My mother is so shocked she looks like Chucky fromChild’s Play. “It’s not possible.”
“It is possible,” I say simply.
“Why should we meet Jemma’s parents? It’s ridiculous. Yours may have been a hasty marriage, and if you care so much about your in-laws, well, go ahead… but whyme?” And she begins stirring her tea, making the spoon clink in the porcelain cup.
Jemma loses it: “But it’s exactly the way it is. I got married and I live in a mansion in the middle of nowhere, my parents haven’t seen me for ages and don’t have a clue what my husband looks like. Spending a couple of hours at their place to introduce yourselves is the least you can do.”
“I have no interest in meeting them. I will not visit some yokels in their hovel. I already do a lot for charity.”
Jemma’s face is a mask of astonishment and anger, and I have to recognise that my mother’s answer went far beyond wickedness.
“My parents wouldn’t be interested in knowing you either if they knew that you have an arse face, but I don’t fancy influencing people, so I’ll let them get their own idea about the anatomical part you look like the most. Maybe they will be more generous.”
Jemma has many flaws, but I can’t deny that she has a vivid imagination. In fact, after being lifted so many times, my mother’s face could be mistaken for something else.
“Ashford, your wife offended me, you heard her.”
Jemma did what I’ve never had the courage to do in thirty years, and I could never ask her to take her words back. “Well, Mother, if I’m hearing correctly, you offended her and her family first; as far as I’m concerned, you’re even.”
“This is absolutely nonsensical.” My mother is about to leave the room.
“Ashford,” Jemma hisses. “Do you remember that thing I said about respect? Well, if you don’t convince your mother to come and have dinner at my parents’, I’ll tell her that lovely story of how you were about to end up living under a bridge before I married you, and that this whole circus is still up just because of my money, so that later she’ll have to worship the ground I walk on. Do I make myself clear?”
“Mother,” I suddenly stand up. “We’ll be dining at the Pears’ tonight, all three of us, whether you like it or not. You will meet your in-laws, whether you’re interested in doing so or not. You will be polite and kind to them, whether they are noble or not. And you’ll apologise to Jemma, because you have no right to insult her and her family.”
“I will not do any of those things.”
“Wonderful. Then I’ll sell our property in Bath straight away. That gigantic manor house you use to show off in front of your friends is of no use to me. And we won’t reciprocate any of the invitations we received, so your reputation will be irreparably compromised.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she threatens me through clenched teeth.
“I would and I will. And at the end of all this, I will also cancel the royal visit here at Denby. Her Majesty the Queen will find our gates locked, God be my witness.”
When she hears me mention the royal visit, my mother starts hesitating. This story I totally invented has taken root in her mind, so she now expects to see the Royal Family at our gate at any time. This desire of hers has become my golden ticket.
“So be it,” she hisses in surrender. “We’ll visit the Pears.”
“And you’ll be nice,” Jemma points out.
“Good,” my mother says.
“Good,” Jemma repeats, to have the last word.
And just as the two women storm out in opposite directions, leaving the dining room and the table still laden with food, Lance calls attention.
“Your Grace, the duchess.”
Jemma and Delphina turn round, answering in unison. “Yes, Lance?”
Suddenly, an uncomfortable silence descends on the room.
Lance and I don’t dare look at each other. The two women, on the contrary, do look at each other, hatefully, and at this very moment, they become conscious of each other’s positions.
My mother has always known that the title of Duchess of Burlingham would go to my wife by right, for she got it the same way, by marrying my father. However, due to her attachment to the title and her dislike for Jemma, and taking advantage of her ignorance, she was still exercising her rights of duchess.
Jemma needed some time but it looks she’s just had a sudden epiphany, as she astounds me with a statement that I had never thought I would hear.
“I’m sure that Lance’s ‘Your Grace’, was addressed to me. And I think it will be the same for ‘Duchess of Burlingham’ and all my other titles.”
