Marrying Money: Lady Diana's Story (4 page)

I wondered if one of them would like to swop places with me?

Because Sally had only come on this trip to please me, I was footing the hotel and travel bill. Or at least, MasterCard and Visa were, bless their generous hearts. Feeling quite sentimental, I let Sally wear the whopping emerald pendant that had been a gift from Great Grandfather to Great Grandmother on their wedding day.

“
Wonder exactly what he got in exchange?” Sally asked, giving a wicked leer as I clasped the chain around her neck.

“
I imagine all the joys of the marriage bed,” I replied. “And I hope he enjoyed them, too, because he was killed in a hunting accident two weeks later. As my Granddad was born just nine months after that, either Great Granddad enjoyed his romp in the hay with his bride or Great Granny was having a lot of fun with the groom,” I said.

“Oh
, then that would make you an imposter. You’re not the bloodline at all if your great granddaddy was the groom, not the lord. Which means you could wiggle out of all this
save the estate and produce an heir
stuff that’s cluttering your head!” Sally said.

I stared at her
with my mouth wide-open. The girl was serious, and for one wonderful moment, a vision of freedom opened up before me. Then it disappeared. You can take the girl out of the stately home, but you can’t take the stately home out of the girl.

I knew in my veins that I was an Ashburnham and that Alexandria House was mine, for better or worse.

And for a brief time it seemed like it might be for better rather than for worse. I really should have been able to hear the Universe giggling at my naïveté. Let's say the beauty of the Irish countryside lulled me into vulnerability.

We travelled uneventfully, like Victorian ladies in India, by train to Galway where cousin Mairead sent a
limo to pick us up at the station and deliver us to our hotel to freshen up after the journey.

When we were ready, the
limo was waiting outside for us again to whisk us off to Mairead’s box at the races. Sally and I exchanged meaningful glances when we got a good look at Mairead’s chauffeur, tall, dark and handsome, with a bit of a five o’clock shadow.

“Dark
and dangerous,” Sally whispered to me, giggling.

“Yeah
, real boy-toy material,” I whispered back.

“Lucky
, lucky Mairead.” Sally replied.

Our chauffeur introduced himself as James
-
could that really be his name? Wasn't that just too twee?
- and had chatted politely about Galway, the races, and the weather, and had insisted on parking the limo in a special enclosure in which dozens and dozens of its equally expensive cousins were parked, in order to walk us to Madam’s box.

“The
crowds can be terrible, especially today. It is Ladies Day,” James said, manoeuvring us through the packed bodies. “Who knows, one of you lovely creatures might win the prize.”

“The
prize?”   Sally asked despite the quelling glance I tossed in her direction. Mention competition, and she turns into a tigress. Of course, I was burning with curiosity, too, but it wasn’t lady-like to show it to the hired help. Not even the gorgeous hired help.

“They
award a prize to the best dressed, young lady, worth a few bob it is, too,” James said.

“Like
, um, how much, are we talking?” I knew Sally’s antennae were twitching. She’d always been lucky at winning things, from the prize turkey in the supermarket Christmas draw to a free week’s holiday in sunny Alicante on which she’d generously invited sun-starved
moi
to join her last year.

But James didn’t get a chance to answer her as the crowd around us parted like the Red Sea and Mairead, looking curiously like a miniature Moses in an oddly
shaped toga-type dress draped over her stick figure, flowed towards us like an ocean going vessel.

Mairead was casual in her greetings to the chauffeur, tossing him a
“Thank you, James.” As he ushered us towards her. Turning to me, she declared for all to hear: “Lady Diana, my darling, it’s been too long!” Flinging her arms around me and kissing the air on either side of my face. “It’s lovely to see you. How long are you staying?”

It’s a curious thing about the Irish. They always say how lovely it is to see you
then follow it up with a question about
how long are you staying?
A friend once said it’s because they are glad you’re there, spending your tourist cash, but they’re afraid you’ll stay and want a piece of the action they rightfully consider theirs alone.

“Oh
, just a week or two, Mairead.  This is my good friend Sally.” I grabbed Sally’s arm to get her attention off of the dishy James.

I don’t know if Mairead saw the chemical sparks that were flashing between the two, or if her eagle eyes spotted the Commoner in Sally, but she cast a cold eye on my best buddy.
“Nice to meet you, Sally, I’m sure.” She then proceeded to ignore her.

“
Thank you, James; it was very good of you to give up your time to help me out.” It seemed as though Mairead had just remembered James was still with us. “It’s very warm. Would you like to join us for a cool glass of champers? We are having a girls' afternoon out but you’d still be welcome.” How did she do it? A courteous invitation to the hired help to join us for a cool drink combined with a warning to him not to even think of accepting.

Maybe good help was really hard to find
. Maybe there was something in our giggling speculations about the Mistress and the Chauffeur.  But what would the drop-dead gorgeous James see in matronly Mairead? I could certainly see why she would be attracted to him, but what did he have to gain from the relationship with her? Maybe Cousin Mairead had hidden depths. My imagination was running wild. I shuddered despite the sun warming my back.

James politely declined the invitation
; how could he do otherwise? As he turned to leave, I pressed a ten euro note into his hand and said: “Thank you so much.” His wide eyed look of surprise at my gift touched me as he looked at the euro note in his palm. Such lovely hands he had, too.

“You
don’t have to.”

“No
, I insist, especially as you’ve given up some of your time off to do this,” I said sweetly, looking directly into his almond shaped brown eyes with the thick fringe of lashes
. Oh, believe me; if I’m ever well-off enough to hire a chauffeur, I’m going to have Mairead pick one for me. She obviously has a talent for this sort of thing.             

He gave an odd sort of a grin, thanked me again and left, leaving the three of us staring after him with undisguised disappointment.
And yes, lots of lust.

Mairead was the first to
recover; obviously, she’d had more time to develop immunity to the chauffeur’s charms.

“I
am so delighted to see you again, Diana dear. You’re looking tired, was it a difficult journey?”   Mairead always had the ability to go for the jugular with one swift stab.  She made me feel as though I looked washed out, frumpy and exhausted.
How does she do it?

I was rapidly beginning to remember all the reasons I’d hated having her come to visit when I was a kid
.

But I managed a smile. No way was I going to let Mairead spoil my day at the races. In fact, I was going to have a little
fun of my own, right now.

“
Well, dear, if you want to place a bet, I’d recommend
Oh My Darling
in the next race. He belongs to a good friend of ours and I do believe he’s in tip top condition. He’s not a favourite but if he wins, you’ll have a nice little reward.” Mairead grabbed my arm and led me towards the line up at the Bookie’s.

“I
like the sound of HoneyPie,” Sally said, but Mairead ignored her. I was flattered by her obvious delight at my arrival, but I was getting a bit fed up with her ignoring my best friend. Sally might not have a title, but she has ethics and is a really good person.

I soon reali
zed that Mairead’s delight in our little get-together wasn't personal, as was demonstrated by the fact that she introduced me as 'My delightful young cousin, Diana, Lady Ashburnham,” to everyone we met, and even some who didn't seem interested in meeting us. She didn’t introduce Sally at all, leaving everyone to believe Sally was my companion or maid, a circumstance which made me smirk while Sally fumed self-righteously.

“
What century does that smug cow think she’s living in?” Sally exploded when we took a powder room break. “You could say something, you know. You didn’t have to go along with it. I only came over here to keep you company, but that doesn’t make me your maid or companion like some Victorian lady.”

Suddenly I felt a twinge of some rare emotion which I was amazed to recogni
ze as guilt. Sally was right. She was my best friend, for heaven’s sake, and she had pleaded and arm twisted with her boss, a pretentious no-talent man she hated, to get a week of holiday time she was owed just to come with me.

“
I’m sorry.” And I meant it.

The shock on Sally’s face was worth the grovelling.

“Did I hear correctly? You said you were sorry? To
moi
? The humble lassie from Ludsey Common Council Estate? Oh my God, how I wish I had witnesses, or at least a camcorder so I could capture this moment on film forever; you know, something to show the grand children.”

“Hey
, let’s not get too carried away. I am sorry Mairead is giving people the impression you’re some sort of hired help, really I am. But my apology ends there, it’s not some major thing. And I’ll introduce you to people myself, okay? Will that do? You are my friend, after all. I’ve lent you the family jewellery, haven’t I?”

Sally’s hand went up to her throat and slowly, lovingly stroked the Ashburnham Emerald.

“Now, don’t get too fond of it, it’s back into the bank vaults when we get home,” I warned her. That faraway look on her face as she sensuously stroked the emerald was making me very nervous.

Incognito judges were roaming the grounds, inviting
young, beautifully dressed women back to the sponsor's tent. Photographers snapped photos of us and about ten thousand other women, taking names and making comments varying from the inane to the downright lascivious, with no variation on the sex of the photographer. The Press was just downright atrocious these days.

I hope they spelled Ashburnham right and remembered to include the title
.

Our horses didn't win
. Mine made a gallant attempt to come in 15th, while Sally's choice seemed to have a bout of depression after seeing the competition and treated the whole race as a gentle stroll. He was still working his way to the finish line when the day ended.

Mairead, of course, won fistfuls of loot and
yelled loudly at every victory. Despite her encouragements, Sally and I declined to put more cash on any of the horses, even the ones with cute jockeys. Instead we haughtily said gambling was a really low occupation. That didn't bother Mairead though as she fussed over her wins, race after race. I think she knew the truth was that we weren't betting because the bookies knew better than to accept a MasterCard or Visa from the likes of us.