How (Not) to Marry a Duke

by Felicia Kingsley

  “I’m panicking! Since my first day here, I’ve constantly been scrutinised and, just so you know, I’m not welcome in this house and neither are you. All they’re waiting for is a single mistake, a false step, or an excuse to kick us out!” I shout at my mother, and then I go back to my drama. “Why Westfalia?”

  “Delphina isn’t here and doesn’t have to know. As far as Ashford goes, I would stop worrying if I were you.”

  Hearing her words, I forget all my good intentions: “I can’t! When you showed up here by chance, Ashford put on a happy face, but he’ll soon get tired of having you around in his perfect mansion, that’s for sure!”

  My mother walks towards me, taking me in her arms. “You’re too upset now, you can’t think clearly. Go to your room, have a nice warm bath and get changed.”

  When I get inside the house, I bump into Ashford, but I carefully avoid him and go straight to my room. I only hear him ask the question: ‘What about our tea?’, to which I don’t reply.

  Finally, when darkness has fallen, Dad brings Westfalia home safe and sound and sums up the whole thing by saying: “This feartie doesn’t like storms.”

  At dinner, there is just me and Ashford, sitting at opposite ends of the long table, and we exchange a few pointless words. He just says that he’s happy that my father has retrieved the precious Westfalia and that he’ll look forward to having tea with my parents tomorrow.

  Message received, arsehole: now your mother isn’t here and you no longer need my parents to annoy her, you want to send them back to London to live under a bridge, but not before you have offered them a cup of your damn tea.

  *

  After dinner I go to my parents’ apartment, where I find the familiar bottle of Belladonna tincture on the table. When I was little, my mother used it to make my temperature go down.

  “Dad?” I ask my mother as soon as I see her come out of their bedroom.

  “Riding in the icy rain gave him a slight temperature.”

  I enter the room, where I see that my dad doesn’t look good at all, and I take the thermometer from the bedside table. “Slight? 39°C is not a slight temperature!” I say, getting angry.

  “It will come down soon,” my mother replies calmly.

  “A 39°C temperature will not come down with a few drops of Belladonna!”

  “You know we don’t use medicines.”

  “But I do, and I’m going to get him a nice aspirin cocktail right now!”

  “I don’t approve of that,” says my mother, crossing her arms.

  “But I do,” I oppose, resolutely.

  While I give my dad the tablets to swallow, my mother shakes her head in disappointment. “You’ve been bad tempered all day, I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.”

  “I’ve told you already, but apparently you don’t want to understand: I think Ashford has got bored of having you in his house. You’ve been here almost a month, he welcomed you with a happy face and all, but, at dinner, he told me again that he ‘wants to have tea with you’ tomorrow.”

  “But it’s just afternoon tea, honey!” My mother objects.

  “Mum, read between the lines: it’s just a way to kick you out!”

  “It isn’t,” my dad mumbles.

  “What?” Mum and I ask in unison.

  “It’s not like that, Jemma,” he goes on muttering.

  “What isn’t, Dad?” I draw nearer to him.

  “We were invited here,” he continues. “Ashford came to London personally.”

  “Vance!” My mother exclaims in a strangely warning tone.

  “No, Carly, let me talk. Ashford knew you were worried about us, so he came to London without telling you, and proposed we settle here at Denby. He didn’t give us any deadlines or terms.”

  Dad’s words ring in my head like a bell and I struggle to make sense of them. “You just said that A… Ashford did that?”

  My mother sits on the bed next to me. “Ashford didn’t want you to know it was his idea, so he asked us not to tell you and to show up here by surprise, as if we were just visiting you.”

  I’m lost for words.

  “Stop worrying about that tea,” she comforts me. “I feel that you’re still kind of in awe of Ashford, which is understandable, as you haven’t been married for long. You will discover each other over time, and you will also become familiar with all his ways to show you he loves you, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.”

  *

  After they told me that, I didn’t sleep at all, neither that night nor the following one. I feel I should thank him, at least, but I don’t know how.

  46

  Ashford’s Version

  Harring and I are in the club changing rooms after a fierce squash match.

  “So, what present shall I give you, this year?” He asks me.

  “Present?”

  “Your birthday is next week, Parker!”

  “You always remember!”

  “Your birthday falls between late July and early August, in the Grand Prix summer break, it’s impossible to forget about it. If you ask me what day it is, I don’t know exactly, but, roughly, I would say it’s next week.”

  “I appreciate it.” I accept Haz with his virtues and, above all, his flaws.

  “Okay then, what will it be? A box of limited edition Montecristo Sublimes? Every drag is like a breath of Cuba.”

  “Cigars? I’m not Winston Churchill!”

  “Then a Cuban babe, maybe?”

  “A new golf set, if you really care,” I suggest.

  “All right, I’ll keep the Montecristos for myself. And also the Cuban babe.”

  “Enjoy them to my health.” I know he will. Haz risks his life every time he gets in his single seater, so he indulges in anything he wants in life.

  “Speaking of your birthday, what’s this year’s plan? Will I have to put up with the Canterbury Choir throughout the evening again while your mother drags you around to receive the guests’ best wishes?”

  “I have great news! My mother had a nervous breakdown after Jemma’s fashion show. She packed her bags and went to Bath. No bummer in tails, this year.”

  “Hell, yeah! You know what, then? Let’s get a private flight and have a party in Marbella!” Offers my friend.

  “Aren’t your parents in your villa in Marbella?”

  Harring changes his plans. “Beer in a West End pub?”

  “Now that’s getting things into perspective.”

  “Mine is a difficult life.”

  “Not as difficult as mine,” I point out.

  “Yup, I don’t envy you.”

  “You know, it started off quite dramatically with Jemma. That mess about the money and our marriage, then living with a stranger, our continuous fights, not to mention the moment in which that arsehole Willoughby tried to interfere. Anyway, Jemma is much quieter lately. She no longer makes a scene out of nothing, she’s stopped complaining about every single thing and she’s also started studying spontaneously.”

  “Without Delphina around, everything suddenly becomes way easier.”

  “My mother certainly didn’t help at all. Oh, Jemma’s parents are now at Denby, too: Vance and Carly. He is a dj and she’s an animal therapist. They’re quite peculiar, seventies style hippies, but they’re nice and loving people. They smoke a lot of marijuana. You would like them.”

  “You bet I would! And how long must your marriage last?”

  “A year or so, that’s what the solicitor told us.”

  “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this since the fashion show. Jemma’s body is… quite remarkable. Nice legs, nice boobs. I didn’t see her butt, but two out of three seem enough to me. Never thought of having a shag with her?”

  “Haz! How can you even think about such a thing?”

  “You’ve had uglier ones!” He objects.

  “That’s not the point! Does she have a nice body? Who cares! There are millions of beautiful women. After the hell she put me through with her
bad temper, I could never even consider the idea!”

  “Calm down, for fuck’s sake. My question is more than normal: you’re a man, she’s a woman, and you live in the same house…”

  “Ending up in bed would be automatic for you, wouldn’t it?”

  “Um, yes…? I don’t know, maybe! Are you asking me if I’d shag your wife? What kind of question is that!”

  “This conversation doesn’t make any sense,” I say, sharply.

  Nice legs, nice boobs… how could he even consider it?

  47

  Jemma’s Version

  “Do you have any arrangements for Friday night?” Lance asks me, taking me by surprise at the bottom of the staircase.

  “Friday?” I collect my thoughts, confused. “Fish?”

  Lance shakes his head. “It’s the duke’s birthday.”

  “Hasn’t Lady Delphina said anything?”

  “She left before she could arrange anything. But she sent the invitations some time ago, so that the guests didn’t make other commitments.

  Oh. My. God.

  “Are you saying that a hundred people are coming to Denby next Friday and there is nothing arranged?”

  “A hundred and ten,” Lance corrects me.

  “A hundred and ten people and nothing arranged?” I repeat, astonished.

  He remains unperturbed. “This is why I’m giving you due notice.”

  “And a week would be fucking notice, according to you?”

  “Due, Your Grace. Due notice.” He doesn’t get my anxiety.

  “Can’t we do the same as you did last year?” I ask, in panic.

  “Last year the guests were entertained by the Canterbury Choir.”

  “That’ll do! Let’s have them back!”

  “The choir must be booked at least two months in advance,” Lance replies, unperturbed.

  I stumble and my breathing becomes shallow.

  “Do you feel well, Your Grace?”

  “No, I don’t,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Panic attack?” Lance has now learned to spot them.

  “Yup.”

  “Medicine?”

  “Please,” I beg.

  “Follow me to the kitchen,” he says, leading the way.

  Five minutes later, I’m sitting on the kitchen worktop nibbling pink cotton candy. Warm, enveloping, sticky cotton candy cheers me up in no time. Whoever says tea is relaxing should try this!

  “Your Grace, now that you feel better, you may evaluate some solutions for Friday.”

  “A dance party?”

  “What theme?” Asks Lance.

  “Do you need a theme for a birthday party?” I ask.

  “You need a theme for a dance party. And it should be communicated to the guests.”

  “A dinner?” I give another go.

  “Magnificent! A dinner dance!”

  “Isn’t it a dance party, then?” I ask, confused.

  “If a dance party does not have a theme, it’s a dinner dance. Otherwise, it’s called a dance party with refreshments,” Lance explains.

  “I never stop learning,” I mutter to myself. “I reckoned that thinking like Delphina would be easier.”

  “But you don’t have to think like Lady Delphina.”

  “And what am I going to do?” I ask, discouraged.

  “How would you celebrate your birthday?”

  “Um, for the last few years… I’ve been getting drunk, staggering from one Shoreditch pub to another looking for more gin and lemon,” I confess, with a hint of embarrassment.

  Lance doesn’t seem to approve. “I’m quite sure it’s not a viable hypothesis.”

  “It was easier when I was little. My parents took me to the amusement park,” I say, biting the remains of cotton sugar from the stick. “But Ashford would not understand, they never took him to an amusement park.”

  48

  Ashford’s Version

  Haz and I are returning to Denby after two days of trap shooting at his cousin Juni’s castle in Inverness, Scotland.

  I’m not crazy about trap shooting, and Juni is a terrible shot, but Haz kept asking non-stop for a whole day, and I accepted because he literally wore me down. If nothing else, Juni’s family has an outstanding whisky distillery in the bastions of the castle, so at least I kept my left hand and my liver busy with a double malt whisky aged in Madeira barrels.

  It’s my birthday today and, for the first time in the thirty-two years of my life, no impressive parties will be held at Denby.

  My mother has always arranged opulent celebrations, not so much for me, but to have a good excuse to spruce Denby up and invite every single member of high society, with eleven course dinners and symphonic orchestras whose concerts would sell out at the Royal Albert Hall.

  It’s a strange feeling and I don’t even know if I like it, but bad habits are still habits.

  Once at Denby, Haz drives through the gate and along the driveway and, at a certain point, I notice a long line of Rolls Royces and Bentleys parked near the manor.

  No way, my mother can’t have come back from Bath!

  I get out of the car and enter, but I see no signs of celebration in the halls; on the contrary, the manor looks deserted.

  “Welcome back, Your Grace.”

  “Lance! Whose cars are those? What has this become, a bloody car park?”

  “They belong to the guests who came to celebrate your birthday and, by the way, I would like to give you my best wishes.”

  “To celebrate? I thought my mother was in Bath!”

  He won’t provide thorough explanations. “Let me escort you to the park.”

  We go out on the west side of the mansion, which overlooks the park, and I hardly believe what I see.

  “Lady Jemma took the liberty of arranging a little party for you.”

  Even though it’s well after sunset, the park is lit up by the light from a dozen rides. Yes, the Denby Hall park is scattered with amusement attractions: there is a carousel, a ferris wheel, a helter skelter, a mirror maze, a swing ride, a dartboard, a hammer and a boxing machine, and then there are stands with sweets, popcorn, hot dogs, doughnuts and cotton candy.

  The guests, in their best clothes, are queueing up to get on the rides or indulge in a doughnut dripping with cream, just like Lord Neville, who holds one in each hand, regardless of his coronaries.

  “Happy Birthday, Ashford. Delphina didn’t leave any instructions for tonight, but the guests had been invited and I had to come up with something.” Jemma’s there, at the bottom of the stairs, in the shimmering dress she bought in Portobello market, with her fuchsia hair blowing in the wind and a smile from ear to ear.

  “This is so freaking cool!” Says Harring, by my side.

  “You didn’t tell me he would be here, too,” growls Cécile Loxley, appearing at Jemma’s side.

  “Harring was a central part of the plan!” Explains Jemma.

  “Loxley, hasn’t your shrink told you that we both live on this planet and you have to deal with it?” Haz mocks her.

  “Which one of my three shrinks are you talking about?” She replies.

  “An amusement park, Jemma?” I ask, stunned, interrupting the skirmish between Haz and Cécile.

  “They never took you as a child, so—”

  “So you brought it to Denby.”

  “Exactly,” Jemma nods, proudly.

  “And you expect me to believe it was a last minute idea?”

  “Not last minute, but it was all set up in the last five days.”

  “I’m flattered. You went to so much trouble for me.”

  “Yes, but my parents helped me, and so did Cécile, Lance and Delphina!”

  “My mother?” It definitely doesn’t look like something my mother would approve of.

  “Yes, if she hadn’t left for Bath, I could never have done all this,” she says, with a satisfied smile.

  I look around again, astounded. “What are we waiting for? Shall we choose a ride?”


  “Big wheel?” She suggests.

  “Queue up, I’ll get some popcorn.”

  *

  When the seat reaches the highest point of the wheel, I look at the manor and say: “I have never seen Denby Hall from this perspective.”

  “You’re lucky, you’re one of the few privileged people with a life above every standard. You live in a mansion, you have a big park all to yourself and you are surrounded by luxury objects and works of art,” she lists.

  “Jemma, you have a family that loves you. I never saw my parents holding hands on a carousel after thirty years of marriage.”

  “My father also won a teddy bear for my mother at the shooting range.”

  “He also won a teddy bear for your mother,” I repeat.

  “So, what do you think? Do you like this birthday?”

  “I’ve never had a party like this and yes, I agree with what Harring said earlier: it’s freaking cool.”

  “I have to thank you,” she says in a low voice.

  “What for? You did everything yourself!”

  “For my parents. I know you invited them here.”

  I thought I had been clear, it had to be a secret. “They should never have told you.”

  “My father had a high temperature after chasing after Westfalia in the woods. He just let it slip out.”

  “I could not let your parents end up homeless. After all, you saved Denby Hall with your inheritance,” I say, admitting it out loud in front of her for the first time.

  “You agreed to marry me. If it hadn’t been for your title, I would never have had a penny, and I’d still be doing the make-up in a second-class theatre.”

  “Shall we make peace?” I ask her, raising my paper cone of popcorn.

  “Peace,” she does likewise and we toast to our truce.

  “After all this, the least I can do is win a teddy bear for you.”

  49

  Jemma’s Version

  The great thing about Cécile’s visits is not having anyone annoying (Ashford) or nosy (Delphina) around.

  I’m totally and completely free now, no longer forced into assuming awkward postures or limiting my movements and gestures for matters of etiquette.