Page 96 of The Rake's Daughter
The chaperone nodded. “Very sensible. Security is important. What else? Age? Looks? A title?”
“I don’t want a title, and don’t really care about looks, though pleasant looking would be nice, I suppose. As for age, I wouldn’t want to be married to a very old gentleman.”
“Heavens no, you need a man with plenty of masculine vigor. You want children, too, yes?”
Izzy felt herself blushing.Masculine vigor?“Yes.”
“Then no widowers with a flock of children.”
“I wouldn’t mind it if there were children,” Izzy began, thinking of Lady Tarrant and her adorable stepdaughters.
Mrs. Price-Jones shook her head decisively. “Too risky. What if the children resent you? Nothing like a sainteddead mother to make a new bride feel like an unwanted interloper, and believe me, I know all about how that feels. Now, is there anything else? The more I know about what you want the more I can help you.”
Izzy thought about it. “I would like to make a match quite quickly.” Before the truth about her came out. Of course she would tell the gentleman concerned the truth about herself before she accepted an offer, but it would make things a lot easier on Clarissa and everyone if Izzy were married and far away when the scandal finally broke.
Mrs. Price-Jones’s well-plucked brows rose. “I see. Get the business out of the way quickly, is it?” She leaned forward. “There’s no particularneedfor a hasty wedding, is there, my dear?”
Izzy was puzzled for a moment and then she realized what the lady meant. “Oh no, there’s nothing like that.”
“You’re still a virgin?”
Izzy’s face heated. She nodded. “Yes, I just want to be married quickly, that’s all.” And start building a solid future instead of castles in the air.
“Good.” Mrs. Price-Jones sat back and resumed her knitting. “In that case I’ll do my best to point out some likely prospects for you, and you can let me know how you feel about each of them.”
Chapter Fourteen
Despite her age, Mrs. Price-Jones seemed inexhaustible. From the very first day she threw herself into ton activities. There were daily walks in the park, weather permitting, where they greeted people practically nonstop. Clearly her correspondence over the years had kept her up with all the latest on-dits, and people seemed to greet her return to London with pleasure.
With Izzy and Clarissa’s new chaperone firmly in charge, their social activities exploded. There were morning calls to make and receive; afternoon teas to attend; evening soirées, musical and otherwise; and all kinds of parties. There were balls and routs and even a ridotto, which turned out to be a musical evening with dancing, sometimes with masks and costumes, though many people came for the gambling and card games in private rooms. Izzy and Clarissa preferred the dancing.
For two young women raised in relative isolation in the country, it felt like a positive whirlwind of activity.
They were meeting men galore. Mrs. Price-Jones madesure of it, reminding them that as well as chaperoning, it was her duty to help them find a suitable husband. She introduced them to young men, older men, rich men, handsome ones and ugly ones—adding that ugly men often made the best lovers. Which was not generally the kind of advice given to young unmarried girls.
She had one clear criterion for husbandly suitability: wealth. “I married for love, my dears, and though Mr. Price-Jones was a dear man and we were very happy, when he died, all his wealth went to the children of his first marriage—I’m barren, you see—and the stepson who was supposed to support me in my old age is a miserly creature who made me the stingiest of allowances. So, don’t trust to love to take care of you—marry money, my dears, and make sure your settlement is a good one. Lord Salcott will take care of that aspect of things, I’m sure.”
Izzy wasn’t so sure of that. He would no doubt take care of Clarissa’s settlements, but as he’d pointed out before, Izzy was no responsibility of his. For her, Mrs. Price-Jones’s advice was most pertinent. Though not always the most conventional.
One night she took them to the theater, even arranging gentlemen to escort them. “A gel is judged by the quality of masculine company she keeps,” she declared.
“Her choice of male escorts is quite eccentric, don’t you think?” Izzy murmured to Clarissa as they waited for the play to start. Their male escorts were charming, wealthy, wellborn, well dressed and in all ways a desirable catch—but not one of them was under fifty, and at least one of them had to be seventy or more.
Clarissa gave her an amused glance. “Haven’t you realized yet?”
“Realized what?”
“As well as helping us find husbands, Mrs. Price-Jones is looking for one for herself.”
“Ohhh.” Izzy could see it now. It was quite entertainingto watch, and rather educational. A widow had a great deal more leeway in her behavior than an unmarried miss.
***
Tonight they were attending the Gainsborough ball. Mrs. Price-Jones, having ensured they were engaged for every dance, had wafted away on the arm of a silver-haired gentleman, leaving them to their own devices. “Enjoy yourselves, gels,” she’d said. “And remember, you need to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince.”
Clarissa was a little shocked. “Is she actually suggesting that we should be kissing men?”
Izzy giggled. “Apparently so.”
