Her Duchess

Violet was positive that this long-drawn meeting was going to ruin not just her spine but also her sanity. The squeaking sound of leathered chairs continued to irritate her, but she remained seated in silence.

After weeks of organized chaos, Violet still found herself dealing with endless herds of strangers. She was sick of them floating around in their crisp fancy three-piece suits, murmuring like wasps. This particular group had got to be the last one she had to face or else she would have to temporarily move out of her own house.

"This is the condition that your grandfather and your late father had left."

"I know what they had left...I read the will."

"Then you know that we are here to..."

"Reinforce it. Tie the loose ends, whatever you call it," Violet said tersely. "Now just cut to the chase. I don't have all day for this."

"Alright then, your uncle had brought it to our attention that the inheritance of your title and the family property is not legitimate unless you are a male heir or legally married," a stocky man with a pot-belly and white beard said. "But consider that you are neither, we are now having trouble proceeding with the royal decree."

"Sir Henry, tell me why I should care about what was my good-for-nothing uncle brought to your attention?"

The man's face reddened with shock. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

"Well, if I may have your patience for a minute," a middle-aged thin man spoke up with a stone face at her. "Let me explain it this way, as your uncle is one of the hereditary peers and the last living male heir of the Wintour, he can actually claim the title as the Duke of Averbury and inherit the estate."

Violet's borrows furrowed in confusion. The thought of someone else taking over her home was unfathomable. Although she practically spent most of her youth in boarding school, she did not want anyone, related or not, to snatch what rightfully belonged to her.

Everything in this place held every bit of her childhood memories. The varnished wooden floor which she slipped and slid on her Christmas socks, the library with its huge antique shelves filled with leather-bound books where she played and read by her father's massive mahogany desk. The marble fireplace carved to perfection and the walls hung with portraits of her ancestors through generations. Averbury Castle was always her home.

"He can't," she finally said. "The Crown Act already amended the system. Male heirs no longer take precedence over the females. Or is there any part of it I misinterpreted, Lord Albert?"

The man looked sheepish before letting out a sigh.

"Your Grace," he said in a heavy tone at last. "It has been known that the family's will signed and sealed by your father, the eleventh Duke of Averbury, is by tradition and old laws, unbreakable. We simply could not reverse it."

"Which means?"

"You have only one option to keep Averbury," said the man, "and that is marriage."

Violet stood up in exasperation. Around the large oval table, the family's lawyers, trustees, treasurers, and estate managers, sat with an alarmed look. They remained silent for they knew not to push the envelope too far with Violet Wintour.

The twenty-four-year-old heiress shot her secretary a why-am-I-being-tortured-like-this? grimace. She had been listening to a long-stretching list of irrelevant things all day, and when they finally found the damn chase to cut, she was told that she was expected to get married.

Violet Wintour would never get married to a man. Anyone who wasn't living under a rock knew that.

Sitting to the right of her, a mature woman with dark-framed glasses and hair bun pleaded her with a patronizing smile. Shirley had been working with Violet's father since she was in her early thirties. Now at forty-five, she could say that she knew what was going on in Violet's mind.

She was constructing emergency plans.

Then the young heiress sighed and looked back at the other nobles.

"The eleventh Duke stated in the will that I shall be married in order to be a legitimate successor, is that correct?" she said.

Everyone looked at one another before confirming it.

"Indeed, Your Grace," Lord Albert said.

And just like that, Violet Wintour said something that even her secretary couldn't have predicted.

"Then so be it."

~*~

"Are you utterly out of your mind?" Florence cried as they sat at Christin's. The restaurant was packed with well-dressed customers, but the manager knew who they were. They spent time looking up important names and had come to greet them with a humble bow as soon as the car doors opened. Then he led the two women to a secluded room reserved only for special patrons.

"What else can I do?" Violet said with a shrug.

"But a marriage?"

"Or should I let my uncle take over?"

"No, but are you sure you want to do this?" Florence asked with concern. "Who are you going to marry?"

"Well, certainly not you," Violet said, the tone of her voice lowering as her annoyance grew.

"Right, because I'm a straight woman, and even if I'm not, I wouldn't want to marry a royal player like you either," Florence said with a chuckle. "But seriously, how are you going about that? This is not a small thing, you know."

"I know it isn't, thank you very much for reminding me," the heiress said.

The waiter came with a tray of French cuisines and red wine. They had to stop talking for a while. The food was neatly placed on the silk-clothed table before the waiter bowed and left them again.

"Have you thought of a marriage of convenience?"

"I have," Violet said after a sip of the chilled wine. "I guess it can't be helped."

"Well, if it really comes to that, I know a few gay men I can introduce you to, Violet," Florence said, taking a scoop off her caviar.

"Why gay men?" the heiress said. Florence looked up at her with a confused face.

"Didn't you just tell me you were thinking of a marriage of convenience?" she said.

"It doesn't have to be with men, does it?"

Florence stared at her for a long moment then her eyes went wide.

"Oh no, don't tell me that..."

The corners of Violet's lips curved up into an enigmatic smirk.

"If they want marriage, then I'll give them one hell of a marriage."