Heaven And Hell novel Chapter 114

"Laura?" Portia called out loudly at the phone, as she scrambled for it.

"Miss Beaufort, I am the dowager Duchess of Rossington, and I need to speak with you regarding an urgent matter."

"Laura?"

"This is the dowager duchess, Miss Beaufort, I need to --"

The mobile flashed and played Bach again.

"Aaaaaaahhhh!!!" Portia screamed, which led Marge to do the same out of sheer surprise, which also alerted a few servants in the main hall that stood a few paces away.

"It didn't work!" Marge moaned, sliding onto the floor while Portia was already rather seated dejectedly with her back against the lip of the coffee table.

"But I slid it! It said 'slide to accept,' and I did, and oh, Margaret, this is so very confusing! I was born in 935, for heaven's sake! We had rotary phones when I was a girl!"

Marge grabbed the mobile and shook it, all the while snapping, "And I was born in 'Thirty-three, you goose!" Then she yelled at the phone, "Nineteen-bloody-thirty-three!"

"Madams?" Headford, the estate's loyal butler, stood hesitantly in the doorway, resisting the urge to goggle at the sight of both dowagers on the floor and screaming at a mobile phone that played classical music. "May I be of assistance?" His face resumed its impassive expression, then he waited for them to answer. Lady Cutting got off the carpet and stood up with quiet dignity that befitted a true duchess.

Except for the sound of her joints popping as she got up.

The ladies winced.

"Headford," Lady Cutting eventually barked, "I command you to control this godforsaken contraption." She started waving the mobile toward him in disgust, with a frightening scowl on her wrinkled face.

He strode over and took it. "Of course, madam."

Lady Portia pushed herself off the floor and sat numbly, her eyes staring blankly at her carefully brewed Da Hong Pao. "I am never having that thing again," she whispered numbly. "Arthur can have it, for all I care."

Lady Cutting agreed. "Throw it in the Thames, even," she muttered, making Headford's lips quiver in silent amusement that she did not see. The butler touched the sliding feature with his thumb -- his thumb! -- then put it in loud speaker, handing it to the dowager duchess quietly.

She gave him a nod and shooed him away, then she seated herself perpendicular to a stunned Portia once again.

"Lady Portia?" a posh voice inquired on the other line. Portia looked up sharply and listened carefully.

"She's here, but this is Lady Margaret Cutting," Marge said imperiously, glaring at the mobile with unshed hatred. "I believe Lady Portia has arranged for us to talk. I apologise for the delayed answer, for we were having tea."

"...tea?"

"Yes," she barked, "tea. We are English, after all, and I, for one, take my teatime very seriously."

Portia wisely kept quiet but a small smile was creeping its way on her face.

"Marriage, as you will soon come to realise, my dear Miss Beaufort, is politics."

Portia was silently laughing at this statement, and that earned her a squint from Marge, who still had Laura frightened. "Maybe in the previous centuries, Margaret, but not this one," she teased.

Marge harrumphed and scoffed, "Not in this family, it isn't!"

"Okay...okay," Laura sighed, ending both dowagers' banter. "Which Cutting lord are we talking about?"

"The Marquess of Havenhurst."

That got her attention. It was common knowledge that the twenty-year-old marquess was notoriously private and kept himself in the country; it was intriguing news, indeed, that someone caught the eye of one of Britain's most eligible -- not to mention notoriously private -- and richest bachelors!

Marge waited for Laura's excitement to subside, then she hedged on. "I want you to announce their engagement on the news. Get someone from the entertainment side to do it, if you must."

"Are they in love?"

"They're getting there."

"Marge!" Portia gaped at this piece of lie and took a swig of her tea to calm herself. Oh, dear. Margaret, on the other hand, ignored her.