Apples & PEARS

Isabella was in need of a husband – and her mother had one in her sights

- Steve Burford

You are plain, have few accomplishments and are nearly 21.' Lady Cavenhill fixed her daughter with a critical eye. 'To be frank, my dear, you are on the brink of becoming... an old maid.'

Isabella clasped her fan tightly. It seemed better to do that than hurl it at her mother.

'You are, however, extremely wealthy. Or rather, you will be when finally I shuffle off this mortal coil.'

Isabella tried hard not to look eager at that prospect.

'And so, I have decided it is time for me to make... suitable arrangements. I intend to secure you a husband.'

'Mama! Surely a woman has the right to choose her own lifetime companion? We are no longer living in the 17th century'

'No, we are living in the 18th century and, as such, it is my duty, my right, and even...' Lady Cavenhill allowed herself a grim smile, 'my pleasure to find you a husband who will join his fortune to yours and provide this family with an heir.'

'And love me?'

Lady Cavenhill snorted. 'Love makes for pretty poetry, my dear. It does not make for strong marriages.' She gestured to the large book on the table next to her chaise longue — Debrett’s The New Peerage. It gave the details of every family of note, and was Her Ladyship’s favourite publication.

'I have been doing extensive research, and have narrowed the field to two candidates. I have invited them both here today so that we may make our selection.' She gave the small silver bell on the table an imperious tinkle.

The drawing-room doors opened and Melville, her ancient butler, stepped in.

'Show in Lord Dalrymple.'

'Yes, m'lady.' Melville bowed and withdrew.

'Lord Dalrymple, as I'm sure you know, Isabella, comes from a very old and respected family. He has a fortune of over 20,000 a year, and is due to inherit still more in the happy event of his grandmother's passing on.' Lady Cavenhill gave a small cough. 'I mean, the unhappy event, of course.'