How to Not Marry a Duke

Being a young widow was not so bad, Lady Florence Ainsley decided. She married the sickly Lord Arthur Ainsley when she was twenty, as requested by both their parents. Their marriage was sweet, romantic, and doomed from the start. 

Her husband passed away the previous year, and Florence returned to the hustle and bustle of London after her mourning period was over, at the age of twenty five.

With enough inheritance to move at the fanciest British society, Florence had all the intention to enjoy socializing without the threat of having to catch another husband. She had a mission in hand, however.

Her dear friend from the country had turned to be an invalid due to a terrible illness, and she had begged Florence to find a good husband for her daughter, Arabella Huntington.

Arabella had a decent dowry, but moving in a respectable circle would do her fortune better.

The eighteen year old just finished her education at the country’s academy for girls, and was interested to live in London for a year or two with Aunt Florence, whom she loved dearly.

One day, as they walked along the riverbank, Florence asked Arabella, “Do tell me, Dear. Is it truly your ambition to marry soon?”

Arabella laughed. “I shall be happy to be an old spinster and just live with my parents, to tell you the truth, Aunt Florence. However, Dear Mother and Father believed that they will doom me into oblivion if I stay here. We can just go for a year and return as failures. At least I will be able to tell them that we have tried, but we failed miserably.”

Florence smiled. “I can take you to luncheons and balls. If no one caught your heart, it would hardly be our fault.”

“What a valiant plan, Aunt! And if, in the middle of husband hunting, we visit several museums and libraries, it would hardly be noticeable!”

“Quite right. We can also go to exhibitions and markets, you know. Just to find ideas of what to say if you meet lords or dukes at the balls.”

Arabella hooked her hand with Florence’s.

“Then by all means, Auntie, take me husband-hunting to London!”

*****

After a tearful farewell with Arabella’s parents, the two went to London. Arthur’s townhouse was aired and dusted before the two arrived, and they took three days to settle down.

One morning, when Florence and Arabella sat down after breakfast at the library for the third time in those three days, Miss Thornby, Florence’s governess turned secretary, entered the room and announced “Lady Ainsley, you have invitations to sort through.”

There were invitations to tea by a prominent lady that was Florence’s mother’s friend, an invitation to a ball, and an invitation to join a weeklong spring party at the country estate of Duke of Greymont, hosted by his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Greymont.

Frowning for a bit, Florence finally decided, “I can avoid the ball and the spring party, but not the tea. Let me just write a note to answer.”

“Are we going for tea, then, Auntie?”

“Yes, Dear. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m afraid.”

“Who is this Marchioness?”

“Marchioness of Westmacott, or Aunt Honoria. She’s my mother’s best friend. We write to each other regularly. She’s like a dragon, but she’s kind inside.”

Arabella grinned at the explanation, as Florence sat on her writing table.

“Here you go, Miss Thornby. Send this to the marchioness. And do be a dear, help Arabella find a dress for the tea.”

“And for you, My Lady?”

“Me? Just something decent.”

“Lady Ainsley. Please, stop acting as if you are thirty years older than you really are.”

Florence raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Miss Thornby, I am not getting into that circus again.”

“You are twenty five. There’s still plenty of time—”

“No. I had Arthur. He was enough.”

Miss Thornby’s lips went into a thin line.

“Off you go, Miss Huntington, let us choose a dress for you tomorrow.”

Sensing the tense atmosphere, Arabella obliged, avoiding any further argument.

*****

Arabella was nervous before they arrived at Marchioness Westcott’s townhouse. It was completely understandable, and Florence tried to pacify her by reminding her young friend that the matriarch was a decent lady.

“She’s very intimidating on the outside, but she has her heart at the right place.”

The girl only had a short time to admire the opulent house, with its marble floors, chandeliers, grand piano and beautiful sitting rooms, since the Marchioness came into the room with her hands outstretched, reaching for Florence immediately.

“My dearest Florence! I see that you have had enough of your one year of being a recluse and have deigned the decency to visit your lonely aunt!” she exclaimed dramatically.

“Oh, Aunt Honoria, please. You’re the last lady in Britain you could pretend to be even the smallest bit lonely!” Florence replied with an exasperated yet affectionate tone.

“I declare that I do, my dear! Everyone is either too pretty, too rich or too dumb. I am bored with everybody! I assure you, I haven’t had a truly interesting conversation since last Christmas!”

“Do be careful, Auntie. You do realize you met the royal family and the ton so often since last Christmas! Are you saying that they bore you as well?”

“They are the most boring group, My Love, although I know I mustn’t speak ill of them, being Her Highness’s cousin and all that. But hello, who is this interesting little creature?” Honoria said in surprise, only then noticing Arabella’s existence. Without letting go of Florence’s hand with her left, she gave her right hand to Arabella.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ma’am. I am Arabella Huntington.”

“Aren’t you sweet? But surely, you can’t be more than fifteen?”

“She’s eighteen, Aunt,” Florence argued as Arabella smiled tiredly, as if she had heard that statement a thousand times already.

“Huntington? Aren’t they your friends from the countryside?” She asked, hinting that she read Florence’s letters thoroughly and remembered the content perfectly.

“The daughter of my friend. Her mother has been unwell, and she decided to honor me with the task of bringing her to London and to see her prospects here.”

“Please sit down. And yes, another eager addition to the marriage market.”

“She’s mostly here to just see the city, honestly. We just want to be able to tell her parents that we have tried.”

“Darling, don’t influence her with your views,” Honoria warned.

“What do you mean, “my views?“”

“You feel that you can survive just with books and tea. You have no intention to marry again.”

Florence was a bit taken aback. So apparently it was a day of pushing and pulling for Aunt Honoria.

“That is indeed my opinion, and what of it?”

“You are too young to give up on your happiness.”

“I had happiness with a husband before, my darling Aunt, and I figure getting that twice in one lifetime is not so easy. I have no illusion that I might find it again. I prefer to be logical and happy with books and tea.”

Aunt Honoria looked very annoyed, but seemed to decide to change her tactics.

“So you have decided to be a chaperone for this young thing?” She asked, scrutinizing Arabella.

“She is Arabella Huntington, Auntie, not a thing.”

“Very well, Miss Huntington. Are you trying to find a good match for her?”

“I am. This is the detail about her family and dowry.”

They all then sat quite calmly on the sofas as Aunt Honoria read the document detailing Arabella’s profile.

After she finished reading the document, she looked up and observed the younger girl more seriously.

“Her dowry is modest. Her father is a country land owner, and she’s educated enough. She has her charms. Hem…..we either need to find someone desperate, too rich to want a big dowry, or scoundrels.”

“Aunt Honoria, I assure you—”

Honoria raised up her hand to silence Florence’s protests.

“I know. So we are aiming for the second group, I think. Well, can’t say I’ll ever pass a challenge when it’s thrown in front of me. We must all of course attend The Casterton Ball.”

Florence sighed heavily.

“Now, now, my dear, you do know that he was one of your late husband’s good friends?”

“I met him a few times, and his other friend, Duke of Greymont, once, in the past. What of Lord Casterton?”

“He’s extremely wealthy and might be interested in a younger wife with a backbone.”

“How old is this Lord Casterton?” Arabella asked Florence.

“Twenty seven. The same age as my late husband.”

“He’s nine years older than me.”

“There are many worse choices than him,” Aunt Honoria replied matter-of-factly. “I will be the chaperone for the two of you. Choose your gowns, for this ball is more on the more luxurious side.”

“When we write to your mother that we have gone to such a high level ball, she would never accuse us of not trying hard enough,” Florence commented sagely.

Arabella tried to suppress her giggle. “I shall do all that is necessary, until nearly the end, where he would hopefully choose another woman.”

Aunt Honoria narrowed her eyes, but didn’t protest further.

*****