THE HEIR AND THE SPARE

Women weren’t quite livestock in the 19th century, but they weren’t that far from it, either. And human and animal husbandry get disturbingly close when we start talking about aristocrats and inheritance.
Anyone who’s watched THE TUDORS knows about Henry VIII’s need for a male heir. (And anyone who knows what happened when his daughter Elizabeth took over knows just how wrong he was!) Things hadn’t changed much by the Regency, which is why the romance landscape is littered with penniless younger sons desperately hoping for an attractive heiress.
It all comes from a very simple idea: if the oldest son gets almost everything, the family wealth and power will remain consolidated. For titled families, there was usually some kind of entail, a legal setup that kept all the major property with the holder of the title. There might (or might not) be additional family cash to provide daughters with dowries, or younger sons with a start in the church or military.
Which meant that the wife of a titled British aristocrat had exactly one job: produce an heir. Usually an “heir male,” as the entail would put it. A few peerages – usually ones with Royal or Scottish history – allowed the title to pass to a woman, but that was very rare.
Nothing but a boy would do.
You know how well that turned out for Henry VIII, and you may be aware that it didn’t work remarkably better for Princess Diana’s parents. They tragically lost a baby boy, but kept trying through more daughters – including Diana – until they had an heir. And not much of a marriage left.
Most aristocrats, though, had better luck. In the Gilded Age, the “Dollar Princesses” used the whole system to get some freedom for themselves. After they’d done their duty of producing, as Consuelo Vanderbilt, Duchess of Marlborough, famously put it, an “heir and a spare,” they were free to enjoy the partner-swapping fun of Edwardian house parties.
And they did.
All of this is in the room as Gilbert Saint Aubyn, Duke of Leith, contemplates a match with opera singer Ella Shane. Bad enough that she’s a “theatre person,” as he once insultingly called her before he knew better. Worse that she’s Jewish – and worse still, Irish. (Yes, in that order – another post for another day!)
Ella, though, is also a woman of unassailable virtue and fine character, and a revered artist, not a showgirl.
None of that would cut any ice if her Irish and Jewish blood were going to mix in the main line of Saint Aubyns. But Gil was married before, to a woman of his own class, with whom he had two sons, the requisite heir and spare.
The fact that he’s done his duty to the entail makes it barely possible for him to contemplate a marriage to Ella. Just barely.
By 1900, when Ella and Gil are attempting to find a way forward together, any number of “Gaiety Girls,” nicely-brought-up chorus girls from London’s Gaiety Theatre, had married aristocratic and even titled men. A performer, even one of a less exalted background, was not automatically unsuitable.
Though some people will still wonder why he bothers to marry her. At least until they meet Ella.
The only question now is, will she have him?

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Published on April 06, 2022 15:24
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