Bride of Choice

Chapter I: From Conversation to Bargain

The evening Wade Lambert returned to Idleworth Manor from his trip to London turned out to entail everything he had avoided for the last seven months of his eight and twenty years. Amidst the blinding cutlery and flickering candles at dinner, his mother, her glossy black tresses done in the popular French fashion and a hint of lavender trailing her, said little. However, there was a look (and there is something in a mother's eyes!) as her gaze often shifted across the table at his father. Mr. Lambert, seated at the head, wore an all too familiar expression, indicating there would be a talk later (the twitching of his moustache being evidence enough). He had tried to get away once they were through but was summoned straight after to his father's lavishly furnished wood-panelled study with its high ceilings, impressive book collection, and heavily polished walnut chairs.

"Come now, my boy," Mr. Lambert was saying nearly thirty minutes into their meeting. Like many fathers, he had learned the hard way that being agreeable was the best approach in navigating his unpredictable son.

"I promised your mother you'd reach a decision before we step out that door," he pointed to the heavily carved woodwork, which proved more an accessory than its assumed purpose. He failed to explain that he and Mrs. Lambert had discussed everything weeks ago, (nor did he mention she waited just outside the door for the end results). It was only today she cornered him, demanding he speak to Wade and officially settle the terms.

The young man sighed from his languid position on the sofa, his wavy locks curtaining a pair of soulful peepers. "Why dost thou trouble thy worthless son, Mr. Lambert?" He yawned, then waved a well-kept hand. "Let Mother decide, since she's so bent on it." And crossing his long legs, added in an indifferent tone: "I have no interest in it."

Mr. Lambert crossed the room in two strides and positioned himself before the young man. "Your mother has had her say. Why on earth do you think we're having this conversation?" he said, throwing up his hands. "Now you will choose one of the three she's chosen for you—"

"Three?" Wade suddenly chuckled. "That couldn't have been difficult considering every bachelorette within a mile's radius would have offered to be your daughter-in-law. Anne would've been an interesting option, wouldn't you agree?"

"Your mother is very particular," Mr. Lambert said in a no-nonsense tone. "And the fewer choices, the better. They're healthy, sensible girls, and any of them will make you a decent wife."

"Well, if that's so, then you may choose one," his son replied, sounding as though he were about to doze off, but Mr. Lambert knew very well he wouldn't (yes, that's how many times they've done this).

Mr. Lambert turned away, looking defeated, but he was actually deep in thought. He twisted his wedding band several turns, his bushy brows working tremendously. At last, he blew out an impatient breath, disturbing his well-brushed pepper-and-salt moustache.

"Don't recall my father having this much trouble with me when I was his age."

It was true because the situation could not be more dissimilar. Raymond Lambert had been bent on marrying Miss Florence DeDillia while his father, opposed to the idea, tried convincing him against the arrangement; he'd even sought his wife's assistance. However, she ultimately sided with her son, reinforcing his desire to marry Miss Florence after she heard the girl in question would inherit an unspotted box of jewels once married, not to mention the handsome sum she would receive when she earned her married status.

Wade rose from his seat at last (undoubtedly bored with staying in the same place for so long) and, taking up his coat, said in his uninterested way,

"If it pleases you, sir, you may tell Mother I've no interest in the affair she's put together solely for her own amusement and that she may do as she wishes."