The third instalment of Amanda Grange's Regency satire of Bridget Jones's Diary
- in which our intrepid heroine thinks about her ideal man.
For the first 2 instalments, follow the links at the left
Mama was in high spirits, which is even worse than Mama in low spirits.
‘Now then, Charlotte, I want you to look your best tonight,’ she said, bustling into the room with a cake-like confection in silver gauze. ‘It’s high time you were married, and we need to do everything we can to make sure you find a husband at Aunt Anne’s ball. If this silver gauze doesn’t do the trick then I’ll eat my turban.’
‘I’m too old for silver gauze,’ I protested, eyeing it with misgiving.
‘Nonsense, your cousin Tallulah was wearing silver gauze when she met her husband and she was thirty-two.’
‘Maybe I don’t want a husband,’ I said.
‘Don’t be silly, Charlotte, of course you do. Now then, arms up . . . and on it goes. There, now, doesn’t that look lovely?I want you to be on your best behaviour tonight because there’s someone I want you to meet.’
‘His name’s Lord Rotherwell, and he’s in need of a wife.’
‘I don’t want to marry someone who’s in need of a wife.’
‘We can’t all be swept off our feet like your sister, you know, and Lord Rotherwell’s very nice. He’s a widower with seven children and they’re in need of a mother.’
Why is it that Mama can’t see I’m not cut out to be a nursemaid? I’m cut out to be a countess with a massive house and hundreds of servants and an adoring husband who’s rich, handsome, and the sexiest man alive.
I felt it was time to make her see it.
‘I’m twenty-five not forty-five,’ I began. ‘I don’t think —’
‘Good, dear,’ said Mama with a simpering laugh. ‘Don’t think. It makes life so much easier.’