Chapter 25 The Wedding #2
“Right, so what’s the big deal about augmenting The Fund?”
“Growth from moderate- to low-risk investments sometimes won’t cover the cost of inflation. We can only use the interest we make on those, so it’s consistently necessary to augment The Fund to keep on top of paying to manage both houses.”
“And if you don’t keep doing that, what? You’ll lose property?”
“Fortunately, I make enough that wouldn’t be a problem. But it’s my job, all of our jobs, to secure the future of the duchy.”
“So selling those two hideous Louis XV gilt candelabras with porcelain chickens in the middle of them will assist in keeping the duchy running smoothly,” I deduced.
He smiled. “Precisely.”
I smiled in return.
At this point in our discussion, he cocked his head to the side and reiterated, “I make enough that wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Okay,” I said so he knew I’d heard him this time, even if I’d heard him the last one.
“Darling, I’m an independently wealthy man.”
I didn’t know why he was saying that out loud since I already knew.
He came to me, gathered my hair at my nape in both hands, resting his forearms on my shoulders, and he dipped to me.
“That money, my money, will be placed in trusts for my children, their educations and their futures, as well as set aside for a very comfortable retirement for myself and my wife. Not to mention, in the interim, used on important things, like tennis bracelets,” he said quietly.
Ah.
I grinned up at him.
He used my hair to tip my head further back, and he kissed me.
And we quit talking about The Fund, as fascinating as it was, and started doing better, far more fascinating (and fun) things.
In the end, with all that stuff in the attics, they decided on non-equal thirds.
Except for a few pieces they intended to keep, some of it was being donated to museums, and the rest of it was going to be auctioned, with three quarters of the proceeds going into The Fund, and one quarter to charities the duchy patronized.
That said, Battle told me, the low end of what they expected to get from the auction would, “Make things much easier for Fury and Noble, darling.”
Oh yeah.
We’d picked our top favorites.
Mm-hmm.
Things were progressing very nicely (see? I could do an understatement too).
Just saying, I didn’t think Battle was falling anymore either.
But when it was all said and done, all of what was in the attics was going to go so Prue could reconfigure part of them into her own studio.
And Battle was going to reconfigure the other parts into apartments so Scotty and Harry (or whoever was in their positions) could be closer to the house for security purposes.
They could then rent the steward’s cottage to increase the estate’s income, and his sisters’ allowances.
Which I thought was a rad idea.
Onward from all of that, I’d taken an afternoon off to clear the cobwebs, and we’d all gone back to Ravenna for another reading (sans Tempie, and not only because she was in London).
Ravenna still didn’t know where Charlie’s letters were.
But she decided it.
In August, Prue and Chassie were going to visit Switzerland.
And spending that time with the clairvoyant decided it for me.
Ravenna was the shit.
Last semi-boring but still not boring (because it was fun) thing that happened: I’d taught Prue and Chassie how to toast bread and make oatmeal (considering there was instant, it was just showing them how to measure milk, and they both already knew how to use a microwave).
We also made pancakes together.
Chassie did all the flipping.
She didn’t mess it up once.
* * *
The big stuff:
As mentioned, Hamish had become one with the crew.
Tempie spent more time in London, but they both always came back to The Downs for the weekends.
I missed her.
But I loved how happy she was with Hamish, with Chassie and Prue moving on with their lives, just happy.
And speaking of Chassie…
She and Christian were dating.
Christian, we would come to learn, was not only smart about gymnosperms (don’t ask me, but Christian could chat with Chassie about them for an hour), he’d clued in that Chassie was at the very least shy, so he was taking it slow.
That said, he came to the roast I made every Sunday.
Further, I’d sent a picture of Battle and me to Solène, and she immediately called after she received it.
And when I picked up, she shouted, “Holy fuck!”
I was not surprised at this reaction.
They were coming out next month.
And yes, they were staying at The Downs.
I didn’t have to try too hard to be convincing. I just sent her photos of the place (mostly Chassie’s gardens), and she’d texted, We’re in.
Her response was so swift, I wasn’t sure she’d run it by Alex.
What I suspected was that he was a man in the manner of Battle, so my sister wouldn’t find him hard to convince either.
Another total non-surprise, my agent lost her shit when she saw Prue’s work.
She signed her within days, and they were planning to go out to bid soon for Into the Gilt Frame (they were going to start at the beginning).
Natalie had already given a few editors some advanced looks, and she told Prue what I knew from the beginning.
She needed to strap in, because it was about to get very interesting.
Prue was nervous, excited and anxious.
But she’d soon have objective input into how talented she was.
So she’d soon come to understand that was the bottom-line truth.
And the last bit of news, the weekend after he’d asked me, I moved into Battle’s rooms.
This did not have to do with the better vanity.
It also didn’t have to do with the pink star sapphire topped and tailed with a triangle of three diamonds in a pendant and matching earrings he brought home from London with him that week (and yes, because Tempie had a big mouth, I now had an amethyst tennis bracelet, an emerald-cut amethyst ring, the stone sitting in a band accented with pavé diamonds, and an amethyst and diamond choker, because they matched my wedding outfits—this was a lot from Battle, but I could tell he seriously got off on spoiling me, so I kept my mouth shut, something I found hard at first, but I was getting used to it).
The move to his rooms further wasn’t because I wasn’t a fan of schlepping things I’d need to the south wing, or Battle doing it when we were in my room, or either of us leaving because we needed our clothes or deodorant.
I moved because he wanted me to move.
And because it felt right.
Before I did it, though, I called and talked to Lenny about it, primarily how fast this was going.
And she said, “One thing I know, Viv, you are no dummy. You’re also not a sucker.
And last, that man wouldn’t move this fast if he wasn’t right there with you.
He has to have trust issues a million miles wide with all the gold diggers who want to dig into him.
And he’s all in with you. Not sure why you’d fight it or question it.
It’s not like he’s chained you in his dungeons.
If shit goes south, you can leave. But since it isn’t, why not do what you always do?
Roll with it and make it work, if you want it to work. Or cut your losses if you don’t.”
My sister was wise.
Therefore, me and the cats were in with Battle and his babies.
And everything was good.
* * *
Watching Battle pose for pictures with the other groomsmen was totally not boring.
Why I thought it would be meant someone should evaluate me.
Eventually, after coming to me to kiss my nose, he went with the others to hang with Rally pre-big-moment, and I went to the patio where pre-big-moment champagne was being served to arriving guests.
I joined Prue, Tempie, Hamish and yes, Chassie had squeezed Christian in at the last minute as her plus one.
“Ah, there she is,” Tempie said loudly as I got close. “Our budding duchess.”
Prue giggled.
Christian sent me a bewildered smile.
Chassie hid hers behind her hand.
Hamish hid his looking at his shoes.
And yeah.
Chelsea was in earshot.
And from the sour look on her face, Tempie’s shot landed in her ears.
“Be good,” I snipped at her quietly when I got to them.
“For heaven’s sake, why?” she asked, sounding genuinely perplexed as to why I’d snip that warning at her.
She also didn’t wait for an answer.
She turned to Hamish and requested, “Will you fetch Vivi some champagne, darling?”
He angled in to kiss her jaw then took off to find a roaming server.
“Battle’s on edge,” I said. “He’s pissed at the potshot Chelsea took at Prue and Chassie—”
“Wait up, what did she say to you?” Christian interrupted me to ask Chassie tetchily.
Oh yeah.
I liked him.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” she replied.
He looked right at Tempie (the boy was a fast learner). “Was it a big deal?”
She took a sip from her champagne flute, swung her hand out to the side, and drawled, “What can I say? The woman is a cunt.”
Christian was going to say something, but thought better of it and muttered to Chassie, “We’ll talk about it later.”
Chassie shot Prue big eyes from over the rim of her own champagne flute.
“As I was saying,” I started up again, “he’s on edge and we, none of us, should do anything to push him over the edge.”
“You know I’ll be good,” Prue said.
“Of course, I wouldn’t do anything,” Chassie said.
Hamish returned with my champagne, I thanked him, then aimed a hard stare at Tempie.
She put her hand to her throat, “Are you asking me not to be me?”
“Just…tone it down so Battle doesn’t make another speech ripping her to shreds in front of Rally and Courtney’s four hundred guests,” I suggested.
“I’ll do my best,” Tempie replied.
I didn’t believe her.
“Love,” Hamish warned in his scrummy burr.
She gazed up at him. “I said I’d do my best.”
“Do that and do better,” he replied.
She turned her head and did such a brilliant rolled side-eye, I wished I had video of it.
Since I missed my chance, I sipped champagne instead.
“I’m so glad they have a beautiful day,” Chassie enthused.