lord must be a man of cheerful countenance and well-mannered, pleasing disposition. I am certain you will understand when I tell you that I have no wish to be bound to a man who is melancholic or given to fits of temper and foul moods. I wish my husband to have the gift of laughter, a man who will be able to take pleasure in the humble forms of entertainment which we enjoy here on the isle.
Third, it is absolutely essential that my husband be a learned man, one who is capable of reading and who enjoys intellectual discourse. I will wish to engage in much conversation with him, especially during the cold winter months when we shall both be obliged to spend a great deal of time together indoors.
I trust my three requirements are quite plain and that my recipe is clear. There should be no problem in selecting several candidates from among your acquaintances.
Please send these suitors to me at your earliest convenience. I will make my choice as quickly as possible and inform you of my decision.
Written at the manor of Desire, the seventh of April.
Gareth refolded the letter, aware of the unholy amusement in his father's eyes. "I wonder how she set about creating her recipe for a perfect lord and husband."
Thurston chuckled. "I suspect she took the basic elements from some minstrel's romantic ballad. You know the sort. They generally feature a chivalrous hero who slays evil magicians for sport and vows undying love to his lady."
"A lady who usually belongs to another man," Gareth muttered. "The hero's liege lord, for example. Aye, I know the sort of song you mean. I do not care for such, myself."
"The ladies love them."
Gareth shrugged. "How many candidates will you send, my lord?"
"I am a great believer in indulging females up to a point. I shall allow Lady Clare to make her choice from between two suitors."
Gareth's brow rose. "Not three or four?"
"Nay. In my experience one only asks for trouble when one grants a woman too many choices."
"Two suitors, then. Myself and one other."
"Aye."
"Who shall I be competing against?"
Thurston grinned. "Sir Nicholas of Seabern. Good luck to you, son. The lady's requirements are simple, are they not? Her recipe specifies a man who is of moderate size, much given to laughter, and able to read."
Gareth handed the letter back to his father. "She is fortunate, is she not? I meet one of her requirements. I can read."
1
Clare was in the convent gardens with Margaret, the Prioress of Saint Hermione, when word reached her that the first of the suitors was on the Isle of Desire.
"A grand company of men has arrived, Lady Clare. They are coming toward the village even now," William called.
Clare paused in the middle of a detailed discussion of the best method for extracting oil of roses. "I beg your pardon, madam," she said to Prioress Margaret.
"Of course." Margaret was a stoutly built woman of middle years. The wimple of her black Benedictine habit framed sharp eyes and gently rounded features. "This is an important event."
Clare turned to see young William hopping about in great excitement near the convent gatehouse. He waved his bag of gingered currants at her.
A plump, brown-haired, dark-eyed lad of ten, he was a good-natured combination of lively curiosity and unquenchable enthusiasm. He and his mother, Lady Joanna, had come to live on the Isle of Desire three years earlier. Clare was very fond of both of them. As her own family had dwindled down to nothing, leaving her alone in the world, she had grown very close to William and Joanna.
"Who is here, William?" Clare braced herself for the answer. Every inhabitant on Desire, with the exception of herself, had been eagerly anticipating this day for weeks. She was the only one who was not looking forward to the selection of a new lord for Desire.
At least she was to have a choice of husbands, she reminded herself. That was more than many women in her position got.
"Tis the first of the suitors you
Third, it is absolutely essential that my husband be a learned man, one who is capable of reading and who enjoys intellectual discourse. I will wish to engage in much conversation with him, especially during the cold winter months when we shall both be obliged to spend a great deal of time together indoors.
I trust my three requirements are quite plain and that my recipe is clear. There should be no problem in selecting several candidates from among your acquaintances.
Please send these suitors to me at your earliest convenience. I will make my choice as quickly as possible and inform you of my decision.
Written at the manor of Desire, the seventh of April.
Gareth refolded the letter, aware of the unholy amusement in his father's eyes. "I wonder how she set about creating her recipe for a perfect lord and husband."
Thurston chuckled. "I suspect she took the basic elements from some minstrel's romantic ballad. You know the sort. They generally feature a chivalrous hero who slays evil magicians for sport and vows undying love to his lady."
"A lady who usually belongs to another man," Gareth muttered. "The hero's liege lord, for example. Aye, I know the sort of song you mean. I do not care for such, myself."
"The ladies love them."
Gareth shrugged. "How many candidates will you send, my lord?"
"I am a great believer in indulging females up to a point. I shall allow Lady Clare to make her choice from between two suitors."
Gareth's brow rose. "Not three or four?"
"Nay. In my experience one only asks for trouble when one grants a woman too many choices."
"Two suitors, then. Myself and one other."
"Aye."
"Who shall I be competing against?"
Thurston grinned. "Sir Nicholas of Seabern. Good luck to you, son. The lady's requirements are simple, are they not? Her recipe specifies a man who is of moderate size, much given to laughter, and able to read."
Gareth handed the letter back to his father. "She is fortunate, is she not? I meet one of her requirements. I can read."
1
Clare was in the convent gardens with Margaret, the Prioress of Saint Hermione, when word reached her that the first of the suitors was on the Isle of Desire.
"A grand company of men has arrived, Lady Clare. They are coming toward the village even now," William called.
Clare paused in the middle of a detailed discussion of the best method for extracting oil of roses. "I beg your pardon, madam," she said to Prioress Margaret.
"Of course." Margaret was a stoutly built woman of middle years. The wimple of her black Benedictine habit framed sharp eyes and gently rounded features. "This is an important event."
Clare turned to see young William hopping about in great excitement near the convent gatehouse. He waved his bag of gingered currants at her.
A plump, brown-haired, dark-eyed lad of ten, he was a good-natured combination of lively curiosity and unquenchable enthusiasm. He and his mother, Lady Joanna, had come to live on the Isle of Desire three years earlier. Clare was very fond of both of them. As her own family had dwindled down to nothing, leaving her alone in the world, she had grown very close to William and Joanna.
"Who is here, William?" Clare braced herself for the answer. Every inhabitant on Desire, with the exception of herself, had been eagerly anticipating this day for weeks. She was the only one who was not looking forward to the selection of a new lord for Desire.
At least she was to have a choice of husbands, she reminded herself. That was more than many women in her position got.
"Tis the first of the suitors you
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