A Desirable Husband

by Mary Nichols

  ‘But the same must be said of him, surely? He has to spend his life with me.’

  ‘It’s different for a man.’

  ‘How?’

  Rosemary looked discomforted. ‘It just is. A man is looking for a lady to be an asset to his position in life, someone to be a credit to him, someone to manage his household, entertain his friends, be a good mother to his children, look elegant on his arm.’

  ‘What about being in love?’

  Rosemary suddenly found it necessary to fiddle with the tea caddy and it was left to Myles to answer her. ‘He must be in love with his wife and she with him, that goes without saying, otherwise the marriage is doomed to failure.’

  ‘Well, of course,’ Rosemary said, and rang the bell for the parlour maid to come and remove the tea things. As soon as they had been taken away, she stood up. ‘I always have a half hour with John about this time before he is put to bed. Would you like to come and say hallo to him, Esme? Myles, I am sure you can amuse yourself. There is a newspaper on the side table. There’s little enough news in it, except the plans for the Exhibition. “The Great Exhibition of the Industry of All Nations.” What a title!’

  The proposed exhibition was the brain child of Henry Cole, a man of many talents, who had been involved in smaller exhibitions all over the country. He had approached Prince Albert with the idea of combining the art and manufacture of the whole world in one enormous exhibition and his Highness had embraced it enthusiastically and become its principal patron. It was why Myles had come to town, invited to a banquet by his Royal Highness and the Lord Mayor of London aimed at furthering the project among influential people in the provinces.

  Esme followed her sister from the room. She wanted to be married, like her sisters, but she was not going to let herself be pushed by Rosemary into marriage with someone she did not love. Myles had said it was important and so had Lucy. Lucy had managed to win Papa round to let her marry Myles who was not at first considered a suitable husband for the daughter of an earl, being a man who liked to work and was not afraid to dirty his hands, though he was rich enough not to have to. Since then he had been a rock for all the family, the man they all turned to for help and advice—all except Rosemary, of course. She had never changed her original opinion of him; he was a labourer, one of the operative classes and far beneath her. Esme would be happy if she could find another Myles, but she did not suppose there could be two such as he.

  Having admired her nephew, watched him being petted by his mother until he dribbled all down her gown and was hastily handed back to his nurse, Esme returned to her room to rest before dressing for dinner. At the sound of the first gong, signalling that dinner would be in a half hour, Miss Bannister helped her into one of the gowns Lucy had given her. It was a cerise silk that had suited Lucy, who was darker than she was, but Esme was not sure that it was the best colour for her pale complexion, but she would never have dreamed of hurting her sister’s feelings by saying so.

  She heard the second gong as she was going down to the drawing room where she found the family gathered. She barely had time to greet Rowan before dinner was announced and they went into the dining room and took their places at the long table.

  Esme had met Rowan twice before, once when Rosie had first become engaged to him and then again at the wedding at which she was a bridesmaid. He was tall and thin and had a long nose, which was unfortunate because it seemed as if he was perpetually looking down on everyone. Except Myles, of course; no one could look down on Myles who was well over six feet tall.

  While the meal was being served they exchanged pleasantries, but the conversation flagged after that. It was then Rowan filled the void by asking Myles what had brought him to London, apart from escorting Esme.

  ‘Myles has an invitation to Prince Albert’s banquet at the Mansion House,’ Esme put in before he could answer for himself. ‘It’s huge. It has gold letters and a gold border and his Highness’s coat of arms on it. You should see it.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Rowan turned to Myles. ‘Am I to conclude you are going to add your name to that ridiculous idea for an exhibition?’

  ‘I do not consider it ridiculous,’ Myles said evenly. ‘It will be a showcase for everyone, no matter what country, creed or branch of endeavour they are engaged in. It will show the world that Britain leads the way in innovation and engineering and bring exhibits and visitors from all over the world.’

  ‘That is just what I have against it,’ Rowan said pithily. ‘We shall be inundated with hoards of people roaming the streets, filling the cabs and omnibuses, frightening the horses and servants who will not dare venture forth on their lawful business for fear of being set upon by thieves and cut-throats. And there is the risk of troublemakers from the Continent spreading discontent among our own workers who will undoubtedly find the means to flock into London. And with all that building going on, goodness knows what it will do to property values in the area, and that includes this house.’

  ‘I am given to understand the building will only be a temporary one and will be taken down as soon as the Exhibition is over.’

  ‘And how long do you think that will take?’

  ‘I cannot say. I am sorry you do not feel inclined to support it, Rowan.’

  ‘Inclined to support it!’ Rowan snapped. ‘I am totally against it and intend to do all I can to prevent it from happening.’

  ‘Then we shall have to agree to differ.’

  Esme, who had been listening to the exchange with growing dismay, wished she had never mentioned the invitation. Lucy had been so proud of it when she showed it to her and it seemed a good way to counter all Rosemary’s boasting about how well-thought-of in society her husband was, how everyone envied her taste in her furnishings and the cleverness of her precious child, and now she had set the two men against each other.

  ‘Esme, let us retire to the drawing room and leave the men to continue their argument over the port,’ Rosemary said, rising from her chair.

  ‘I didn’t mean to cause dissent,’ Esme said as she followed her sister to the drawing room. ‘I had no idea—’

  ‘No, that’s the trouble with you, Esme, you tend to speak before you think. I beg you to curb it or you will upset the very people you should be pleasing.’

  ‘I am sorry, Rosie. I know you have put yourself at great inconvenience to bring me out and I am truly grateful. I will try very hard to be a credit to you.’

  ‘Then we will say no more. Men like to argue, especially strong-minded men like Rowan and Myles, but I don’t think it will lead to a serious falling out.’ She busied herself with the tea things while she spoke. ‘Now, let us talk of other things. We will go shopping tomorrow and see if we can get you kitted out ready for the season, though it will not get properly under way for a good two weeks. We shall have to amuse ourselves in the meantime.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure we can do that. We can go for walks and visit the sights and I should like to ride. Will that be possible?’

  ‘Perfectly possible. Hacks are easily hired.’ She handed Esme a cup of tea. ‘Do you know how long Myles is planning to stay in town?’

  Myles, when he offered to escort Esme, had been invited to stay at Trent House while he was conducting his business, but at that time she had expected Lucy to be with him. She had no idea of the nature of his business, whether it was simply to attend the banquet or if it were something to do with his railway or engineering concerns.

  ‘I know he is anxious to return to Lucy and see how Harry is, so I think he cannot be planning to stay above a couple of days. Are you wishing you had not asked him?’

  ‘Good gracious, no! He is family and it would have looked most odd not to have invited him. I cannot think why he does not buy a town house; he could easily afford it.’

  ‘Lucy prefers to live in the country and says it would be a dreadful waste to keep a house and servants in town when she would hardly ever be in residence.’

  The men joined them at that point and appeared t
o have overcome their hostility. They sat and drank tea and made light conversation, most of it of a social nature, carefully avoiding renewing the subject of the Exhibition and the Prince Consort’s banquet.

  Rowan agreed that it was impossible for Esme to go out and about in Lucy’s cast-off clothes, which very nearly started Myles off on another argument, but he wisely held his peace. The carriage was put at Rosemary’s disposal for the next morning so that she could take her sister shopping and Rowan readily agreed to foot the bill for the new wardrobe.

  When they dispersed to go to their beds, Esme contrived to walk a little way with Myles. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It was not my idea to buy new clothes and I would not for the world have Lucy think ill of me.’

  ‘I am sure she would understand.’ He grinned. ‘And it will be grand to have a new wardrobe, won’t it?’

  ‘Yes, as long as I am not put into frills and flounces. I hate them.’

  The shopping expedition was not a leisurely affair; Rosemary knew exactly what was wanted and was determined Esme should be a credit to her good taste. In every shop they entered the assistants hurried forward to serve her, though Esme would have liked a little more time to browse and view what was on offer, she was obliged to admit that Rosemary’s choice was excellent and flounces, frills and bows were kept to a minimum. ‘You have a very good figure,’ Rosemary told her. ‘Simple clothes will show it off to advantage.’ The material and pattern of the gown she would wear for her curtsy to the Queen took the longest to be decided upon and was to be made up by Madame Devereux, Rosemary’s own dressmaker. The bodice of the dress had to be low cut and the skirt very full with a long train. Accessories like slippers, fan, jewellery and feathers had to be chosen with care to conform to the rigid rules laid down by protocol.

  By the middle of the afternoon, they were on their way back to Trent House with the carriage loaded down with purchases and more to be delivered in the coming days. Shopping with her mother in Leicester and Peterborough was never like this. There, it would be an all-day affair with her mother complaining of the lack of choice and the high prices and wondering aloud what her father would say when presented with the bill, though it never stopped her buying something she wanted. Rosemary had never once mentioned the price of anything.

  They turned from Oxford Street, where Rosemary had purchased some lengths of ribbon, into the northern end of Park Lane. Esme glimpsed green grass through the trees and longed to go for a walk. At home in Luffenham she walked or rode everywhere and already she was missing her daily exercise. ‘Is that Hyde Park, Rosie?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it possible to walk home through it?’

  ‘Yes, perfectly possible.’

  ‘Then do let’s walk. Banny can take the coach home and put the shopping away.’

  ‘We have to go to Lady Aviemore’s to tea.’ Her ladyship was, according to Rosemary, a notable hostess and knew everyone of any importance and she could—if she took to Esme—be influential in introducing her to other young people, among whom might be a suitable husband. She would know the history behind every one of them. Who could safely be cultivated and who best to avoid. ‘Once you are out, she can help us get you seen and noticed,’ Rosemary had told her sister. ‘So it is important you make the right impression.’

  ‘That is hours away. Come on, Rosie, I want to explore.’

  ‘Very well.’ Rosemary asked the driver to stop and they left the coach and entered the park by Brook Gate and were soon strolling along one of the many walks towards the Serpentine.

  In spite of the fact that London was, according to Rosemary, quite empty, they met several people she knew and they stopped to chat. Esme was presented to them and exchanged the usual pleasantries, but she was not particularly interested in what they had to say and her attention wandered to her surroundings. The park, once on the outskirts but now in the heart of London, was an oasis of green. There was a wide tree-lined carriageway and several paths for pedestrians and the famous Rotten Row where horsemen and women showed off their mounts. Her curiosity was aroused by a slim young man in a single-breasted green riding coat and biscuit-coloured riding breeches, who was very deliberately pacing the ground and making notes on a pad he was carrying. Every now and then he looked up at a group of elms that graced that corner of the park and appeared to be sizing them up and drawing them. She took a step closer to see what he was about.

  He must have sensed her presence because he suddenly turned and looked straight at her. She found herself catching her breath because he was the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. His eyes, she noted, were greenish brown and they were laughing, not at her, she was sure of that, but in a kind of amused empathy, as if he understood her curiosity and was not in the least put off by it. His hair, beneath a brown beaver hat, was a little darker than gold and curled into his neck. His hands, holding his notepad and pencil, were lean like the rest of him, the fingers tapered. An artist, she decided. He smiled at her, put his finger to the brim of his hat and tilted it towards her. Her answering smile lit her face as if she had suddenly met someone she had known long ago and hadn’t seen for a while.

  ‘Esme, who is that?’ Rosemary had said goodbye to her friends and turned to see her sister apparently on nodding terms with a young man.

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s handsome, isn’t he?’

  ‘Esme, how could you?’

  ‘Could I what?’

  ‘Smile in that familiar way at a man to whom you have not been introduced.’

  ‘But he smiled first and—’

  ‘Then he cannot be a real gentleman. It is the lady’s prerogative to acknowledge a gentleman when she is out and until she does so, it behoves a gentleman to show no sign of recognition. You should have ignored him.’

  ‘Would that not have been impolite?’

  ‘Not at all. Now come away before he decides to approach us, for I should feel mortified to have to speak to him.’ She took Esme’s arm and almost dragged her away.

  Esme looked back over her shoulder and discovered the young man was staring after them, which made her giggle.

  ‘Esme!’ Rosemary reprimanded her. ‘I see I shall have to take you to task about what is and what is not acceptable behaviour. You do not smile at strange men. Goodness, it is asking for them to take liberties.’

  ‘What liberties?’ Esme asked. ‘Do you mean kissing me?’

  ‘Good heavens, I hope not. I mean speaking to you without an introduction.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Esme was dismissive.

  Rosemary’s reply to that was a decided sniff.

  Felix watched them go, wanting to laugh aloud. The young lady, who was very lovely with her rosebud complexion and neat figure, was evidently being given a scolding, but it did not seem to be subduing her. He wondered who she was. Was she one of those young ladies who came to London for a Season with the express purpose of snaring a husband? It was early in the year for that and she seemed a little young to be tying herself down to marriage.

  His mother might not agree; she had been urging him ever since he returned from France without Juliette to find himself a bride. ‘Someone young and malleable,’ she had said. ‘Then you can mould her to your way of doing things. Besides, a young bride is more likely to produce healthy offspring.’ He smiled to himself; this particular young lady did not look as if she were especially malleable, not that he would want a wife who dare not say boo to a goose. He pulled himself up short. How could the sight of a pretty girl make his thoughts suddenly turn to marriage. He wasn’t ready for that yet; time, the healer, had yet to do its work.

  He was not a hermit by any means. To please his mother, he had attended tea parties and dances in the assembly rooms in his home town of Birmingham, taken tea with the matrons and danced with their daughters, making superficial conversation, even flirting a little, but, as his mother was quick to point out, that could hardly be called a serious pursuit of a bri
de. He supposed he would have to marry one day, but he never felt less like falling in love again and it would be unfair on any young lady to use her simply to beget an heir and have an elegant companion, if she were expecting a husband to love her. It would be better to choose someone more mature than the young miss with the friendly smile, someone worldly wise who wouldn’t expect declarations of eternal love, but would be content with wealth and position.

  He smiled ruefully to himself; whatever had set his thoughts on marriage had better be stifled. If this idea of a great exhibition came about, he would be too busy to think of anything else. He looked down at the pad in his hand. There was a series of measurements and a rough sketch of the elm trees, which were going to be a stumbling block to any good design. The Exhibition building committee were working on a design but he thought it was ugly, and it took no account of the trees, assuming they would have to be felled. Even the committee was dissatisfied with it and an idea was being mooted for a competition to design the building and he thought he might enter it.

  His pencil moved over the pad, roughing out the plan of a building with an open central courtyard to accommodate the elms and then for no reason that he could fathom, added people to his drawing: the urchin bowling a hoop, a man on a horse, a carriage on the drive, the cake-and-fruit stall beside the water and the two ladies he had just seen. He laughed at himself for his fancifulness. Pulling his watch from waistcoat pocket, he was startled to discover it was already four-thirty; his valet would be dancing up and down in impatience. He hurried to where he had tethered his horse and cantered off in the direction of Hyde Park Corner and his house in Bruton Street.

  ‘Rosie, could we not go and see the guests arriving for the banquet?’ Esme asked when they were on their way home in the carriage after Lady Aviemore’s tea party. Esme had expected the company to be mixed, but they had all been ladies, some young, some older, who spent the time between sipping tea and nibbling wafer-thin sandwiches, in exchanging gossip, some of it shockingly malicious, but the outcome was several invitations to soirées and musical evenings and little dances.