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Love In A Cold Climate Tie In, by Nancy Mitford
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Love in a Cold Climate is the sequel to Nancy Mitford's bestselling novel The Pursuit of Love. 'How lovely - green velvet and silver. I call that a dream, so soft and delicious, too.' She rubbed a fold of the skirt against her cheek. 'Mine's silver lame, it smells like a bird cage when it gets hot but I do love it. Aren't you thankful evening skirts are long again?' Ah, the dresses! But oh, the monotony of the Season, with its endless run of glittering balls. Even fabulously fashionable Polly Hampton - with her startling good looks and excellent social connections - is beginning to wilt under the glare. Groomed for the perfect marriage by her mother, fearsome Lady Montdore, Polly instead scandalises society by declaring her love for her uncle 'Boy' Dougdale, the Lecherous Lecturer, and promptly eloping to France. But the consequences of this union no one could quite expect . . . Love in a Cold Climate is the wickedly funny follow-up to The Pursuit of Love. 'Entirely original, inimitable and irresistible' Philip Hensher, Spectator
- Sales Rank: #11391027 in Books
- Published on: 2000-10-03
- Released on: 2000-10-03
- Format: International Edition
- Original language: English
- Dimensions: 7.09" h x 1.22" w x 4.33" l,
- Binding: Paperback
- 256 pages
Review
"A hugely enjoyable tale, read to perfection by Prunella Scales." The Scotsman 7/12/96
About the Author
Nancy Mitford (1904-1973) was born in London, the eldest child of the second Baron Redesdale. She had written four novels, including Wigs on the Green (1935), before the success of The Pursuit of Love in 1945, which she followed with Love in a Cold Climate (1949), The Blessing (1951) and Don't Tell Alfred (1960). She also wrote four works of biography. Nancy Mitford was awarded the CBE in 1972.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
I am obliged to begin this story with a brief account of the Hampton family, because it is necessary to emphasise the fact once and for all that the Hamptons were very grand as well as very rich. A short session with Burke or with Debrett would be quite enough to make this clear, but these large volumes are not always available, while the books on the subject by Lord Montdore’s brother-in-law, Boy Dougdale, are all out of print. His great talent for snobbishness and small talent for literature have produced three detailed studies of his wife’s forebears, but they can only be read now by asking a bookseller to get them at second hand. (The bookseller will put an advertisement in his trade paper, The Clique: “H. Dougdale, any by.” He will be snowed under with copies at about a shilling each and will then proudly inform his customer that he has “managed to find what you want,” implying hours of careful search on barrows, dirt cheap, at 30/- the three.) Georgiana Lady Montdore and Her Circle, The Magnificent Montdores and Old Chronicles of Hampton, I have them beside me as I write, and see that the opening paragraph of the first is:
“Two ladies, one dark, one fair, both young and lovely, were driving briskly towards the little village of Kensington on a fine May morning. They were Georgiana, Countess of Montdore and her great friend Walburga, Duchess of Paddington, and they made a delightfully animated picture as they discussed the burning question of the hour—should one or should one not subscribe to a parting present for poor dear Princess Lieven?”
This book is dedicated, by gracious permission, to Her Royal Highness, the Grand Duchess Peter of Russia, and has eight full-page illustrations.
It must be said that when this trilogy first came out it had quite a vogue with the lending-library public.
“The family of Hampton is ancient in the West of England, indeed Fuller, in his Worthies mentions it as being of stupendous antiquity.”
Burke makes it out just a shade more ancient than does Debrett, but both plunge back into the mists of mediaeval times from which they drag forth ancestors with P. G. Wodehouse names, Ugs and Berts and Threds, and Walter Scott fates. “His Lordship was attainted—beheaded—convicted—proscribed—exiled—dragged from prison by a furious mob—slain at the Battle of Crécy—went down in the White Ship—perished during the third crusade—killed in a duel.” There were very few natural deaths to record in the early misty days. Both Burke and Debrett linger with obvious enjoyment over so genuine an object as this family, unspoilt by the ambiguities of female line and deed poll. Nor could any of those horrid books, which came out in the nineteenth century, devoted to research and aiming to denigrate the nobility, make the object seem less genuine. Tall, golden-haired barons, born in wedlock and all looking very much alike, succeeded each other at Hampton, on lands which had never been bought or sold, generation after generation until, in 1770, the Lord Hampton of the day brought back, from a visit to Versailles, a French bride, a Mademoiselle de Montdore. Their son had brown eyes, a dark skin and presumably, for it is powdered in all the pictures of him, black hair. This blackness did not persist in the family. He married a golden-haired heiress from Derbyshire, and the Hamptons reverted to their blue-and-gold looks, for which they are famous to this day. The son of the Frenchwoman was rather clever and very worldly; he dabbled in politics and wrote a book of aphorisms, but his chief claim to fame was his great and lifelong friendship with the Regent, which procured him, among other favours, an earldom. His mother’s family having all perished during the Terror in France, he took her name as his title. Enormously rich, he spent enormously; he had a taste for French objects of art and acquired, during the years which followed the Revolution, a splendid collection of such things, including many pieces from the royal establishments, and others which had been looted out of the Hotel de Montdore in the rue de Varenne. To make a suitable setting for this collection, he then proceeded to pull down at Hampton the large plain house that Adam had built for his grandfather and to drag over to England stone by stone (as modern American millionaires are supposed to do) a Gothic French chateau. This he assembled round a splendid tower of his own designing, covered the walls of the rooms with French panelling and silks and set it in a formal landscape which he also designed and planted himself. It was all very grand and very mad, and in the between wars period of which I write, very much out of fashion. “I suppose it is beautiful,” people used to say, “but frankly I don’t admire it.”
This Lord Montdore also built Montdore House in Park Lane and a castle on a crag in Aberdeenshire. He was really much the most interesting and original character the family produced, but no member of it deviated from a tradition of authority. A solid, worthy, powerful Hampton can be found on every page of English history, his influence enormous in the West of England and his counsels not unheeded in London.
The tradition was carried on by the father of my friend, Polly Hampton. If an Englishman could be descended from the gods it would be he, so much the very type of English nobleman that those who believed in aristocratic government would always begin by pointing to him as a justification of their argument. It was generally felt, indeed, that if there were more people like him the country would not be in its present mess, even Socialists conceding his excellence, which they could afford to do since there was only one of him and he was getting on. A scholar, a Christian, a gentleman, finest shot in the British Isles, best-looking Viceroy we ever sent to India, a popular landlord, a pillar of the Conservative Party, a wonderful old man, in short, who nothing common ever did or mean. My cousin Linda and I, two irreverent little girls whose opinion makes no odds, used to think that he was a wonderful old fraud, and it seemed to us that in that house it was Lady Montdore who really counted. Now Lady Montdore was forever doing common things and mean, and she was intensely unpopular, quite as much disliked as her husband was loved, so that anything he might do that was considered not quite worthy of him, or which did not quite fit in with his reputation, was immediately laid at her door. “Of course she made him do it.” On the other hand, I have often wondered whether without her to bully him and push him forward and plot and intrigue for him and “make him do it,” whether, in fact, without the help of those very attributes which caused her to be so much disliked, her thick skin and ambition and boundless driving energy, he would ever have done anything at all noteworthy in the world.
Most helpful customer reviews
25 of 26 people found the following review helpful.
Lady Montdore finally finds the daughter she never had.
By Paul Scott
This is a fun, interesting novel that is not for anyone who does not love irony. It is perhaps best appreciated by people who may like Waugh (I think they were friends). Possibly if anyone likes Jan Austen, this novel will please you as well. The similarities to Austen are only in the stucture of certain scenes, and the happy, silliness of the plot wonderfully subverts Jane Austen. Its a really sad and comic look at love and women. It is perhaps mostly about the changing times for women of a particular class. The only reason I do not give it five stars is that I feel it ends too abruptly. But the last scene is magnificent. Look for the paralels between it and the last scenes of sense and sensibility. Its great!
This book is not for the girly, sentimental novel reading sort unless you have a good sense of humor.
13 of 13 people found the following review helpful.
The Pressure to Marry Well Was Always Great
By Stephanie De Pue
"Love in a Cold Climate," is certainly one of the most popular novels written by blue-blooded British author Nancy Mitford who was very popular in the earlier twentieth century. If you consider England between first and second world wars, few girls were as famous as the Mitfords, five beautiful daughters of a well-known upper class "county family" as the British would call them. Nancy, writer of the family, knew her debutante balls well. In fact, she later came up with a way to define English social class by defining speech as "U"for upper class; and "non-U" for those who weren't.
The Mitford girls, Nancy tells us, were "brought up to marry, not fall in love." Unfortunately, of the actual Mitford girls, only one did as she was expected to do. Deborah (Debo) married the eleventh Duke of Devonshire. Unity, however, hung around Germany, striking up warmer friendships with the Nazis, and expressing herself more forcefully in their support, than suited the British public. Diana went and married Sir Oswald Mosley, leader of the British fascists, who was "detained" for WWII. Jessica ran off to Hollywood, no less, took American citizenship, and wrote the whistle-blowing The American Way of Death a heavily influential indictment of the funeral business. Nancy did marry an "Honorable," but then she turned around and published The Pursuit of Love (Vintage), and LOVE IN A COLD CLIMATE, two slender novels, only novella length really, that pretty well blew the whistle on society, and on the novelist's family, the real-life Mitfords.
For everyone agrees that the central family of these novels, the Radletts, are the Mitfords to the life. Eccentric, choleric father; vague amiable mother; clamorous, animal-loving, quicksilver charming children. In LOVE IN A COLD CLIMATE, Polly Hampton has long been prepared for the perfect marriage by her mother, the frighteningly ambitious Lady Montdore. But Polly, with her great beauty and perfect upper-crust connections, is bored to tears by her fashionable London debut season. Polly has just come from India, you see, where her father served as Viceroy; she claims to have hoped that society in a colder climate would be less obsessed with the pursuit of love. But our Polly, seemingly so aloof, has a long-held secret that leads to the death of her mother's dreams and her own disinheritance. However, an elderly duke begins pursuing the disgraced Polly; a callow potential heir curries favor with her parents. Nothing goes as you might expect, but in the end everyone finds their own unconventional ideas of happiness.
Mind you, the pressure to marry well was always great. At one point, a powerful peeress advises Fanny, the narrator,"'Don't you go marrying anybody, for love. Remember that love cannot last; it never, never does; but if you marry all this it's for your life. One day, don't forget,you'll be middle-aged and think what that must be like for a woman who can't have, say, a pair of diamond earrings. A woman of my age needs diamonds near her face, to give a sparkle. Then at mealtimes, sitting with all the unimportant people for ever and ever. And no car. Not a very nice prospect,you know.'"
But Fanny, our narrator, hardly seems to need warning. She remarks at one point, "Always be civil to the girls, you never know who they may marry," is an aphorism which has saved many an English spinster from being treated like an Indian widow."
On a deeper level, however, Fanny seems to reflect her creator's ambivalence on whether to marry for love, or "all this." But there's still substantial ambivalence on that question.
LOVE IN A COLD CLIMATE can certainly be characterized as chick lit, still it is one of Nancy Mitford's most beloved novels. It is a sparkling romantic comedy, bright and charming that vividly evokes the lost glamor of aristocratic life in England between the wars. It seems to pick up right where TV's Upstairs, Downstairs: The Complete Series - 40th Anniversary Collection left off. Not to mention Evelyn Waugh's Vile Bodies, and Brideshead Revisited. Trust me, if you liked them, you'll love this.
20 of 22 people found the following review helpful.
Kindle Bonus
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The Kindle edition by Penguin Classics (ASIN: B002RI9YOQ) also contains the novels "The Pursuit of Love" and "The Blessing"
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