“There’s no time for an ambulance. I got this.”
I stand behind Cedric and put my arms around his waist. Then, I pull his abdomen sharply into mine with a couple of strong rhythmic thrusts, until the praline lands at Lord Murray’s feet, and Cedric heaves a big sigh of relief.
Luckily, the duke is not too tall and he’s thin enough for me to put the procedure in place. If it had happened to that giant Lord Murray, it would have been a non-starter.
Delphina is shocked and runs to kneel in front of Cedric’s feet. “Your Highness, I apologise for my daughter-in-law’s impulsiveness, I really don’t know what to say!”
Cedric takes a sip of coffee, as if he hadn’t just spat out the Apollo 13 in front of everyone. “I should be the one saying something. Her promptness saved my life. If these are the results, impulsiveness isn’t a bad thing at all.”
Delphina looks at him, confused. “Um… of course… she…”
I cut in to speak for myself before she says something horrible. “Since Doug, the leader of my football fan group, almost choked on a peanut during an away match against Everton, the club has arranged first aid courses for all diehard fans on the stands. Do you have any idea how long it can take a doctor to find someone up there?”
The guests’ astonished looks jump from me to Ashford a couple of times before a not so energetic but noticeable handclap draws their attention. Lord Murray is applauding while looking in my direction and, shortly after, Lady Laetitia, Cedric’s wife and everyone else joins in. Ashford smiles, relieved, while he’s got all eyes on him. “Well, I married her because she’s so resourceful.”
The evening ends and, after saying goodbye to all the guests, I go to my room and collapse on my bed.
Suddenly, I hear someone knocking on the connecting door.
It’s Ashford, standing in the no man’s land between our rooms.
“I have to thank you. You saved Lord Cedric from choking.”
“Didn’t I embarrass the Burlingham family?” I ask sarcastically.
“Yes, of course you did. You have an incalculable number of flaws, you’re inadequate in almost every social situation, and you hardly ever engage your brain before speaking, but you’re smart, and it seems that your act of heroism saved the evening from disaster.”
“I know how difficult it is for you to pay me compliments, so thank you. Now stop, before insulting me more than you already have.”
“Goodnight, then.”
“Yeah, goodnight,” I say, and we close our respective doors, relieved.
18
Ashford’s Version
It’s been a week since that surreal dinner.
The day after, my mother withdrew to her study with a scowl on her face, contemplating how to get rid of Jemma’s corpse.
Then, the postman arrived.
Apart from the usual junk mail and some letters for me, there was a note written by Lord Cedric himself, in which he thanked my mother for the pleasant evening and praised Jemma. My mother still wants to kill her, but now she can spare her some of the pain.
Now that Neville has taken Jemma under his impenetrable wing, it seems that everyone in society has accepted her odd presence, but it was indeed a bitter pill to swallow. In any case, who stands on the highest rank of the social ladder sets the rules, and Lord Cedric gave his approval.
To tell the truth, I thought the evening was a total disaster, and I thought so until the last fifteen minutes, when I was already expecting to be publicly exiled without appeal. Not that I would have minded, anyway.
So far, I’d been convinced that Jemma’s passion for Arsenal was one of the most irritating flaws she has. I mean, one can’t exactly regard her as a shining example of femininity, but now imagine her shouting obscenities among a bunch of fat sweaty people. See what I mean?
Yet, it seems it was precisely her passion for Arsenal that won Lord Cedric over.
After his thank you note, our doorbell has started ringing incessantly, followed by other similar notes and invitations to all the major events of the season.
In fact, when I go down for breakfast, I find that the table is covered by elegant paper invitations of all shapes and sizes, which my mother and Margaret are studying with the same attention of two strategists planning the D-Day landings.
“If we attend the Walsinghams’ garden party, we can’t decline the St Jermyns’ tea invitation, because they have the same title, but that of the St Jermyns is more ancient. Lady Paulson has set the chamber music concert for the same evening the Baxter-Coleridges have organised the tableaux vivants, but it’s not surprising, given the rivalry between the two families. Accepting one of the two invitations would mean taking sides, so we have to consider this carefully. Highlight all the important dates, because we are setting the charity initiatives calendar at the next association meeting, and we can’t clash with some events. Not to mention off limits dates: Henley Regatta, Ascot, the Epsom Derby, the Wimbledon finals, the Chelsea Flower Show, the Serpentine Summer Party—”
“And my polo tournaments,” I add, joining the conversation. “By the way, I thought I’d have breakfast,” I say, casting a disinterested look at all those invitations.
“Indeed. It will be served in the private parlour. We’re busy here, can’t you see?” She points at the leather folder on which she’s taking notes. “It seems that the world can’t go round without us. Heaven knows what I’ll have to plan in return for all these invitations!”
Before she can try to involve me in her plans, I make a bid for freedom, but it’s too late.
“I have a task for you, too. Although she’s completely inadequate, that thing you married, Jemma, received approval. Lord Cedric’s, at least, and the others are totally irrelevant. Besides, if he likes her, they will, too, but we can’t allow her to embarrass us and make people gossip.”
“I’m hungry, mother,” I interrupt her, but she doesn’t even hear me.
“You’ll have to educate her. Take her horse riding and teach her how to dance properly. God forbid she ever goes up a table as if she were in a promiscuous East End club.”
“I’ll hire an instructor,” I agree, quickly.
“Absolutely not. Nobody must know that your wife is inadequate!”
*
I have to put off my game of golf with Harring for a tedious afternoon with Jemma.
“Hey, Haz! Hello, it’s me. Look, I can’t make it this afternoon. You’ll have to find someone else to play with.” All I hear is the roar of an engine in the background. “Haz? Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I did, I’m in the garage. I’m trying some set ups for my car. Well, that means I can bring the appointment with my tailor forward,” he pauses. “By the way, why is that? What are you up to today?”
“I’m busy with Jemma. Horse riding.”
“Parker! We’ve known each other for twenty-five years, you can avoid these coy metaphors with me! I see, you dirty boy, go get ridden by your wifey. Will you call me tomorrow for squash practice?”
If Harring weren’t my best friend, I’d hate him, but he’s one of the few people who make this routine bearable.
“I can’t tomorrow. I have polo training with the team on Tuesdays.”
“Then I could come to the club for a drink after you’ve finished,” he says, and hangs up.
I must teach Jemma how to ride, but she’s being quite uncooperative, to say the least. I had her summoned three times before she came down.
“They’re rerunning Friends. What’s so crucial as to require my presence?” She says with her usual arrogant attitude.
“Follow me.” After what she said, I don’t even feel like replying.
“Congrats Ashford, were you ever told that communication is your strong point?” She retorts sarcastically from behind me.
We manage to reach the stables without starting a fight, and I escort her round the courtyard while she utters shrieks of amazement, greeting the horses and addressing them as ‘lovely little
creatures’.
“These are thoroughbreds, all sons of champions. They’re not little creatures, or little ponies with little braids in a little farm.”
Jemma ignores me completely, as she’s busy stuffing Westfalia, my mother’s favourite mare, with carrots.
“The high society season is full of events involving horses, so you’ll have to become as familiar as possible with them. I don’t mean that you’ll have to field master fox hunts yourself, but being able to keep your balance on a horse at the meet will be a start.”
“It’s so kind of you to give me the chance of elevating myself from my humble beginnings.”
“You are very welcome,” I reply.
“Ashford, I was joking,” she points out.
“I wasn’t,” I object.
“Yeah, all right, you never joke, I’ve noticed.”
“John has already tacked up two horses for us. You’ll ride Poppy and I’ll be joining you on Agincourt.”
“I like this one!” Jemma says, stroking Westfalia.
“Westfalia is my mother’s horse. And don’t say that, you’ll offend Poppy,” I reproach her.
Jemma comes towards me muttering to herself: “These names are so stupid.”
“They all have a meaning. Poppy is named after the Poppy Appeal, and Agincourt is named after the great battle Henry V won in 1415.”
“And Westfalia?”
“That’s where we bought her.”
John helps her mount, while I’m beside her on Agincourt. “Hold the reins firmly and keep your legs close to the horse. Pull the reins towards yourself to stop, or pull them to the left or right to turn. Don’t move too much in the saddle, keep the centre of gravity: the horse is very sensitive to weight changes and could move in the wrong direction. Don’t worry, for now we’ll just go up to the fence.”
While going towards the fence and into the field, I hear the sound of cantering, so I turn around, and all I can see is a cloud of dust.
“Jemma!” I shout. I set off following her trail. Dear God, what the hell did she do to make Poppy bolt? I catch up with her a second before she gets into the woods.
“Jemma, are you okay? What happened? Did something frighten Poppy?” I ask, grabbing her reins.
There’s a mocking expression on her face, as if she wanted to challenge me. And Poppy is as calm as usual.
“What the—?”
“My dear Duke Know-it-all, you hit the ground running and didn’t even let me speak, but now I know that even trying would be useless. I’ve decided to let you talk as long as you want, and then do my own thing. While you were ranting about my inadequacy, you could have asked me if I had ever ridden a horse, but it’s obvious that you’re not interested, or you’re so arrogant that you think you know everything.” She pauses, looking right into my eyes. “When I was a child, my mother worked as an animal therapist at a farm in Kent. I spent all the free time I had riding horses and, believe me, I can ride without your precious foolproof tips.”
I have completely lost control of my jaw, which now hangs at the mercy of gravity.
“I wish I had a mirror to let you see your face right now. But I also have to thank you: in this boring life, at last you offered me a pretty good leisure activity. Now, are you going to stand there eating flies for long?” And, so saying, she takes her reins back and heads into the woods with Poppy.
I would like to turn around and go back to the stables. Yes, I’m easily offended and yes, I’m upset, because she made me feel like a prick. Yet, I follow her.
In the thick of the woods I have lost track of her, so I ride intuitively, trying to figure out the paths she may have taken. Jemma doesn’t even know how large the estate is!
I end up near the lake, a glass like surface surrounded by weeping willows, where I came as a child to play with model boats.
For a moment I think I’m alone, but the reflection on the water suggests that Jemma is on the other side under the wisterias.
I can’t believe it: with her mouth closed and seen from afar, she doesn’t look that bad at all. Wait a second… what the hell am I thinking?
19
Jemma’s Version
Maybe it’s not really that boring. Considering Lance, the other staff and the horses, I could say that there’s intelligent life at Denby Hall.
I was so bored before that I spent most of my time in my room, watching cooking programmes and tv series reruns.
If nothing else, I had a lovely ride today, and I found something to do in the future. When anyone, either Delphina or Ashford, bores me to death, I’ll go to the stables, take a horse and disappear into the woods for a few hours.
However, I’m not happy. My parents are totally bonkers and live in a limbo between the seventies and the eighties, but they are the best and most generous people in the world, and I miss them so much.
Delphina is as motherly as a praying mantis, and Ashford avoids her like the plague, except on the not-so-rare occasions when he throws her at me as a battering ram just to annoy me.
Riding Poppy reminded me of when, as a little girl, I followed my parents in all their crazy activities. They were my heroes. Animal therapists, can you imagine that?
Strange people like me, who grow up even more strangely, struggle to find friends; over the years, all my friends came and went rather quickly and almost nobody left a mark. Not least, Sarah. For as long as we worked together at the theatre, we were inseparable, but since she left for New York, it’s as if she has vanished. I phoned her a few times at first, but she was always in a hurry, she said she would call me back but she never did. All in all, I have many acquaintances in London, but no true friends. This is the price you pay when you’re strange, as Jim Morrison said in People Are Strange. Here, behind the thick stone walls of Denby, I miss my crazy parents very much.
I curl up on an upholstered bench in the bay window to admire the view and try to banish my melancholy.
When I hear knocking on the door, my discomfort increases: I don’t want to be scolded by Ashford, or judged by Delphina. Reluctantly, I give permission to enter.
Thank God, it’s Lance.
“I have come to ask if the duchess has any particular requests for dinner.”
“She’s not here. She must be in the conservatory torturing her begonias,” I reply.
Lance clears his throat and approaches me. “Would you allow me to say something?”
“Sure.”
“When the staff and I mention the duchess, we are referring to you,” he says, indicating me.
I raise an eyebrow sceptically.
“To clarify: the Duchess of Burlingham is the woman who is married to the Duke of Burlingham. Lady Delphina was married to the late Lord Henry Parker and, when he died, his only child, Ashford Parker, inherited the title and became the new Duke of Burlingham. Therefore, as his wife, you are Your Grace the duchess, Lady Jemma. The one and only, I dare say.”
“One and only? What about Delphina?” I ask, incredulously.
“As Lord Henry is no longer with us, she’s merely Lady Delphina Parker or, more formally, the widowed duchess.”
“So,” I ask for further confirmation, “I’m the one and only Duchess of Burlingham, am I?”
“Exactly.”
“And I’m the fully fledged owner of this house?”
“It comes with it, yes.”
I stop Lance before he can leave the room. “Lance, it’s obvious that you didn’t come to have dinner requests from me. Why did you come here?”
“Your Grace, the ambiguity that lingers in this house must end. The staff are under a great deal of stress, and don’t know whether to answer to Lady Delphina or to the new duchess, who, evidently, has not been informed of the importance of her position. It’s a matter of order and, as the butler, it is my duty to maintain it.”
So saying, he bows and goes out.
I am the duchess. The one and only. Delphina is merely a widowed duchess. Very well, I’m starting to have some id
eas.
20
Ashford’s Version
The figures are starting to balance again. I look at the bank statements lined up on the leather topped desk and, at last, there’s no negative numbers that threaten my peace. Of course, it was a lot more convenient to have Smith and Derek take care of my finances, but given the recent brush with disaster I will never lose sight of things again.
Although he was a wise man, my father trusted people, but not having direct control of the situation resulted in his money being invested incautiously.
A light knocking on the door distracts me from my thoughts.
“Come in.”
“Ashford.” It’s Jemma. I’m really surprised to see her. Usually, her knocking isn’t exactly delicate.
“How can I help you?”
Jemma doesn’t answer immediately, she rather wanders slowly around the study, sliding her fingers on the edges of the accounting ledgers and on the archive folders, and then she sits in the armchair in front of me.
“This is where you hide from me.”
“There are many places in Denby to hide from you, this is not a huge discovery.”
“Not that I’m sorry. I have no reason to want to be around you.”
“May I know why you came here?”
Jemma fiddles with a pen she has found on the shelf. “So, the deal is that I must be officially introduced to your high society friends, take part in events and dance parties—”
“Most naturally, as my wife.”
“Well, the time has come for you to meet my family, then.”
“I beg your pardon?” I ask, baffled.
“I’m not asking you to attend pompous evenings and shake hands with mummies, just to come to dinner and meet my parents.”
I would like to answer but all I can do is wheeze.
“It’s the least you can do. Any normal husband meets his wife’s parents, eventually. I see Delphina quite a lot, and now you must do your bit.”
“We are not a normal couple.”
“Make an effort, Ashford,” Jemma’s tone rises a few octaves.
How (Not) to Marry a Duke Page 11