Eversleigh Manor provides the perfect location for hit new television show, Lady Jane Investigates. But when the film crew descends en masse, no one could have predicted that romance would be brewing before the clapperboard had snapped its last. Least of all Guy Portias, heir to the manor and favourite beau of leading lady, Richenda Fox.

And Guy's rash proposal of marriage in the drunken wake of the after-show party is only the first of his worries. After all, his mother has her heart set on running Country House Weekends for the discerning holidaymaker and her new employee, Honor, has a talent for mass catering . . . and for making Guy feel a little warm under the collar.

But Honor is preoccupied with her own problems - a fickle ex-boyfriend is hovering in the wings and her best friend, Henty, seems inordinately distracted by her smouldering new groom, Travis. Throw in a long-lost mother, a philandering husband and a floozy of a florist and watch the residents of Eversleigh village work themselves into a lather of epic proportions.

‘Colourful and engaging – Jilly Cooper without the puns’
Evening Standard

‘All the essential ingredients for a delightful romp’
Daily Express

‘Warm and brilliantly written’
heat

Guy Portias knew the hangover from hell when he felt it.

He lay as still as he could and tried to rate it on a scale of one to ten.

As he couldn't even lift his head off the pillow it had to be at least an eight. The tight band around the back of his skull confirmed a port hangover, which was bad — that could possibly mean vomiting, followed by the shakes, depending on what he'd mixed it with. He tried to remember the night before. Hazy images came back to him, in no particular order.

He remembered the wrap party, to celebrate the end of filming at Eversleigh Manor.

He remembered suckling pig and syllabub and goblets of claret being raised in endless toasts in the huge marquee.

He remembered a mock sword fight on the lawn with the leading man. And being trounced - he wasn't to know that fencing was a prerequisite at drama school. Shit -he'd better make sure the swords had been put back safely in their place over the fireplace in the hall before his mother noticed they were missing.

He remembered Richenda, radiant in a white chiffon dress with a handkerchief hem, her glossy dark curls tumbling over her shoulders, looking as enchanting as some elfin ...
 
Bride.

Why did that word strike a note of recognition? Why did he get a sense of discomfort and alarm? With a growing unease, he lifted his eyelids to see if he could gain a clue.

The first sign that things had got seriously out of control was the tapestry hangings round the bed. They could only mean one thing. He was in the master bedroom, in the master's bed - the bed that hadn't been slept in since his father had died in it four years ago. Guy groaned. That was sacrilege.

The second sign was the arm stretched across his chest. It was long and elegant, as slender and white as a swan's neck. His eye ran down its length to the wrist, on which was hung a pretty little diamond watch. Then he looked at the hand, his heart beating with trepidation. He had a shrewd suspicion of what he might see there, but was hoping against hope that it was the remnant of an alcohol-infused dream that was feeding his premonition.

But no. There it was, on the ring finger of her left hand. A whopping great ruby, as deep and dark a red as the port he'd been drinking, surrounded by a sprinkling of diamonds. His grandmother's engagement ring. The one that had, until last night, been incarcerated in the Portias safe awaiting a suitable recipient.

Beside him, Richenda stirred. Their eyes met. He knew without looking that his would be shot with tiny veins. Hers, by contrast, were clear: bright whites surrounding the mesmerizing green orbs that had been partially responsible for her meteoric rise to fame. Eyes you could drown in, agreed the press, rather unimaginatively. Eyes that could drive you mad and make you lose all reason, thought Guy. Eyes the colour of absinthe, that insidious liquor that had driven so many men to the brink of insanity. And like Toulouse, Vincent and Paul before him, he'd lost the fucking plot.

Her mouth curved into a smile. The full bottom lip and the pronounced bow above combined to give her a permanent moue that promised kisses of incredible softness; kisses that Guy knew kept their promise. But that wasn't the point. You didn't propose to a girl just because she kissed like an angel.

Richenda lifted her hand and ran her finger across his cheek.

'My nearly husband,' she murmured.

Guy gulped. Now was the moment he should retract his proposal. Put it down to a surfeit of Taylor's; explain that he was prone to acts of foolhardiness and impulsiveness when he overdid it. It was practically his party piece, proposing to girls when he was drunk. He never expected them to take him seriously. But Richenda obviously had.

He knew there would be a high price to pay if he backtracked. There wasn't a woman on the planet who would take kindly to a man reneging on his demands for her hand in marriage. It was, after all, the highest insult, the ultimate rejection. He imagined there would be hysterics, recriminations, tantrums, possible physical violence. But how long could that reasonably last? If she had any pride she'd take the first available train back to London. So he would have to tolerate two hours of torture at the most.

Compared to a possible lifetime.

In, An Eligible Bachelor, bestselling author Veronica Henry, has done it again with a tale of the Cotswolds that makes Emmerdale look like The Waltons . . .

TO SNARE YOUR OWN ELIGIBLE BACHELOR

Archetypal Eligible Bachelors like Guy Portias, complete with their own ancestral seat, are becoming rare beasts indeed.  However, if you are lucky enough to snare one, here are a few tips to surviving a country house weekend at his Cotswold manor house:

OCCUPATION
Career girls get off here.  Even with staff, running a house and the EB’s social life will be a full-time job, and that’s before the children are taken into account - once you have snared your EB and led him up the aisle, you will need to produce an heir.  So forget film-producing, magazine-editing or trading bonds.   Once the nursery is filled, you may be able to dabble in something part-time – antiques, interior decorating, selling something tasteful but innovative over the internet – but on no account let this rule your life.  The Eligible Bachelor is your career from now on, so don’t come across as too driven.  Whatever you do, make it sound vague and somewhat temporary.

DRESS
Your wardrobe must be tasteful, stylish, understated, and must not scream of conspicuous Posh ‘n’ Becks-style spending [inconspicuous spending is fine: you will need some basic quality investment items – see below].  You needn’t go as far as pie-crust collars and pearls, but avoid the following: anything too tight, anything too short, animal print anything, plunging necklines, leather, PVC, zips, studs, visible underwear.  Tattoos and piercings are a definite no.  Stay as close to your original hair colour as possible, and avoid anything too high maintenance as finding as finding a decent hairdresser near the ancestral seat might be risky.  Also avoid high maintenance false nails, though it is important to have nicely manicured hands. 

Think linen, silk, tweed, suede, cashmere/lambswool in a palette of camel, khaki, grey, white, pale pink/blue.  Jewellery should be discreet but can be witty and the best way of expressing individuality.  Shoes, handbags, belts and luggage should always be expensive – avoid like the plague anything that looks as if it might have come from the back streets of Bangkok, even  if it’s the real thing.

Investment items include: a good coat [preferably cashmere, camel or navy], a wax coat, proper wellies [the current fad for decorated wellies must be approached with caution – toile de jouy/polka dots are fine worn with tongue firmly in cheek, but if you want to be taken seriously green are essential.  Stick with Hunters – anything more elaborate and people will expect you to actually chase and kill things].  Also indulge in plenty of warm underwear as the ancestral seat is likely to be chilly – you can crank up the heating once you are mistress of the house.  Scarves – one devoree, one cashmere, one silk Hermes-style.  A good but plain watch – if in doubt, stick to black Roman numerals and a leather strap; diamonds instead of numbers are definitely flashy and tacky.  One pair of loafers – as an exception these can be leopard/zebraskin.  A good Chanel-style tweed jacket with matching skirt.  Selection of white linen shirts and round neck sweaters/cardigans.

If you smoke, it must be Marlboro Light.  Embassy, B&H, Regal etc are a dead giveaway; Cartier looks as if you are trying too hard. 

A suggested weekend wardrobe:

For daytime:
Wide-legged grey wool trousers, white shirt [untucked], cashmere sweater, suede loafers, silver charm bracelet.

For evening:
Wrap around cashmere cardigan, floaty silk skirt [not too short], funky necklace/earrings [either/or, not both], fitted black high-heeled boots or fun beaded/sequinned mules [these should not fight with your jewellery].  

For outside:
Forget expensive designer jeans – stick to Levi 501s.  One big roll neck sweater, cashmere scarf, green wellies.  Hats can mean the difference between survival and hypothermia but need to be treated with caution.  Only those with poker straight blonde hair and lashings of confidence should plump for the Australian bush-style hat.  Trilby/fedora-style hats can look a bit J-Lo, flat caps a bit Madonna.  As a compromise, Barbour do an excellent wax-proof baseball-style cap that is easy to carry off and looks pretty authentic.

For church on Sunday, followed by drinks party:
Tweed Chanel-style suit, cashmere sweater underneath, black boots, devoree scarf.  Take off jacket for drinks party.

Also invest in a subtle but arresting signature scent.  Spend the morning in Liberty’s perfumery until you find the perfect concoction.  Sprinkle a few drops on his collars/hanky/pillow when he’s not looking, so he will be constantly reminded of your presence.

PARENTS
The EBs parents may well still be ensconced in the family seat; ready to bow out when the EB gets married [no pressure!]  The EB’s mother will have undue influence on him, and your life will undoubtedly be easier if you keep her sweet.  This means bringing her a thoughtful, but never vulgar, gift.  Choose from scented candles [expensive, or they will smell like plug-in air freshener.  I recommend Kenneth Turner or Dypthique], something luxurious for the kitchen [River Café olive oil, or a pannetone from Carluccio], or something for the garden.  If you know a Gertrude Jekyll or Vita Sackville West type, beg some unusual cuttings from their herbaceous border – this will score serious points!  If not, Crabtree and Evelyn Gardener’s Hand Cream works every time.

Don’t bring wine – this somehow suggests that they haven’t got enough to go round, and anyway you won’t be able to trump whatever is lurking in the cellar.

If daddy is still around, he won’t be hard to charm.  He is the only person it is permitted to flirt with shamelessly.

CUISINE
An eligible bachelor will expect his future wife to be able to cook, and you might be called upon to rustle something up during the weekend.  If you usually rely on St Michael for your culinary inspiration, don’t reveal the awful truth until it is too late for him to backtrack [eg after the wedding].  You don’t need an extensive repertoire, just good country cooking, usually involving large amounts of potato.  I recommend that you have the following up your sleeve – Delia or Nigella will provide excellent recipes:

Shepherds pie
Fish pie
Beef in beer
Chicken/pheasant in cider

For starters or at drinks parties, all you ever need to serve is best smoked salmon on soda or granary bread, squirted with lemon and black pepper and handed round with drinks.  Find a good supplier – Irish or Scottish - and don’t be stingy with the salmon.  If it’s good enough, no-one will care that it’s all you ever serve. 

Puddings need to be stodgy or boozy, preferably both.  Trifle, tiramisu and apple crumble are all foolproof.

HORSES, DOGS AND AGAS
You must learn not to fear any of the above, as they will inevitably be an integral part of the EB’s life in the country. 

Horses:
You do not need to learn to ride.  An old back or knee injury [preferably incurred whilst hunting, or perhaps skiing] will illicit sympathy and excuse you from becoming directly involved in any equestrian activities.  But you must be able to admire a horse, slap its neck confidently and hold its head without flinching while the rider mounts.  Your local riding stable should be able to help.

Dogs:
There is no getting away from the fact that dogs are an essential part of country life, and your Eligible Bachelor is quite likely to own one – and if not his mother certainly will.  You must not show fear or dislike of their canine companions, no matter how repelled you are inside.   The breeds you are most likely to come into contact with are Jack Russells [small and snappy], spaniels [medium and soppy], and Labradors [large and smelly].  The general rule of thumb is the larger they are the more stupid they are, and more likely to poke their nose where it’s not wanted.  The quickest way to get rid of unwanted snouts is to hurl a big stick over the other side of the ha-ha.

Agas:
These can be as terrifying as horses on first acquaintance, and also need handling with confidence.  I recommend that you pay a visit to your nearest showroom to pick up a few tips on Aga-wrangling.  Here you will be able to practice lifting up the hot-plates and flicking open the doors without making a fool of yourself in front of your intended.  They also do fabulous cookery demonstrations – why not kill two birds with one stone!