The Husband Season. Mary Nichols

who else will?’

      ‘Ask Jane.’ No one in the family seemed to have given up the habit of saying, ‘ask Jane,’ whenever a problem raised its head.

      ‘Jane is too wrapped up with her baby to leave him, you know that, and Issie is on the high seas somewhere. If you agree to take me, then Papa can have no objection, can he?’

      ‘Ask him first.’

      She found her father in the morning room reading the newspaper, sent down every day from London. He liked to keep abreast of the news, though very little of it was good. There was unrest everywhere, especially in the industrial north, and frequent demonstrations for parliamentary reform, not to mention the unpopularity of the Prince Regent and rumours that he was about to divorce his wife, from whom he was separated. Such a thing was unheard of and set a very bad example to the populace. There was a rumour that, since the death of his daughter and her baby, he was anxious to marry again and produce a legitimate heir. His brothers, none of who had legitimate heirs but plenty of illegitimate ones, were all hastily trying to marry and have children. So far only the Duke of Kent had made any progress in that direction; his duchess was enceinte.

      He laid the paper aside when his youngest daughter tripped into the room, all winning smiles. ‘Papa, dear Papa,’ she wheedled, ‘I have a request to make.’

      He smiled. ‘And I have no doubt it will cost me money.’

      She squatted down on a footstool near him. ‘Yes, I suppose it must, but I know you would not like to disappoint me.’

      ‘Go on,’ he said patiently.

      ‘I should like a Season in London.’

      ‘A Season,’ he repeated. ‘I expected to be asked for a new gown or some such frippery, but a Season! Where did you get that idea?’

      ‘All young ladies of any standing have come-out Seasons. It is how they find husbands. You would not wish me to be an old maid, would you?’

      ‘I doubt there is any fear of that.’

      ‘It is what Teddy said. He said there were no eligibles left hereabouts, so I must look farther afield. He will take me, if you cannot.’

      ‘I would not lay such a burden on his shoulders, Sophie.’

      ‘Then, will you and Mama take me?’

      ‘Sophie, there is no question of you having a Season this year or any other,’ he said. ‘We are not so well up in society as to aspire to such heights. It would cost a prodigious amount of money, which I am afraid cannot be spared. Neither of your sisters had a Season...’

      ‘But they did go and stay with Aunt Emmeline in Mount Street.’

      ‘Sophie, they stayed with her for two weeks, and the purpose of the visit was not a come-out as you know very well. They both found their husbands without recourse to balls and assemblies and tea parties.’

      ‘Yes, but where am I to find another Mark or Drew if I don’t go where I might meet them?’

      ‘Mark and Andrew are estimable young men, but why would you want a husband like them?’

      The reason was her secret, so she simply said, ‘They are my ideal.’

      He laughed. ‘Sophie, you will find the right man for you, all in good time. There is no hurry. You are but nineteen years old. Indeed, too much haste could very well end in disaster.’

      ‘So you will not let me go?’

      ‘I am afraid not. Now leave me to my newspaper.’

      Drooping with disappointment, she left him to find her mother. Lady Cavenhurst was in the garden cutting daffodils from the hundreds that grew there. Sophie poured her woes into her mother’s ears. ‘You will persuade him, won’t you, dearest Mama? You know how important the right connections are to a young lady. There is no hope that I will find a suitable husband in a backwater like Hadlea.’

      Her ladyship continued to cut the flowers and lay them in a trug on her arm. ‘Why this sudden urge to be married, Sophie?’

      ‘It is not sudden. I have been thinking about it ever since Jane and Issie were wed and I felt I should make a push to find a husband like Mark or Drew.’

      ‘You have set your sights very high, child.’

      ‘Why not? Is that a fault?’

      ‘No, dear, of course not.’

      ‘So will you speak to Papa? Aunt Emmeline would have me, would she not?’

      ‘Your aunt Emmeline is old, Sophie. I doubt she goes out and about very much nowadays.’

      ‘Teddy said he will escort me, so you will speak to Papa?’

      Her mother sighed. ‘I will talk to him, but if he has made up his mind there will be no shifting him and I will not press him.’

      ‘Thank you, Mama.’

      Having obtained that concession, which would have to do for the time being, Sophie went back indoors. If the answer was still no, she would have to marshal further arguments. She hurried to her room, put on a bonnet and shawl and set off to call on her sister at Broadacres.

      Broadacres was a magnificent estate about three miles’ distant from Greystone Manor. It was not as old as the manor, but much grander. A long drive led to a carriage sweep and a truly magnificent facade with dozens of long windows. Cantilevered steps led to a massive oak door. The vestibule had a chequered marble floor and a grand staircase. She was admitted by a footman. ‘Her ladyship is probably in the nursery,’ he said. ‘Shall I go tell her you are here?’

      ‘No, I will go find her.’

      Sophie was perfectly familiar with the layout of the house and soon found her way up to the nursery suite, where her sister was playing on the floor with her ten-month-old son, Harry. She scrambled to her feet when Sophie entered. ‘Sophie, what brings you here? There is nothing wrong at home, I hope.’

      ‘No, everyone is well. Can’t I visit my sister when I feel like it?’

      ‘Of course, anytime. You know that.’ She rescued Harry from a cupboard he had crawled into to investigate. ‘I was thinking of wheeling Harry out for a little fresh air. Shall you come, too?’

      ‘Yes, I should like that.’

      Instructions were given to the nursemaid to put warm clothes on the infant and bring him down to the back hall where his baby carriage was kept.

      ‘Now, tell me what goes on at Greystone,’ Jane said as they went to her room for her to put on outdoor shoes, a shawl and bonnet.

      ‘Nothing. It is as boring as ever. I want to go to London. I asked Papa for a Season.’

      ‘And you think that might relieve your boredom?’

      ‘Well, it would, wouldn’t it? And I might find a husband.’

      ‘So you might. You might find one here in Norfolk, too.’

      ‘Teddy says I have exhausted all the eligibles from here.’

      Jane laughed. ‘How many proposals have you had?’

      ‘Well, there was Mr Richard Fanshawe, who is as ill mannered as anyone could possibly be and stormed off in a huff when I rejected him. Then Sir Reginald Swayle, who affects to be a dandy but only succeeds in looking ridiculous, and Lord Gorange, who is positively ancient and has two motherless children. I wonder at Papa even allowing him to speak to me. I can’t marry anyone like that, can I?’

      ‘I can see your point. What did Papa say about a Season?’ Jane had finished putting on her shoes and was looking in the mirror to tie the ribbons of her bonnet, and her remarks came to Sophie through her reflection.

      ‘He said no.’

      They left the room and went downstairs