The Jane Austen Marriage Manual by Kim Izzo Page A

coming down for some horse show, for the show jumping. He works with horses, or runs a stable.”
    “I think he manages a bed and breakfast,” I corrected her.
    “I’m not sure how he got into first class. These days you get all sorts, what with frequent-flyer miles and all that nonsense.”
    I sighed with relief. That was that. He was out of my life forever.
    “They let
anyone
in these days,” I agreed.

16.
Up Chukka
    How very acceptable it must be, at Miss Taylor’s time of life, to be settled in a home of her own, and how important to her to be secure of a comfortable provision …
    —
Emma
    I had been wrong to try to avoid Orietta. It turned out she was quite the respected hostess in Palm Beach. She took such a liking to me, and I felt so comfortable with her, that during the flight I made a subtle admission that I was single and looking for romance. This seemed to thrill her; she was obviously one of those older women who lived to matchmake—a must-have for Austenesque success—and she assured me that there would be a slew of eligible men at the polo tournament fit for a lady. She would pick me up at my hotel on Sunday in time for brunch.
    Jennifer had ensured I would look the part and had booked me into The Breakers in Palm Beach. A hotel dripping in history, it looked like a museum with giant stone columns and ancient tapestries brought over from Europe at the beginning of the twentieth century. It was gorgeous and regal, but the owners wanted to change its stuffy image to appeal to hipsters. That’s where I came in and why I was given a free room for a week so I could write a story and blog for
Haute
. To be honest, it was my kind of place. I loved the old-world opulence, the architecture, and the fussy decor; it made me feel like I was in Europe. In particular, I loved their homemade strawberry daiquiri. What would Florida be without a pink cocktail in a curvy glass complete with straw? As I strolled the grounds sipping away, I stopped dead in my tracks beside a hotel shop window. On a mannequin was a whitehalter dress with an eyelet overlay and a full skirt, very 1950s, and very sexy. It was perfect for polo watching. Within minutes, I was standing in front of the dressing room mirror in the dress. It was perfect. I didn’t even look at the price tag. Before I left home I had cashed in all my investments, which were now sitting prettily in my bank account for just such an emergency. I only hoped that my new dress would pay better dividends than my stocks had.
    “What an adorable dress!” Orietta exclaimed when she arrived to pick me up. “The men won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”
    That was the idea.
    I smiled innocently. “I’m not exactly twenty,” I pointed out, though not daring to divulge my actual age. Orietta brushed my worries aside.
    “You’re gorgeous, that’s all men will notice,” she grinned.
    We walked to the circular driveway of The Breakers where Orietta’s husband, Anthony, was idling his Bentley. It was the color of vanilla and that made me want to lick it. The valet opened the rear door for me and I slid gracefully, I hoped, inside the ivory leather backseat.
    “Hi, Anthony,” I said cheerfully.
    Anthony caught my eye in the rearview mirror and nodded. He was obviously the strong, silent type. Orietta got in beside him and we were off.
    When we arrived at the IPC we left the car with the valet and walked along a brick path to the clubhouse. The brunch buffet was enormous; table after table was laden with platters of oysters, shrimp, bacon and eggs, you name it, even custom-made ice-cream sundaes. The clubhouse had a bar and a swimming pool, but we were led through the clubhouse and outside to a giant shaded patio overlooking the playing field. The field was such a bright green it looked like it had been painted. Maintenance crews were busy dashing up and down thefield, putting on finishing touches. There were no signs of horses yet, but I took deep breaths to