Alison’s father dies leaving the family finances in turmoil. His business had been failing for some time, and he’d taken out loans and more loans. There is no money, and even their family home, a stately country mansion, is no longer their own.
Alison is doing what she can to cope, in the best tradition of Elinor Dashwood. She has a useless mother, and a sister with expensive boarding school fees. Alison herself finished school years ago, because her mother considered higher education to be a waste for her. ‘Sweetie darling,’ her mother said. ‘You’re not pretty, and not bright. It’s a dreadful burden on me, but if you’ll do a few teeny errands for me every now and then, I’ll keep my criticisms of your appearance and talents to a minimum. But darling, it’s good for you that I tell you everything you do wrong, otherwise you’ll never learn, will you? And it’s such a shame isn’t it, that you do everything wrong?’
Alison’s mother is a nightmare. Her father, as well as being useless at business, left all child-rearing responsibility to his wife. Dreadful man.
At least Alison has had some independence. In the face of her mother’s severe disapproval, she’s gone to work as a real estate agent, and is surprisingly good at it. And unlike many Sara Craven heroines, who are miserably downtrodden, Alison at least seems to love and care for her family, especially her beautiful and brilliant younger sister.
Nicholas now owns everything. The business, the house, he’s got it all. Alison’s only met him the once before her father’s funeral, and she stepped out of her usually shy ways to be a tad critical of him. I hadn’t realised how much of an impression this had made. When Nicholas approached Alison with an offer of marriage, an offer to keep her mother in the house and an offer to pay her sister’s school fees, I took him at his word. Nicholas said he would do all of these things, if Alison would organise his dinner parties.
Oh, I thought, once again startled that this is actually a thing, so this is going to be one of those romances where the hero gradually comes to appreciate the heroine beyond his admiration for her domestic skills?
No. Nicholas has fallen instantly in love with Alison, and has basically no idea how to behave around women. Sure, he does manage to be pleasant while they’re on their no sex honeymoon, after Alison clearly established that this is a no sex deal. But he’s pretty stuck in that dictatorial groove, and considers issuing orders to be the best way to get a girl to fall in love with him. When he’s around (and it’s not very often) he’s being cranky pants about how she’s a dogsbody to her mother, and how she insists on keeping her job with the silver fox real estate guy who keeps making eyes at her, and how she wears terrible clothes and says mean things to him.
It takes him a long time to work out that he needs to remove the mother before he can get anything sorted out comfortably.
Finally, the dinner party, the entire (fake) reason for their marriage, is arranged. And it’s a nightmare for everyone involved.
Rather than concerning yourself with Alison and Nicholas, who are inevitably having a horrible time, let’s imagine that you are the wife of one of Nicholas’ business cronies. Don’t imagine that you, a woman, are a business crony. If you were, your suffering would be quadrupled. You would spend the evening looking at Alison’s face. All evening, Alison’s face would say to you: I know you slept with my husband to get your promotion/business deal. I know you’re still sleeping with him. I will never say anything, ever, but I Know.
As a wife, you’re mostly safe from that face, but your evening is still one of intense suffering.
It begins when your husband gets home late from work. You’ve already organised the children’s meals, instructed the baby sitter, been thrown up on and changed at least once. You are wearing appropriate evening attire, although its 4:30 in the afternoon. You left work at 3 pm to get everything ready, and everyone looked at you, because nice for some, isn’t it?
Your husband barely apologises as he rushes to get ready. Then, you begin the (at least, I have no real sense of the distance, just that it’s not that close) two-and-a-half hour drive, through peak hour London traffic, and out into the country.
It gets dark. You have a tense non-argument when you make a mistake reading the map and you take a wrong turn.
It’s not your fault! Why are we doing this anyway, why can’t we do normal business dinners, in town, in a townhouse or at a restaurant?
You arrive, not really late, but stressed. There’s good wine, but as you gloomily predicted the starter is a shrimp cocktail served in an avocado half. It was either this or sliced melon wrapped in parma ham. Yuck.
The next three hours are enlivened by your hostess’s mother in law’s story of how her silly daughter can’t buy the correct shade of cream embroidery silk. It was really a mistake to ask how many shades there were. Ten minutes later, the woman is still listing them.
You spend most of your time baffled as to why your hostess is dressed like Maria on her way to meet the Von Trapp family in the Sound of Music, and why from her expression she looks on the point of bursting into Fantine’s song about the tigers coming at night from Les Miz.
What a disaster.
You arrive home in the early hours of the next morning. You drove. Your husband slept off the copious amounts of alcohol your host pressed on him. It’s not his fault, you know he couldn’t have refused business drinking. And it was inevitable that you would lose your way, at least twice.
As you sit at your dressing table and remove what’s left of your makeup, you weep. Your husband wordlessly comforts you.
Days later, he has a chance for a private word with Nicholas. Of course you will extend a reciprocal invitation to dine, but not just yet. Your husband obliquely references your trauma. He also, wordless, conveys his empathy with Nicholas’ dilemma. He understands the ‘married for dinner parties’ gambit. He, after all, is also British.
That Alison manages to stand up for herself and keep her real estate job in the face of Nicholas’s opposition is impressive. She’s more likeable than a number of Sara Craven heroines who share her lot, but she’s equally crazy. She becomes convinced that Nicholas and her younger sister are falling in love. She decides that she will sacrifice her love for their happiness. It gets worse: she actually tells them both that she’s prepared to stand aside, and they are naturally and properly horrified.
I’m all for a heroine going this crazy and indulging in this sort of fantasy, but it’s really awful to inflict it on the two people you claim to love most in the world.
The mother was terrible and made a satisfying villain, although at times I felt she crossed a sympathy line, where she urgently needed professional help for her worsening mental health problems.
I think I wouldn’t have been quite so confused for a good chunk of this book if Nicholas had said ‘dinner parties and babies’ in his proposal. If they don’t mention babies I have zero clue that the hero wants the heroine naked, and I was therefore shocked when he later revealed he’d fallen in love with her at first sight.