than a countess who could be a good hostess and who knew how to behave. Perhaps, if he had contemplated marriage a few years ago, he might have chosen one of the insipid bird brains that seemed to be the primary offering on the marriage mart. And perhaps, if he had been lucky, she might have learned to be an adequate countess.
Hythe also wanted a wife. His sisters had found love matches. So had several of his friends. He was not convinced a love match was a desirable thing—such an untidy excess of emotion did not appeal to him. In any case, he had never imagined himself in love, even when his friends were falling like flies for opera dances and Society beauties. He was probably not capable of the emotion.
The other kind of love he could manage very well. He had loved his parents. He held a deep and abiding affection for both of his sisters. He was sure he could be a fond and caring husband and father. All he had to do was find a wife he could talk to. It may be setting the bar too low to say a wife who did not irritate him, but that was precisely what he told Lady Osbourne when she buttonholed him in Town after Sophia asked her for her help.
Someone who did not irritate him. Someone who was old enough and interesting enough to know her own mind and be prepared to have opinions and defend them. Someone who liked children and would be a good mother, for Hythe would need an heir, and hoped his son might grow up with brothers and sisters.
Someone who knew how to behave as the wife of a diplomat and a peer—that went without saying, although he said it anyway. Someone who was at ease in social situations and prepared to exercise that mastery on his behalf, though he did not put that into words, unwilling to expose his deficiencies to that extent.
He waved away Lady Osbourne’s questions about appearance. Short or tall. Fair or dark. Plump or slender. What did those matter over a lifetime? “I want someone to grow old with,” he told Lady Osbourne. “Should we be so blessed.”
He couldn’t spend the rest of the day leaning against the wall outside his room. He opened his eyes even as he took a stride down the passage, only to find his arms full of a warm fragrant female. Who gasped, and pulled backwards.
CHAPTERTWO
And Granny (or, as it might be, Gaffer) would tell what they witnessed with their own eyes, though how much the story was shaped by each onlooker, and how much it has grown with time, who can tell?
[“The Abduction of Amaryllis Fernhill”, inCollected Tales from the Villages of England, by a Gentleman]
* * *
Rilla sat on the window seat in the room she shared with Cousin Felicia, dreading the coming week. Would people be able to tell by looking at her where she had spent the last few years? Of course, they would not, and very few would be rude enough to ask. The artificial manners she had been taught years ago made such an open display of curiosity inappropriate for a lady.
After running away, she’d had to learn a whole new standard of what was appropriate. As artificial in its own way as those of the class she now hoped to join again, but necessary in order to fit in.
She had to at least pretend to take the social manoeuvring at this house party seriously, or it would all be for nothing.
Time to go downstairs, she told herself. Cousin Felicia had already preceded her, and would be wondering why Rilla had not followed.
Rilla’s feet had become glued to the floor. Where was her courage when she needed it? Running away from the unwanted marriage her uncle planned for her had also been a gamble, but with some protections. For one thing, she trusted the friend who had helped her to escape. For another, whatever happened could hardly have been worse than marriage to an old and smelly man who only wanted her for her dowry and her prospective ability to bear him an heir. Or, the alternative future her uncle had promised if she refused.
This time, though, she could not weigh one risk against another. If she did not marry, she was doomed to a life of earning her own living, with no security and little future. Her father’s will left her a dowry of five thousand pounds, but she was to receive none of it. If she married, it would go to her husband. Failing her marriage, it stayed in trust until she died, and then went to a veteran’s hospital.
At least she had turned twenty-five. Now, she no longer needed her uncle’s approval of her choice of groom for the dowry to be released into her husband’s hands. There was the rub. Someone who would wed her, scandal and all, just to get his hands on her money might not be significantly better than poverty. It might indeed be a case of out of the frying pan into the fire.
Seeking a position as a housekeeper was definitely preferable to making a bad marriage. She would be required to manage a house either way—something she was well qualified to do. But housekeepers could resign if their employer made their life difficult.
At least this time, she would be the one to make the choice. After all, she was not obliged to marry everyone who asked. If, in fact, any one did so. No one would have the opportunity if she didn’t leave her room. She took a deep breath, stepped out into the hall, turned towards the stairs, and barrelled into someone coming the other way.
