The Female Line

Written from Maidstone Manor, Kent, England.

‘My Lady… My Lady - please rise?’

I opened my eyes and saw the face of Miss Rivers gazing at me with concern. ‘What time is it?’ I asked with a sleepy yawn.

‘It is seven o clock, my lady,’ she said haughtily as if it was past twelve, ‘and time for you to rise, wash and then church. After church we must commence your lessons.’

I groaned, and made my way out of bed slowly, almost tripping up on my white cotton nightgown. As I stretched I realised what day it was. ‘Miss Rivers, has my father arrived yet? The Lady Catherine said he would be home today.’

Miss Rivers who was walking towards the door stopped and looked at me with … almost pity I thought. ‘Erm Yes my lady, he arrived late last night and he said to mention he would visit your rooms after supper to speak with you.’

Oh Jesus, I thought. My father never really took note of my presence, and it was a long time since we had had a conversation. I wondered what he wanted to converse about. ‘Did you see him,’ I questioned Miss Rivers.

‘Yes my lady, he wanted to know the progress of your studies,’ she said as she made her way out of my room, as she got there she turned around as if she had just remembered something ‘I am going to call the maids now to bring some water up. You can use the chamber pot whilst your waiting.’

‘Yes Miss Rivers,’ I answered obediently. As she left, I could not help but wonder if my father was going to talk of my mother. I thought, perhaps I could ask him fully about her today, if he was kind enough to give me a glance and five minutes of his precious time. As I finished with the Chamber pot, the door creaked open and Elspeth came in holding a bucket of water. She put it down near the bath, scraped a red lock that had fallen from her bonnet back into place and curtseyed.

‘Morning my lady,’ she said looking happier than I felt.

‘Where is Anna?’ I asked immediately referring to my own maid, the only person I felt safe undressing in front of.

‘Anna is come down with a fever,’ Elspeth said in her broad country accent, ‘I volunteered to do her duties today.’

‘Volunteered?’ I sneered, feeling rather brave, even though I knew I was in the presence of a bad person. Ye gods, I thought, Do I have to suffer her presence all day.

‘Yes my lady’ she said burrowing her eyebrows. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘No, no’ I said playfully keeping my confidence. ‘Just make sure there are more logs in the fire in this room and my adjoining chamber. It is cold today and I don’t want to catch the chills on my way back from church, or whilst I am working.’

She nodded and exited the room. I smiled to myself, I rather liked the idea of Elspeth carrying the heavy logs upstairs for my own comfort. Personally, I was rather hoping she dropped one on her large ugly feet. I had scathingly noticed that the reason she was so floppy in her outward appearance and manners was because of her large feet. Then I checked myself, ‘this is not you’ I thought, ‘you should not think thus of someone, leave the judgement to God and pray for your own salvation. One must maintain a good demeanour and encourage those not Godly in their manners to be so.’

As I was waiting for her to return I opened my wardrobe and decided what to wear for my father. Until I was ten years old, I had to wear the fashion for young ladies, but since I started my period, it was deemed fit for me to dress as a woman. Most of these decisions were made by the housekeeper, Mrs Hutchinson, a widow who came to work at Maidstone when my father married the Lady Catherine.

Instead of the comfortable frilly dresses in my wardrobe, I had to wear a corset which was extremely uncomfortable at first. I was also given hoops to wear over my chemise and corset and under my petticoats. They had suddenly become very popular during the 1850’s and therefore many ladies bore discomfort to look pretty. However the hoop did make it easier in a few ways as my legs were free even though the hoop was a weight for my slender frame. I was given some of the Lady Catherine’s dresses, which were made over for me in line with the fashions of today. Material was expensive and it was better to remake dresses than buy new ones. The rest, my father paid for out of his household expenses. Frills were still in fashion as they looked extremely becoming over the hoops. I always felt beautiful when I was wearing a full gown, rather than just an embroidered chemise and petticoat without the hoop, which I normally wore when I commenced my lessons and sat in the garden.

I decided upon a dress of royal blue, in keeping with my fathers colours. The bonnet matched the dress, but had a becoming white trim and covered half of my hair which was tied in a bun, whilst the rest would be parted in the middle. I would symbolise the Victorian ideal - demure and chaste. As it was cold, I decided I would wear a shawl also.

The door opened and I heard a chink of keys as Mrs Hutchinson and Elspeth came inside. Elspeth was holding two logs with apparent difficulty. Mrs Hutchinson, who had held open the door for her was holding another bucket filled with hot water.

‘I’ll send some more up for your bath my lady,’ she said and disappeared and left me alone with Elspeth.

I slowly undressed whilst Elspeth was tending to the fire, and got into the bathtub at the side of my room. The water was extremely hot but that was the way I liked it. As I washed myself with the fragranced soaps, my father often bought back from London and France, Elspeth stood to the side obediently ready to help me wash my long black locks.

‘My Lady, you have a mole on your belly.’ She said sounding surprised.

‘Yes’ I said shrugging, it was no news to me. Then I remembered my vow to gain their confidence, in order to find out what they had planned. I opened up. ‘I have had that mark since I was born. I have a second underneath my breast.’ She nodded, though I could not help but notice her eyes had widened, as if she had heard something of great significance.

‘Can you help me wash my hair?’ I asked quickly eager to distract her from looking at my body.

‘Yes my lady’ she said looking for the soap that I used in my hair. I gestured to the nightstand whereupon it stood and she briskly bought it. As she did so, I untied my hair and Elspeth then massaged the soap in my hair. As she did so, I felt her nails dig into my head, I shivered uncontrollably and bit my tongue. I knew I would always feel uneasy about Elspeth, and this proved it. Did she want to hurt me? Thankfully Mrs Hutchinson reappeared with Eloise, both carried a bucket each and poured it out in the bathtub.

‘Lady Catherine ordered I should stay and get you changed,’ said Eloise as Mrs Hutchinson left again, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was not alone with Elspeth. ‘Did you pick a dress to wear today my Lady?’ Eloise said.

I got out of the bath robe and Elspeth passed me my chemise, very efficient of her I thought. ‘I picked the blue one’ I said. ‘Is that good enough for seeing my father?’ She twirled around, and smiled. I could see her dimples.

‘Yes my lady,’ she said. ‘Of course it is. You have good judgement.’ I gave a small smile, but inside I was relieved that I was not alone with Elspeth.

‘You can take my bath and go.’ I ordered Elspeth, in a voice more confident than I felt. I realised I did indeed have the upper hand.

*

After I got dressed, I arrived at church with Miss Rivers and the rest of the household. The vicarage was attached onto the estate of Maidstone Manor, so it took myself and Miss Rivers a few minutes to make our way there. It was situated near the Main Gate so the villagers could also come and sit with us as the Vicar relayed his sermon. The church itself was quite small, built with grey brick, and the stain glass windows were beautiful. It was a place for one and God. I spent many hours during my youth sat in church and absorbing the environment. My father had insisted all us five children have a rigorous religious education but I relished my time with God. I could feel him, he was more my father at that time than my own. I believe this relationship sustained me during dark times.

I looked around to see who had attended. I saw numerous villagers that I knew by sight sat near the benches at the back of the church. There were many children there also. I smiled at a little blonde girl with rosy red lips who was watching me intently. The woman next to her, who was presumably her mother, I recognised as the local washerwoman. I looked on and saw Mr and Mrs March sat together looking happy. Mr March was the butler at Maidstone, and two of his sons I knew well as they both worked at Maidstone although Warren March was my fathers valet and travelled everywhere with him. The other was studying at Oxford. I knew my father had paid for Franklin March to study at Oxford. I noticed Warren was present, for the first time in a while, which was probably the reason for their happy expressions. Mr March nodded at me and I smiled. I thought how nice it must be to have a loving family, and not be half a member of the aristocracy as I was - unforeseen and neglected by my father, unloved by my so called mother the Lady Catherine. I knew my mother had been a commoner - which led to my feelings that I was not truly Lord Montagu’s daughter.

Reverend Fisher was someone whom I saw as a shining light. He was young, but spoke with much conviction, and it was this passion for God and religion that soaked its way into my brain and gave me hope. God loved us, and we suffered so he could see we were true. That was my philosophy.

As the sermon started, I closed my eyes and imagined I was in the presence of God, where all my sufferings would count and I would be at peace knowing I had an eternity of rest before me.

*

‘My Lady, your father is waiting in his presence chamber to see you now,’ said Alfie March, the footman. I noticed his long legs, noticeable even though his breeches were just below his knees. Very shapely, I thought them to be. I was surprised as I never usually noticed men but I did believe the March brothers to be very handsome. However, I put thoughts such as that out of my mind, as they were no match for an aristocrats daughter, even though I was a bastard.

I put my pencils down from my drawing and smoothed my blue skirt down. ‘Thank you,’ I smiled, graciously - the way an aristocrat like myself should. I was painfully aware that my hair was not as perfectly arranged as I thought it should be. ‘You may lead the way.’

I walked behind Alfie, and he led me to the house. The manor was visible and there was a back entrance straight into the Foyer, however it usually remained shut when my father was at home, as he did not like us using it, for reasons only known to himself. So we had to walk past the gardens, and make our way through the herb garden and in through the doors used by the servants. This led to the servants quarters, past their common room and through the kitchens to the Foyer. Although I had lived in Maidstone for as long as I could remember, I had never really had cause to visit my father in his own presence chamber, as he would usually come to visit me in my bedroom and my adjoining drawing room. I could not remember ever being in that room, and I did not even know its location. Maidstone was very old, and there were many secret entrances. A room could easily be concealed behind a tapestry wall and people on the other side could be none the wiser.

Alfie opened the door to the drawing room where the family, including Lady Catherine and her daughters usually resided in during the day. I took in the familiar rich red chintz leather sofas, and the wall, full of portraits of ancestors of my father and the Lady Catherine. I noticed near the mantelpiece the newly issued portrait of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. On the right was the portrait of my grandfather, perhaps emphasising his royal connections although his claim of kinship to the royals was distant. I was always told by Miss Rivers, that my father was descended twice over from Henry VII through his youngest daughter Mary and her husband the Duke of Suffolk, through their second daughter Eleanor. This intimidated me somewhat. I might be a bastard but the blood of kings may well run through my veins, yet this still made me curious about my base blood. Who am I? Who is my mother? Who are her family? The only information I had about my mother - not even her name - was that she was French, it seemed that that was all I needed to know.

On the left was the portrait of Lady Catherine’s mother, her exact double, the Lady Willoughby who was also related to the Royals. Thus it seemed my half-sisters had royal blood on both sides, unlike myself who had base blood from my mother.

I noticed Alfie patiently waiting for me by the tapestry whilst I hungrily looked at the portraits. I realised he must have been aware that I did not enter this room often. Embarrassed, I hurried forward as if I was not thinking of my lineage, as if the thought did not terrify me that I must act like an aristocrat all my life. My hoop skirt twitched against my legs.

‘Why are you standing there?’ I quizzed realising where he was stood. ‘It is an exquisite tapestry for sure.’

‘No my lady,’ he said gruffly and then corrected himself under my haughty gaze. ‘I mean, yes my lady - it is exquisite, but I shall show you why I am stood here.’ He then lifted the tapestry and underneath the cherry oak panelling, I could just make out a small doorknob, exactly the same colour, blended in extremely well. I smiled inside, now knowing exactly where my fathers rooms were. In case of an emergency I knew where to go.

The door creaked open and Alfie stepped in first before announcing me.

‘The Lady Emily, Lord Montagu.’ He said formally and then invited me in, and withdrew himself.

My first impressions of the room were that it seemed rather forlorn and empty. Apart from the crackling fire and the few portraits hung on the walls, it seemed like a rather unloved room. I recognised my grandfather in one but the rest were alien to me. There was a few bookcases adorning the red coloured walls, and the books all seemed like huge volumes compared to the ones in the library. I imagined them to be very scholarly. There was a huge desk with a lot of papers strewn around - some were even on the floor. I wondered if the maids ever tidied up in here. It did not seem like it.

My father was sat in a leather chesterfield recliner near the fire. He had his head in his hands, as if something had upset him. His black, shoulder length hair covered his face. I stood awkwardly, beside the door, not knowing what to do.

‘Come hither child,’ my father said looking up and beckoning me towards him. I was correct, he was disturbed. I wondered what had saddened him. On the rare occasions I was presented to him (never alone) he always looked stern, and had no expression, apart from the time before Alain came to live with us. I moved forward past a leather sofa and closer to the fire where he sat. I curtseyed and he pointed me to a stool where I should sit. I silently thanked God that I did not have to sit on a chair, as it would have been very embarrassing sitting down with a hoop skirt on a chair.

‘MARCH,’ papa shouted, making me jump. Within a split second the door opened and Alfie entered.

‘Yes my Lord,’ he said efficiently. My eyes unashamedly strayed down to his shapely legs, yet I averted them quickly, no godly young lady could look at a man with lust unless she was married to him.

‘Fetch some tea and some cakes for my daughter, and some wine for myself,’ my father ordered, running his fingers through his hair. ‘Quickly may I add. And bring them in yourself.’

‘Yes my Lord,’ he repeated and left as quickly as he came in. I gazed at my father with curiosity. This was a new experience for me. I sat still waiting for the explosion that would surely come.

‘How old are you now Emily,’ he asked slowly with his eyes narrowed. His voice seemed deeper than when I last heard it.

I was taught it is not proper to show your emotions to your betters, even though I was filled with questions about my mother. I talked slowly. ‘I am thirteen years of age sire.’ He nodded wisely.

‘You seem very mature for your age,’ he responded looking at me. I almost smiled, but didn’t. However, inside I was happy that my training to be a Lady had obviously succeeded with regards to my outward demeanour.

He was still looking at me. I felt uncomfortable as his gaze bore into me. ‘Mature both in body and mind. Shapely… Ladylike… Excellent qualities. That is good - very good indeed.’ He seemed to be talking more to himself than me. I wondered what he needed to confide to me. Doubts crept into my virile mind… I started to question whether I should even ask him about my mother. Would it make him angry?

‘Miss Rivers tells me she has a very receptive pupil,’ He said cutting into my thoughts. He seemed to have perked up from his previous forlorn state. ‘Still drawing a lot it seems?’

‘Yes sire,’ I said, ‘Drawing is a good pastime for me, since there is not much for me to do, apart from my lessons, church and walking in the garden.’

‘What could a child do apart from those activities,’ he said leaning back in his seat and smirking, ‘Drawing is a good pastime for a lady of course, but I hope you have not been neglecting other subjects for it. How are you with a needle?’

I flared up - gone was the submissive child. ‘No sire, indeed I only draw in my own spare time. And since you enquire, Miss Rivers rated my needlework first class this past week.’

‘Since I ask?’ He counselled me, ‘It is a fathers right to know how his child progresses.’ I bowed my head, but I was not defeated. Was it his right to question what I did in my spare time, when he was never present.

‘You are a very pretty girl,’ he said suddenly and to my shame I blushed right down to my patent leather slippers. My father noticed and chuckled. ‘It is a good thing for a young lady to be pretty,’ he said consoling me. ‘Even better that she is of my own blood. It gets her very far in this world, especially considering she is illegitimate.’

‘Vanity does not bring one closer to God.’ I said repeating what I learnt in church. ‘It is better to have no beauty than masses of it, for one forgets God and succumbs to earthly pleasures.’

My father nodded. ‘And pious too I see. Good, good. Excellent in fact, a pretty and pious young daughter bodes well for myself. Hopefully you shall stay thus during your lifetime.’

I shook my thick black lashes. ‘Amen,’ I said obediently, my head bowed. Yet I bit my tongue, as I stared at the luxurious Persian rug which adorned the floor. It was not right for me to question my father even though I believed vehemently what I had said, that vanity was a sin, one of the greatest. However, I knew I had a penchant for lovely dresses, and that didn’t bode well with my so called piety. I resolved not to be so concerned with my appearance as I had been this morning. My words were a lesson for me too.

I placed my hands in my lap - the epitome of a submissive daughter. ‘Was my mother pretty,’ I asked suddenly surprising even myself. ‘Is my appearance similar to hers?’

There was a silence, and my fathers face changed from a mildly pleasant demeanour to a stony faced one. His eyes widened and his hands clenched on the sides of his chair. His knuckles had gone white. ‘Who has been speaking to you of her?’ He boomed accusingly. It seemed as if he was restraining himself.

‘Nobody,’ I said boldly and truthfully, not daring to move an inch. I dug my nails into my hand and glared back at him. ‘Since it is only rational that one has a mother somewhere, whether dead or alive, one can wonder from time to time.’

He sighed and his expression changed yet again. He stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece where he picked up a bottle and drunk from it deeply. ‘Of course Emily,’ he said, when he was done. I noted he had used my name for the first time. ‘Yes, your mother is very pretty.’

My eyebrows raised, inside I was smiling. ‘Where is my mother,’ I asked feeling more confident. ‘Can I visit her? Is she still ill? You told me she was when I was a child.’

The tension in the room changed and I immediately knew I had gone too far. My father marched up towards my stool, crouched down and glared at me. I could feel his breath on my face, and smelt a strong wine odour. I closed my eyes, I did not want to look into his bloodshot eyes at that moment. I felt him clutch my hands in his - not a loving fatherly gesture but one of control. ‘Hear this, and I will only say this once, and afterwards I want to hear no more about it.’ His voice had changed and it was very shaky but also was a deadly whisper, ‘Your mother was very ill when you were a child. I paid for the best treatment but she was unwell and now will not get better. She is in the madhouse, she is insane, she is mental, she is absolutely maddened!’

Tears crept into my eyes and I dared not blink. I shook my head. ‘I cannot believe it,’ I whispered, ‘she cannot be so?’

‘She is, and you must believe it’ he spat, and with that he let go of my hands, got up and went back to the mantelpiece where he drank from the same bottle again. ‘You are not her child anymore, you are my child, my responsibility! Your future is in my hands!’

I looked up into his eyes once more. I did not believe him, I would not believe him. ‘I am your father,’ he barked sensing my reluctance, ‘You understand me? My blood runs in your veins, and that my lady is the only blood that matters.’

I nodded, acting as if I was giving up. ‘Yes sire.’ I said with a sad look on my face, looking every inch the vulnerable woman, so that he would stop being so angry. However, my mind was working furiously. Why did he not want me to see mamma. Was she really maddened or was he hiding something? I thought of the maids and their secret, I thought of my brother, bedridden with fever and I thought that today‘s meeting with my father‘s violent mood swings. If anyone was mad, it was him, but I could not imagine someone of my blood becoming mad.

‘Now, back to your chambers and we shall talk properly tomorrow.’ He ordered. ‘Go on, out with you!’ I got up and curtseyed. I felt like I was going to cry, but I ordered my tears back. I needed to be strong, to make sense of this strange world around me.

‘Goodnight Papa,’ I said at the door, and I curtseyed but he did not see me. Then I opened the door, moved the tapestry out of the way and closed the door behind me. I noticed my father drop back into his chair and place his head in his hands as I closed it behind me.

As I turned I bumped into Alfie knocking his tray out of his hands.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said and bent down with difficulty to help him retrieve everything.

‘Oh, its perfectly alright my lady,’ he said crouching on the floor to retrieve the spilt tea. ‘It was my fault. I-I was not looking properly… You do not need to do anything. It must be difficult with your attire.’

I laughed. ‘I curse the inventor of hoop skirts,’ I told him and saw him smile at me. He had a lovely smile, but then I remembered my sermon at my father about vanity and quickly averted my eyes. ‘But I must help. Of course I must,’ I said not wanting to forget my manners, I let him pick up the cups which had fallen on the floor and I busied myself with putting the cakes back onto the cake tray. As I did so, I felt his hand touch mine as we reached for the same cup. I must have remembered that touch for days afterwards, a cold finger - the first time a man had touched me. I swiftly removed my hand.

‘Sorry my lady,’ he said. I nodded in response not trusting myself to speak.

I noticed all the cups had already been picked up and the teapot also picked up. ’You’re a fast worker,’ I said feeling the emotional tension.

‘Years of practice, my Lady’ he said and smiled again. I looked around and everything was now clear. ‘Thank you for your help my lady. It was an honour,’ he said. I blushed and picked myself up slowly, as I could not make a fool out of myself in this awful skirt.

My conscience was telling me something but I decided not to pay heed. I watched him walk out of the room as efficiently as if he were a lawyer rather than a footman, with a briefcase in his hands rather than a tray. I shook my head in order to shake such thoughts away but it was useless. I was godly, although such thoughts had entered my head nothing would tempt me to sin. Not even the first glimpse of love.

*

‘Lets forget yesterday,’ my father said sounding a little more human as I sat down on my stool again. ‘I am your papa. I am all you need.’ I bobbed my head and tried to look alert, even though I felt incredibly sleepy. The events of last night had rendered sleep unnecessary. I had spent the night furiously thinking about what was going to happen to me. However at least the explosion had passed, and I was in fear of letting any more occur for today at least. I decided for today at least not to become incensed, although God knew I had reason for doing so.

‘Yes papa, you are all I need,’ I repeated - ever the obedient daughter in appearance - yet the rebellious daughter by mind.

‘Exactly,’ he sounded reassured for some reason. The door opened and Alfie came in, balancing silverware on his hands. I turned my head away from him and pretended he was not there.

He placed the tray down on the small French glass table situated between me and my father. I glimpsed my favourite fondant cakes and silently thanked the cook, who must have known they were for me.

Alfie bowed and then left quickly, as if he could sense the tension in the room.

‘Come and have some tea.’ My father said genuinely warmly this time, trying to pour me tea. ‘I have some news.’

I moved my stool forward and took the pot from him and poured us tea, demonstrating my ladylike skills using the strainer. Cook had taught me to make tea the way my father had liked when I was a child and I had never forgotten. I had always been eager to please him when I was younger, even though he had visited rarely.

‘That’s much better,’ I heard him say. He seemed to want an obedient daughter, and I was content with trying to be one in his presence. He would never know how disobedient my thoughts were until he had to know. I smiled at him as I passed him his tea, but in my head I was stony-faced and wondering what this second meeting was going to bring.

‘Good news I hope,’ I said trying to coax the information out of him by sounding bright and chirpy.

‘Indeed,’ he said smiling. ‘I have received a marriage proposal from the Earl of Derby, for his illegitimate son.’ My eyes widened… This was shocking and even worse … unexpected.

‘F-For me?’ I stammered, for once losing control of myself. My eyes widened in alarm. This was life changing.

He did not notice my stammer but carried on sipping his tea, as if he was talking about the weather. ‘Yes for you Emily. The Earl did ask for Fliss, but I offered him you instead, being that she is yet young. His legitimate son, Arthur, is very sickly, and if, with Gods good grace, he dies, then the boy in question, Lucas inherits the title. You could be Countess of Derby. How would you like that?’

‘Myself instead? Why not her,’ I asked referring to the pompous Lady Felicity who although was only just 7 years of age, had more pride than both her parents combined.

‘Yes, you are my firstborn, ‘tis you who should marry first. And besides, I have bigger fish to fry for Felicity.’

I wasn’t upset at my limited worth in my fathers eye, but if my limited worth extended to a potential title of my own, and Countess at that, if the proposed suitor became the next Earl, then I must have some worth.

‘I am thirteen!’ I exclaimed childishly, ‘I cannot marry before fifteen.’

‘Why not?’ He qualified himself, talking slower, trying to placate me, ‘ My dear, all brides have cold feet. And besides many girls of noble birth marry at thirteen. Some much younger! As it is, you shall not be forced to lie with him until you reach fifteen. I negotiated that for your benefit. But myself and the Earl have come to an agreement, and the wedding shall take place in the next year or so.’

‘What!’ I cried. ‘Are you serious papa. I am not ready!’

‘It is the Lady Catherine’s duty to prepare for becoming a wife,’ my father was not baffled by my reaction. ‘ As I said, women usually get cold-feet in preparation for marriage. But it is better for you than staying here.’

I checked at that. ‘Do you not want me here?’ I asked.

‘You are a woman,’ he said, ‘A woman’s place should be as mistress of her own house, living in a good family, providing heirs for them, as well as providing good connections for her own family. It is your duty.’

I bit my tongue yet again. ‘Yes papa,’ I said, ‘but what if I don’t like him.’

His expression did not falter, ‘That does not matter. You have to do your work for this family, as Fliss, Cecily and Rose have to, as the Lady Catherine did, as all women do. It is your duty to me and to your brother Alain, who might well become Lord Montagu in my stead.’

I put my teacup down, half empty and nodded remembering the eerie prediction of the maids regarding my brother. ‘Where would I live if I married him?’ I asked.

‘When you marry, you shall either reside in their London House, or in their country residence. They have a few properties in Lincolnshire but they also have a manor on the outskirts of Derby. I suppose it is his choice where you should reside not mine.’

‘His age?’ I asked praying to God he was not over 35.

‘He is 24, and quite a charmer I hear,’ my father said. ‘He is much loved by the ladies and I am sure you will love him in return.’

I grimaced. I could imagine him now, blonde haired, adored by women, a man who frequented brothels I imagined. Why would my father want me to marry somebody like that. Yet the answer always came back to titles, and politics and connections.

‘Now listen to me. And this is important,’ my father demanded. I put on the appearance that I was listening intently, despite the loud buzzing in my ear. ‘It is a good match for you and a good alliance for our family. You should now take notice of our family and our dealings. It is vital you understand the politics so that you can influence your new husband.’

He was speaking slowly… like he wanted me to savour every word. But inside my head, all I could hear and see were the wheels of my life finally spinning into motion. Everything was changing, and I was running to keep up. First the maids, and now this. What on earth did my future hold.