I overheard one of my suitor's whisper 'broodmare' to his valet. I was unfamiliar with the term and asked one of the grooms about it later. A broodmare is a female horse, past its prime, kept for the sole purpose of breeding. The Duke of Kendal was no longer in the running for my hand in marriage and was now on the list of men I wanted to kill.
My name is Princess Sophie, only daughter of Lord Edward the Black. The trickle of prospective husbands had officially started when I turned sixteen and turned into an invasion when I turned eighteen. All levels of nobility beseeched my parents including earls, viscounts and barons. There was even a count who came all the way from France. It was hard to see the man hidden under the wig, neckerchief, waistcoat, corset, and stockings. His shoes were nice, with an embroidered flower on the ankle strap. The only words he spoke were 'Oui or Non' through his translator.
The arranged marriage was a forgone conclusion. As an only child, there was a chance I would inherit my father's lands. My parents were contemporary enough to allow me to participate in the decision-making process. I had yet to find anything tolerable, much less interesting, but I knew I was running out of time. There were only so many men of a certain status. The marriage of state needed to form an alliance of title, power, or land. Most of the suitors from last year were close to my age. This year, most of the callers were my father's age, if not older. The Marquee of York was 58, walked with a cane, and coughed like he had consumption. The thought of him atop me nearly brought up my breakfast.
We have narrowed the choices down to three suitors, the best of the worst is how I am thinking of them. The Earl of Whitby is 38 years old. His last wife died in childbirth half a year ago. He is stuffy, arrogant, and owns a huge swath of land. He is looking for a new wife to raise his five children. I like children, but five? We had tea together last week and made light conversation. I mentioned I enjoyed reading, and the earl conceded that I would be allowed to read when everything else was done. With five children under 12, would everything ever be done?
The Duke of Dumfries is 28 years old and doesn't talk much. He gives the impression that he doesn't care if he marries or not. I get the feeling he is being maneuvered by his family as much as me. He requires a wife of stature for his title and will need to produce an heir of course. There were long gaps of silence in our first two meetings, and the conversation had to be drawn from him like water from a well.
Lord Ballard was 34, with a pronounced stutter. He spoke less than any man I had ever met. When he did speak, even to answer yes or no, it was painfully slow. He turned bright red and fought the words out of his mouth with anger. I don't hold the stutter against him, but I worry that saying good morning to me would make him furious with the effort. Any attempt to get him to speak makes him exasperated. Ballard needs a wife for when he comes into power. His father is a duke, and his heath is failing. Lord Ballard will be a duke soon, alone or married. I don't think Lord Ballard has ever talked to a woman before meeting me. He has lived a life of solitude until being forced to shop for a wife to fulfil his duty. That anger sure scares me.
THIS IS AN EXCERPT FROM
GERARD'S HOMECOMING,
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