A Pretty Predicament

Lord Ashbourne was in a bit of a predicament.

No, no, that is a little strong. Let’s start again, shall we?

Lord Ashbourne was in a bit of a pickle.

Enough so, that comparing his life problems to a piece of produce that lives in a jar of odorous vinegar gave him quite a strange amount of self-satisfaction. Insomuch, the gentleman had the ardent want to consult his old friend, a Mr. Beckham, on the matter. Hope the fellow won’t be too miffed at the interruption, thought the earl.

Yet, as Lord Ashbourne turned to his friend in the nearest armchair, a snore so loud and fervent emitted from the good sir, the former thought he felt a great rumble throughout the manor.

“Beckham, control yourself!” Ashbourne exclaimed as he shook his friend awake. Once the lord confirmed that he saw Beckham’s tell-tale pale blue irises upon him, though lethargic, he smiled. But his friend on the receiving end did not take that smile as one of goodwill. The two had known each other since the nursery, and the merchant has commemorated himself for knowing the lord inside and out.

That smile was quite a mischievous and devious one.

“Goodness, who has died?” questioned the gentleman as he shook himself out of a short nap. “And do we have to hide the body?” he added while fixing an awry button.

“No, you dolt! Besides, why would you even think that of me?”

“Ahh...your smile.”

“Are you saying my face is the culprit of all these inane attacks at my character? By my good friend, nonetheless?”

Beckham took another gander at Ashbourne. The man had a long face, watery eyes, and a mustache larger than the king’s treasury. Granted, Alexander Beckham would never tell his friend this. But...the facial hair was very distracting. Ahh, nevermind. “Anyway, my friend, what do you want?”

“’Tis of no consequence anymore. I don’t believe you want to hear my thoughts of a certain green fruit,” mused a melancholy lord.

“Well, something is on your mind, Bennet.”

The earl was quiet for a moment, hesitancy colored on his features. Bennet did indeed trust the old gentleman... but Alexander was quite fragile- in the sense that he excited easily. Very easily. Oh, goodness. What to do, what to do.

As the lord ventured through his inner qualms, a thought slowly formed in his mind. The thought made him pale, both in spirit and face. He imagined the Bordeaux name extinct, no one left to bring honor to the archaic family name. No longer able to hold the Ashbourne legacy in its grasp. And so the earl heaved a great sigh.

“Beckham, I am in a bit of a pickle. So as I recount my plight, please do not let the information get out of this very room. Only the heavens know the damage gossipers bring.” Bennet’s face was hard, giving the appearance of stone. Alexander’s face that was once jovial and eyes filled with mirth soon adopted the same air as well.

“Very well,” replied the gentleman solemnly.

“Well, how do I phrase this?” the earl tutted, then soon sighed for courage. “You see- goodness... let’s not sugarcoat it. Alexander, I feel Silas will never marry. His abhorrent personality will never entertain that idea. Ever.” Then Bennet, one of the most composed men, dropped his face into his awaiting gloved hands.

The good man was absolutely shocked. Flabbergasted even. With no heir from the only child, the family name is lost to dirt and decay of imminent death, and then to be stolen by some pompous fourth cousin. The Bordeaux’s name was the only name suited to the earldom of Ashbourne.

“But-but, Bennet, Silas is a handsome lad, with a very, very handsome wealth. Surely a proper lady would want to marry the future Earl of Ashbourne,” Alexander Beckham contributed helplessly.

“Ahh, yes. He is perfect in that sense, a consummate husband... except every decent lady and family despise his existence. The rest that fawn over him are mothers and little harpies who want to exploit our coffers.” The earl was clearly agitated.

“Well... what do you propose to do?” asked Mr. Beckham lightly, deep in thought. He was not as nonplussed as Bennet originally thought. Perhaps he has had a change of heart or personality... after four decades. Hmph.

But as the earl went to satisfy the question, he came up short. What was he to do? Force a marriage? Threaten to send Silas to a new colony to eat insects and throw tomahawks about like an incorrigible savage? No, no. Maybe... bribery? Bribe a gentleman?

No. My dignity shan’t allow it.

Disheartened, Ashbourne replied simply, “I have not a clue.”

“WHAT IN THE BLIMEY HECK DO YOU MEAN?!” boomed Beckham. Bennet stared, jaw askew. Ahh, nevermind. The old friend would never change.

“I mean, good sir, that I have absolutely no idea what to do. Not an ounce. Not a mite. Not even a speck-”

“NO,” thundered the gentleman. “I shan’t allow my best friend to fend for himself like this. I will help.”

“Help what? Help Silas get married? He is a lost cause-a forlorn ship so far out in the sea. His character is an old shoe, Alexander. And not even one of decent quality, ” the earl said with a strong air of despondency.

“Maybe someone else can influence him. Not just us.” Beckham’s eyes flitted around the library as if looking for just the person.

“Who?”

“Someone monotonous. Someone who will dilute his rude tendencies... maybe even a woman! Every woman knows the workings of their own sex, right? A woman to aid Lord Leighton’s...” never-ending ” thorough search for the perfect betrothed!”

“Perhaps. Unfortunately, I do not believe that I have anyone like that in my acquaintance. Or I hope so,” remarked the earl.

“Ahh...but I do.”