Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Publisher Page
Lady in Waiting
ISBN # 978-1-78651-757-9
©Copyright Lady Victoria Hervey 2016
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright March 2016
Edited by Nicki Richards
Finch Books
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Finch Books.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Finch Books. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2016 by Finch Books, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Finch Books is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
The Wristband Diaries
LADY IN WAITING
Lady Victoria Hervey
Book one in The Wristband Diaries series
Lady Frederica Felton, or Freddie to her friends, is poised to return to Mapleton Manor boarding school for Sixth Form. After a summer at home in Monaco, Freddie is more than ready to see her friends again…and she’ll find herself in numerous escapades along the way, collecting wristbands as she goes.
Midnight feasts, great escapes and ghost stories—life at Mapleton Manor is anything but boring, especially for someone like Freddie. Whilst fiercely loyal and fun loving, she is the go-to girl for contraband and fashion advice. Freddie is the girl to know.
But the next couple of years won’t all be fun and games. As well as exam pressure there are rotten teachers to contend with, and a friend Freddie isn’t so sure has her best interests at heart…
There are difficult choices to be made. First love to experience. Heartbreak to be had. But with her friends at her side and her fearless nature, will Freddie take her world by storm?
Dedication
To those that inspired this work of fiction. Thank you. This book is dedicated to everybody that helped me become the person I am today, especially to my Yorkshire nanny June Rawlings who taught me I could accomplish anything I put my mind to—I love you.
Since I spent most of my childhood at boarding school (age 8-18) I thought I’d give you an insider’s view of a teenage girl growing up in the mid 80s/90s.
Thank you also to my mother for giving me this life adventure.
I’m still to this day in touch with many friends I first shared dorms with and whose characters helped shape this book.
All names have been changed. Guess at your own peril.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Olympic: International Olympic Committee
VW Golf: Vollkswagen Group
Snickers: Mars Inc.
Aston Martin: Aston Martin Lagonda Limited
Rolls Royce: Bayerische Motoren Werke AG
Jaguar: Jaguar Land Rover, Tata Motors
Monte Carlo Casino: Société des Bains de Mer et du Cercle des Étrangers à Monaco
Aga: Aga AB
Skittles: Wrigley Company, Mars Inc.
Kool Aid: Kraft Foods
Nutella: Ferrero SpA
Marmite: Unilever
Wagon Wheels: Burton Foods
Hartleys jelly: Hain Daniels Group
Monster Munch: Smith’s Snackfood Company
Boost Bars: Cadbury UK Limited
Skips: KP Snacks
Crunchie: Cadbury UK Limited
Ritz Mini Crackers: Leo Corp.
Curly Wurly: Cadbury UK Limited
Dip Dabs: Tangerine Confectionary Limited
Pot Noodles: Unilever
Jelly Tots: Rowntree Mackintosh Confectionary
Jaffa Cakes: McVitie’s and Price
Hobnobs: McVitie’s and Price
Tang: Mondelēz International.
Speedos: Pentland Group Plc
Barbie: Mattel Inc.
Dunlop Flash Greens: Dunlop International Limited
Rolls Royce Phantom: Bayerische Motoren Werke AG
The African Queen: Gilbert Vissian
The African Queen: Horizon Pictures
Mars bar: Mars Inc.
Range Rover: Jaguar Land Rover, Tata Motors, Land Rover Holdings
Doc Martens: Permira
Doritos: Frito-Lay
Camel cigarettes: R.J. Reynolds Tobacco
Barratt’s: Tangerine Confectionary Limited
More Magazine: Bauer Verlags gruppe
Robinsons Squash: Britvic
Hubba Bubba: Wrigley UK
Get Out of Jail Free card: Hasbro, Claster Television
Levi’s: Levi Strauss & Co.
Weetabix: Lion Capital LLP
Miss Trunchbull: Roald Dahl
Pro Plus: Bayer AG
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Freddo: Cadbury UK Limited
Harrods: Qatar Investment Authority
Swarovski: Swarovski AG
Losing My Religion (R.E.M.): Bill Berry, Peter Buck, Mike Mills, Michael Stipe
Maltesers: Mars Inc.
Cheshire Cat: Lewis Carroll
Calpol: Johnson & Johnson
The Return of the King: J.R.R. Tolkien
Killing Me Softly (Fugees): Charles Fox, Norman Gimbel
Fruit Salads: Tangerine Confectionary Limited
Push Pops: The Topps Company Inc.
Pinocchio: Carlo Collodi, The Walt Disney Company
Mysterious Girl (Peter Andre): Glen Goldsmith, Philip Jackson, Ollie Jacobs and Peter Andre
Hotel Cipriani: Cipriani S.A.
Harry’s Bar: Cipriani S.A.
Birdsong: Sebastian Faulks
The Great Gatsby: F. Scott Fitzgerald
In Cold Blood: Truman Capote
Beijing Kunlun Hotel: BTG Hotels (Group) Co. Ltd.
James Bond: Ian Fleming, Eon Productions
Fruit Pastilles: Nestlé
The sunlight streamed into the room, warming my outstretched foot where I’d kicked the sheet off in the night. Blowing thick strands of long blonde hair out of my face, I burrowed deeper into the plush, soft pillow and tried to slip back into the delicious dream starring Leonardo DiCaprio I’d reluctantly been pulled out of.
A soft breeze stirred the gossamer thin curtains, a heady scent drifting into the room—a mixture of fresh sea air and vibrant floral perfume that I always associated with ho
me in Monaco. Inhaling another deep, relaxing breath, I snuggled further down into the mattress, trying to make myself boneless and languid.
A sharp crack sounded through the house.
My eyelids flew open. Disappearing back into that dream—that I really wanted to know the ending to—was no longer an option.
“Daddy,” I whispered before flinging off the sheets and leaping from the bed. My feet met the blue-carpeted floor and I skidded on the yellow sundress I’d left discarded in a heap the night before. I launched myself out of the room then rushed down the corridors.
All around, the house was abuzz with activity. Aimee pottered around in the kitchen, which was her domain—the usual sounds of dishes chinking and conversation with the gardener, M. Vincent, drifted out into the hallway. Somewhere out of sight, Mummy scolded Louisa for staining yet another pristine white dress with sticky fingers coated in jam.
Rounding a corner, I collided with a body and crashed into the sideboard. My elbow smarted from the impact.
Augustus steadied himself and flashed me a glare. “Freddie! Watch where you’re going, will you?” Only last year Augustus would have been knocked to the floor at such a collision. But age combined with a mammoth growth spurt over the summer had made my younger brother catch up with me in height. He was starting to fill out, his young body maturing into the man it would one day become. The ladies had better watch out when that day came—at fourteen Augustus already showed the signs of a face that had the potential to break hearts.
Augustus resembled our father, with dark hair and tall build, unlike Louisa who took after our mother, with a slim, willowy figure and glossy blonde hair that we both possessed. Mummy had gifted all her children with her ocean grey-green eyes. I was an even mixture of both my parents. Mummy had given me her slim build and Daddy had blessed me, his oldest daughter, with his great height. At sixteen I was already five feet eight and expected to continue shooting up for another few years yet.
“Sorry,” I said on a breath as I turned to continue my original course. “Daddy’s at it with the air rifle again.”
Augustus’ eyebrows shot up into his dark hairline. “Does Samantha know?”
I grimaced. “I don’t know. Better go fetch her, just in case. He’s going to end up getting one of them accidentally sooner or later.”
Augustus nodded, and I hurried off in the opposite direction, rushing down the marble staircase.
Outside my father’s office door, I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what I might find on entering. Unable to put off the inevitable forever, I tapped on the door before turning the handle and slipping inside.
Daddy sat in his usual blue satin chair at his desk, his eyes pinned on the garden beyond the wide, open French doors that led outside. He twisted in my direction at the sound of my bare feet on the floor and placed his rifle back in its usual spot under his desk. “Another pest got in again.”
Letting out a reproachful breath, I said, “Oh, Daddy.”
Daddy waved my young concern away with a flick of his hand. “Don’t ‘oh, Daddy,’ me, Frederica. If the dratted things stopped coming into my garden then I’d simply stop shooting at them.”
I nodded, knowing it would be another useless conversation to beg him to stop. We’d had it countless times and his conviction never changed. Walking towards the garden, I squeezed his shoulder as I passed. With my feet on the warm patio stone, I froze to the spot and covered my mouth with my hand as a shocked gasp escaped me.
Instead of seeing a skittish, frightened cat, I saw a dead one.
The body was just in front of the hedgerow that the unfortunate soul had climbed over, not knowing that in doing so it had sealed its fate at the hands of my father and that rifle.
A lump formed in my throat and my eyes stung. The poor creature…
Squatting beside it, I didn’t need to touch it to check if it was still alive. The glassy, vacant look in its eyes and unfurled, hanging tongue told me that it was as dead as it could be.
Poor cat.
I wished our neighbour would either stop breeding them—because they inevitably got curious and decided to check out our little patch of the world—or that my father would stop shooting at them for invading his garden. It wasn’t that he had set out to kill the poor thing. Daddy shot at the cats to warn them off, to frighten them enough that they wouldn’t come back.
But I suppose this time the cat had moved, as they are often wont to do, and put itself right in the firing line.
Daddy, clearly, had not even realised that he had hit this one—knowing Daddy he would have fretted over my reaction, been worried over how upset I would be and he made no mention of it when I was in the room.
Swiping away a stray tear, I released a heavy sigh and checked under the hedge. The trap my father had concocted was thankfully empty. On more than one occasion I’d fashioned a jailbreak before Daddy had noticed that a cat had become trapped and set about scaring it away.
I headed back inside the house. My father had returned to his usual position, hunched over the papers on his desk. He wasn’t the sort of man to rest on his laurels. As well as being a member of several important leagues and clubs, he adored being in the thick of things and fighting for a cause he believed in with all his heart. His cheerful and dedicated personality made him a perfect character for the important positions he held.
I loved my father dearly, even if our views on animals couldn’t have been more different. Where my siblings and I adored all creatures great and small, Daddy couldn’t stand them. Which was why he had no idea about Duke, the cocker spaniel that we had had for two years. It paid to live in a more-than-spacious home like ours.
He paid me no notice as I passed by him on my way back through into the main house. Augustus and Samantha met me in the corridor outside Daddy’s office.
Samantha, our nanny, took one look at my crestfallen expression and shook her head, a resigned look on her face. “I’ll get the shovel.”
Later, once the body had been taken care of, I was shoving everything I’d need for the morning into a canvas shoulder bag—towel, comb, magazine and enough francs to keep me stocked with pop and ice cream.
“Come on, Freddie!” Louisa cried from somewhere outside my bedroom.
I rolled my eyes at her whiny voice as I bent down to fasten my white sandals. Louisa, five and a half years my junior, was impatient like most eleven year olds were. Except I was fairly certain she set the bar to which all impatient adolescents were measured. Louisa was wilful and headstrong—like me, but unlike me, she could be a brat about it. And she stole my things. “I’m coming, Louisa!”
She poked her blonde head into the room, a scowl marring her tanned face. “Well hurry up about it. I need all the practise I can get before the competition this afternoon.” Louisa pushed open my door fully and folded her wiry arms across her chest.
We wore matching outfits—pretty neon pink shorts with embroidered blouses that matched the swimwear we both had on under our clothes. Augustus would also be dressed similarly in shorts and a smart shirt, so that we all matched. At the MC Beach Club, appearance was everything. Mummy was in with all the heads at the club, and therefore we always had a member’s tent where we could change and store our things.
Fighting back a sigh, I picked up my bag and swung it onto my shoulder. “You’re the best swimmer in the MC Beach Club. You already know you’re going to win most of the events.” My lips twitched with amusement as I peered down at my younger sister. “Except the diving competition.”
Louisa’s face turned puce as she held her breath in frustration. She threw me a filthy scowl and marched from the room in a cloud of contempt.
It wasn’t fair of me to tease her about diving—her greatest phobia. Well, it was her own fault, really. The little minx had followed me up to the high board a few summers before and it had taken us hours to get her back down once she’d frozen with fear at the top.
On my way out to meet the others on the drive,
I paused at the nineteenth century French antique console table in the hall by the front door. Atop its thick verde antico marble top was a collection of family photographs. As always, my eyes were drawn to one in particular—a shot of me, Mummy and Daddy in our family home at Heyworth House. We stood in front of one of the many huge portraits with a gilt frame. Mummy smiled for the camera, looking as perfectly put together as she always did in a stylish matching skirt and jacket with not a hair out of place and her face exquisitely made up. She held me in her arms, a wriggling toddler with wispy blonde curls wearing a black velvet dress and white tights that my dressmaker, Jackie, had flown over with the fabric from England to make for me. My father was beside us, smiling down at me while I squeezed my little fist around his index finger.
I adored it because the love rose out of the photograph in a way that couldn’t be forced or faked. We looked like a happy family, because we were. To the outside world they were the Lord Beaumont, and Lady Beaumont. But to me…they were Mummy and Daddy.
Augustus was leaning against Samantha’s beat up old blue VW Golf when I made it outside. Louisa was already strapped in the front passenger seat, a look of defiance in her eyes. As the oldest I always sat next to Samantha, but something told me Louisa would draw blood if I dared attempt to move her.
“Where’s Samantha?” I asked my brother.
Augustus scrubbed a hand over his dark hair. He needed a haircut, it was becoming a wavy, unruly mess. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I’m here, I’m here,” Samantha called as she rushed out of the house and towards the car. She’d freshened up her makeup since I’d seen her last, accentuating her hazel eyes, and had changed her blouse to one that flattered her tall figure and showed off her lovely olive skin. Her thick, brown hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail.
“You’re looking nice, Samantha,” I said, climbing into the back seat after Augustus. “Making the effort for anyone in particular?”
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