-7-

Clare returned home with a box of pepperoni pizza and went straight to the kitchen. The light in the kitchen was off except the one hovering over the table. Then she found her mother pacing back and forth with a look of contemplation on her face.

"Mom, are you okay?" she said, noticing Jenny's furrowed brows. "Did the debt collectors call again?"

Her mother glanced up, her expression seemed dazed for a moment. When she came to her senses again, she opened her arms to her daughter. Clare went into her embrace despite looking concerned.

"No, honey, no, they didn't," she reassured her. "Let's have a seat with me."

Jenny moved whatever on the kitchen table away as if preparing for a long talk. Clare obeyed and pulled the chair to sit beside her mother.

"What's wrong? You don't seem yourself today. Are you sick?" Clare asked again, concerns written on her youthful yet tired face.

"Honey," Jenny began. "I know you have been working so very hard to help us. I feel very sorry for you. We both do."

"Mom, it's okay. I'm happy to help in any way I can," Clare said. "I just wish that I could do more."

"Oh, my baby girl," Jenny replied in a saddened voice. She stared at her daughter for a moment until the tears began to well up in her eyes. "Clare, I have something to discuss with you about."

"Okay," was all Clare could say.

Seeing that it was best to go straight to the point, her mother told her everything from start to finish. Clare was silent, letting the words sink in. Jenny watched her daughter's face change from confused to stunned and then to hesitant.

Jenny took Clare's hands in hers to make her look into her eyes.

"I know this is quite unconventional and I will respect whatever you have to say," Jenny said. "I'm not going to pressure you into this. It's just that...it's worth considering... and..."

Clare knew her mother well. She would never attempt to ask anything if she didn't really need her help. She had seen her cutting through her embarrassment for weeks trying to borrow friends' money, and it took a toll on her self-esteem and self-worth. Clare never wished to see her mother like that. She always prayed for a chance to do something that could set them back on track again, and now the chance had presented itself right in front of her. Whatever form it  was, it would be unfathomable that she did not take it. 

"Mom, you don't have to convince me anymore," said Clare without another delay. "I'm in." 

Jenny almost didn't catch up at first.

"Wait, what?" she said. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm all for it," her daughter said again. Jenny didn't know whether to smile or burst into tears. She felt guilty and relieved at the same time. Relieved that if it worked out, their lives would never be miserable again, Clare would have a better future, but guilty that it had to be this way. Jenny reached over to hold her girl and shed a few mother's tears.

"Have you told Daddy yet?" Clare said after they pulled away.

"I will when he gets back, honey," Jenny said. "But I don't think he's going to take it well."

"Well, this is my decision, and I have already decided," Clare said. "I just want you all to be happy."

"Oh Clare, I'm so sorry," Jenny sobbed and they hugged again.

Half an hour later, David Leighton walked through the door with his heavy steps. He looked exhausted but tried to smile when he saw his two favorite persons in the world. The man didn't know that a hell of a shock awaited him.

~*~

"A marriage to a duchess?!" David Leighton burst. "A woman?"

"Her name is Violet Wintour," Jenny said.

"Did you just say...did you just say she wants my daughter to be her wife?" he cried.

"Yes, I did," Jenny said.

"A wife?"

"Are you hard of hearing now?" Jenny said, trying to keep herself composed. "It's just a marriage of convenience. It's not real."

"Still! Why in the world would you think that my daughter is a lesbian?"

Clare sat in between them as if she was a referee waiting to intervene two boxers.

"Oh, David, being a lesbian or not, it doesn't matter in this case," her mother said. "Like I said the marriage is only for a show. They want someone to play the role of a wife, not an actual wife."

"It's not a joke, is it?" David said. "We don't even know who those people are!"

"I can trust my friend, Shirley," Jenny said. "She really wants to help us out, David."

"I'm sorry, I can't even wrap my mind around it," David said. "Why doesn't the Duchess pick a man and be done with it? A man can play the role too, and it would make more sense."

"Dad," Clare spoke up. "I think you haven't heard about her yet. Well, I don't know much about her either, but rumor has it that Violet Wintour is quite a notorious lady charmer."

"Oh, perfect," David said, dropping his fist on the table in disbelief.

"David, I don't see why this upsets you so much," Jenny said. "I thought we found a solution to get us out the hellhole you created!"

"You don't have to remind me. I know what I have done. I didn't grow up on a stupid farm eating moron seeds," Clare's father retorted, his face turned red. "I want to be the person who gets us out of it myself."

"Well, how? By moving to Alaska and freeze to death?"

"But I don't want to use our daughter for money!" he cried. "I want her to marry for love, do you understand?"

"Dad," Clare tried to calm him down. "I know dignity is important to you, but I have decided that I'm going to do it."

"No, I won't allow that."

"If you don't know how dire our situation is, just look around," Jenny added. "Our lives are in a shambles, and we barely survive! Do you want Clare to work until she breaks? How many jobs does she have now? People her age are doing things they want to do, pursuing their dreams and enjoy their young lives, not spending their days scrubbing floors and weaving around tables. What if those dreadful gangsters barge into our house again? What if they harm our daughter next time? Think about it!"

Then Jenny burst out crying. David looked pained. Clare was silent as she watched the two of them in great emotional conflicts.

After a long moment later, her father looked up at Clare. His eyes were filled with unshed tears, causing her owns to well up, too.

"I'm a useless father," he said helplessly.

"No, please, Dad, as long as I can get us out of debts and live without fear again, I don't care," she said with a sad smile. David got up from his chair and went around to hug her tightly to his chest.

~*~

On Sunday morning the following week, Violet received a letter from her lawyers and the trustees. As she finished reading it, she wondered whether she should burn it or had a drink instead. She wasn't sure if the third cup of coffee would worsen her state of mind or improve it. Then she was distracted by someone tapping on her door then George, her butler, came in.

"Your Grace, Lady Florence has arrived and is waiting for you in the drawing-room," he informed her.

"Alright," she said and waved him away.

Violet glanced at the grandfather clock. It was already late in the afternoon. She gathered herself reluctantly before stepping out of the office.

Florence sat in the room of high-ceiling with neoclassical plaster showing the motifs of the family crests. She passed the time looking at portraits of Violet's ancestors. Above the fireplace was a vivid water-colored painting of a man who built the castle. Richard Wintour, the first Duke of Averbury, stood in his flashy military uniform, leaning on a battle cannon in a dashing way. He was a dazzling handsome man, and his personality also seeped into his architecture.

But that was not the impressive thing about the Duke. Next to his portrait was a regal Scottish woman in her elaborate purple gown. Florence was always enticed by her saucy pose and glance. It was Lady Rosemary, Richard's wife. He married the heiress, who was the real chieftain of the house. She was a favorite granddaughter of one special woman—Sophia of Hanover. It might not sound much at first, but Florence's father used to tell her that one couldn't become the British monarch unless one was legitimately descended from Sophia. That was the law of the realms.

Florence didn't care about it at that time. If some rather obsessive people scoured the earth and created a list of Sophia's six generations, there would be thousands of people on it. Now staring at Violet's great great great great grandparents, she came to a realization that the list of eligible heirs to the British Throne also had Violet Wintour on it.

In the midst of her aimless reveries, the double doors burst open and the Duchess herself stepped in with her semi-permanent scowl.

"How's your wife-hunting going?" Florence said. Violet didn't respond. She went to the wall at the corner and pushed it open. It was actually a hidden door that led to a fully stocked bar. Florence followed her into the secret room behind the fireplace. She had been in the castle numerous times, but it never ceased to amaze her. Until now, she still wasn't sure what was a wall and what was a door. The little room had a velvet sofa facing a Venetian window with this amazing view of the Persian Ironwood. Violet poured two glasses of aged wine then handed one to her friend.

"I got the letter from my lawyers today," Violet said.

"Oh no, was it very bad that you start drinking at this time of day?" Florence said.

"Not very bad, but bad still," Violet said. "My uncle is going to legally press forward with my father's will if something doesn't happen at a certain amount of time."

"You meant if there's no wedding," Florence said before taking a sip of her drink. Violet turned to the sofa and sat down then crossed her long legs. She leaned back with a sigh. Her eyes kept staring at her wine glass.

"What my uncle doesn't know is that I have the letters patent from the Crown. Our title allows suo jure female inheritance," she told her friend. "So his chance of inheriting the title is just a pipe dream, but this..." she motioned to the landscape before her, "All of this he can claim according to the will created by my beloved father."

Florence was well aware that the Latin phrase suo jure means 'in his or her own right' but she also knew there were a number of cases in which the title had gone in one direction and the assets in another.

Unlike most noble peerages, Violet's ancient ducal title still devolved upon daughters even if there were other male heirs available. That was how powerful Sophia's lineage was. As far as she remembered, Violet's great great grandmother, who also held the title Duchess, died and left two daughters. The title thus went to the eldest daughter then the next one, not to their uncle.

Now if it wasn't for the Twelfth Duke's ridiculous will written to pressure his gay daughter into marriage, Violet wouldn't have to stress about it. Her father was such a bitter misogynistic bastard, Florence thought to herself.

"So has Shirley been digging for your potential bride yet?"

"Yes, she got me a handful of candidates," Violet said.

"And?"

"The idea of having any one of them walking around my house revolts me," she said.

"Oh come on, Violet," Florence groaned. "Who cares? It's just in the name!"

"Well I do," Violet said. "Whoever that sodding tart is, she's going to have my name."

"You're being a dumbass right now," her friend said. "You're between a rock and a hard place. This is not the time to be picky. Are you avoiding it because you're considering someone else?"

"That's ridiculous. Who could that be?" Violet's frown deepened.

"Well, I heard that Eleanor is back," Florence said, looking rather concerned. "I know it's easy to say you're over someone because you don't see them. The challenge is to look at them in the eyes and still be able to say 'this is not what I want anymore'."

Violet drank the rest of her wine in one swoop.

"Well, she's out of the question because she's dead to me." Then she got up to refill her glass. Florence sighed and put her drink away.

Suddenly, Violet's phone rang. She looked at the screen before answering it.

"Yes, Shirley?" she said, "Alright...I'm in the drawing-room." And she hanged up. Then the Duchess turned to Florence again. "Curious to see what hidden gems Shirley has dug up?"