Type two: an accomplice. The perfect counterpart to surround me and force me to comply with their will. In other words, someone to put me under siege.
I’ve been jumping from one debutante to the next for almost ten years, with baronesses and countesses who planned to include me, not even too secretly, in their family trees. I’m actually very proud for having managed to avoid this big millstone round my neck.
You should be there when I attend social events: endless parades of someone’s daughters/cousins/sisters and, according to my mother, Ireallymust meet them all.
Most certainly, if I were as broke as Derek was envisaging twenty-four hours ago, no one would throw their daughter into my arms.
The only silver lining of bankruptcy is that, perhaps, it will keep social climbers away.
What I know for sure is that, as soon as Derek tells me how we’ll get my money back, I’ll send my mother to Bath and I’ll forget she exists for six months.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but her manners go well beyond my breaking point.
I’m not used to living with my family.
I’ve always had nannies and governesses and as soon as I cut my first tooth, I was sent to boarding school, which I only left when I came of age.
I went home at Christmas, during the spring holidays and in summer, when there was always a lot of other people in the house, so my parents and I were never alone.
You can imagine how strange it feels to wake up in this house every morning, with my mother always around. I don’t want to be mean to her, I’m just not used to all this.
What is more, she’s set her sights on turning me into the perfect Duke of Burlingham, and that’s why her intrusion into my private life has gone too far.
Right now, she’s standing below the stone arches, measuring me from top to toe. She must be deciding whether it’s most convenient that I sit or stand in my official portrait.
When I notice that it’s starting to rain, I retrieve the tennis balls scattered all around the court and head to my room.
I feel just fine and I get ready for the evening as if I was to be awarded a prize.
*
When I get to Berners’, Derek is already waiting for me at a table.
“Welcome, Ashford! You’re right on time.”
“It couldn’t have been otherwise. You know, after you texted me, I couldn’t sleep. Coming here on time was the least I could do, even though…”
Derek furrows his brows, somewhat saddened. “Even though…?”
“Well, I find it quite odd. I mean, I could have come to your office by appointment, or we could have arranged to meet for lunch. But a dinner?”
“Yes, you’re right. Meeting at dinner to talk about work is a little peculiar, but this is, in fact, a peculiar situation—”
“Sure, I understand,” I interrupt him. “You have discovered that my father had an account in a tax haven, right?” I ask in a low voice.
“Tax haven? What? No! I mean, did he?” he asks me, astonished.
“What the heck, I have no idea! You are the solicitor!”
“Well, he had no off-shore accounts, as far as I know.”
I shrug. “You said it’s something peculiar, I just thought…”
Derek nods. “It is in fact quite unconventional, so I wanted this to be an informal chat.”
The waitress arrives at our table and Derek stops talking.
“Here I am, I’m late but I made it,” she apologises, almost out of breath.
