Androshorts: Lords and the Lady

"Thank you, sir..." my George said.

"I did little to influence your upbringing other than staying away from it, which on reflection was a blessing to you... but... but I am so proud to call you my son now, and prouder to know that you are raising the next generation of Chaloniers who will be the finest yet, well finer than I could have raised." The old man leaned forward his hands prayerfully held together, "It's my dying wish that you remain a Chalonier and take that family name forward and from strength to strength."

George thought for a moment; he thought of his upbringing as a servant and his reserved but very real hatred of the partying classes that just had everything and considered him a third class citizen because he had nothing. He thought of those eight rich bitches that would get drunk at weekenders and have him screw them, swearing to take their secret to the grave but in reality telling their girlfriends 'in the strictest confidence of course' about Daines the footman at Westonly Hall who was such an amazing lover and would spend the night with you and screw you to paroxysms of pleasure for a single five pound note.

He thought how much he hated the other George, his three-week younger half-brother, the most spoilt and pointless brat of that entire Chalonier generation and he broke eye contact with Charles, 9th Lord Chalonier for a moment.

The Chaloniers, the first two he'd known from a distance while the fourth had tried to murder him. That Chalonier, the one with the hateful sneer, the one that had made Private Daines G sit in his dugout trying to think of the best way to have his revenge on that bastard that had fucked over his future in the Battalion and made his life a misery, just because he could.

Something made him look out of the window and into the garden where he saw his wonderful boys becoming men, the first already preparing to head to Cambridge, and his pretty girl becoming a beautiful woman pushing me on the swing she'd loved her whole life. He could see his family playing in the garden and thought of our wonderful life together.

"I beg you, George," said his father in response to his silence, "if I could get on my knees I would," he coughed some more, "I'm leaving it all to you, George," said Lord Charles, "Everything; I've set things in place for your sisters'-in-law so that they may still live well and comfortably and you need do nothing for them, seeing as they rarely did anything for me. George... George Please!"

George was miles away though, his thoughts being back in that bad place, back to his horrible, horrible half-brother...

But something brought him out of that moment, of that passing time, that nightmare and then that sneer was no more, the last time he saw it was the moment before the smug bastard was blown to pieces.

The owner of that sneer, those of his remains they could find at least, are buried at Tyne Cot Cemetery in Belgium in one of more than 8,000 graves marked 'A Soldier of The Great War -- Known only to God' while the man he'd done so badly by and attempted to murder and lose in the fog of war had survived, barely, the explosion that had killed him.

Not only had he survived, the shivering survivor pulled on the jacket his would-be assassin had discarded in his cowardly haste, carried on the fight one-handed and actually won the medal the original owner had talked about being given 'because he was a gentleman'.

There was a pause, just long enough to let the old man suffer, just a tiny bit.

"It's been an honour sir," said the next Lord Chalonier, taking his Father's hand with a gentle squeeze, "I'll do it, I'll do it all for your grandchildren... Father..."

"You laughed out loud and I looked out of the window and saw you all," George told me later.

And he knew right there and then that he'd already had the best revenge on his tormentor, one that he could never have envisaged in his tent or planned in his dugout, without fate and karma interceding on his behalf.

"The real revenge was that I won you Darling Katie," he said to me later that night as we held each other after the most wonderful lovemaking, "He lost everything," he said as he kissed me, "and I found it, put it on and lived a life far better than the one he would have had!"

I love you George!" I said, wiping my tears on his discarded nightshirt.

So many visitors to Chalonier Hall the next day said how Lord Charles looked at perfect peace having come to terms with his son George, after seeing much and saying nothing, after worrying about the future of his family name and coronet.

But then Lieutenant George Chalonier returned from Flanders the hero that The Times had spoken of with such clarity. Then it was the turn of The London Gazette to retell the story of this Military Cross winner, the badly wounded last survivor of his company bravely fighting off the advancing Germans one-handed, with just two rounds left in his magazine, but with a bayonet at his side ready to be fixed for the final defence.

This was strange; prior to the dispatch that told of his wounds and his bravery, Lord Charles had received nothing but worrying reports of his son's shortcomings from trusted friends -- this action had come not a moment too soon it seemed. The nasty blustery bully that had sailed for France came back a changed man.

My George did what he was told by his Doctors and strangely the nurses who he would have considered below him weeks before. He suffered his pains quietly and patiently and made every effort when told. Lord Charles had, like me, believed that his youngest son would use this as an opportunity to be waited on for the rest of his life.

But no; he saw the new closeness between George and I. He'd started a new interest in his youngest son that had never really been there before. In those weeks prior to the death of Henry he'd started to pick up from friends and family alike how his youngest and now only surviving son treated his wife with such open contempt and flaunted it whenever and however he could and lived the life of the happy bachelor -- even though he was married. He had seen the evidence for himself, sending that appalling Countess of Craie on her way at least three times before she finally got the message.

Soon though, through my regular visits Lord Charles could see that we were a couple, more than we ever had been, and it was more about the change in his horrible son than with me.

George went from strength to strength, swore off of his previous women and could not have been a better husband to me. This was followed by my first pregnancy, confinement and delivery overseen by Clements, and the most amazing was George's new interest in the family estate and it's future meaning that Old Lord Charles could hand over the reins and his coronet to his now-favourite son.

The old man passed the next night, peacefully and in his sleep and was buried in the Chalonier crypt in the church next to his beloved wife, and with pictures of all four of his sons in their khaki uniforms in his pocket, and the small piece of Flanders clay he had carried in a tin since the death of his second son.

With the passing of my Father-in-law my husband and in real life the last surviving son of the 9th Duke Chalonier became the 10th. I didn't think things could get any more perfect.

We retired to Chalonier Hall and continued to raise our three beloved children. George was spending some time in London taking up his seat in the House of Lords while I made a visit to my old home for my parents to see their beloved grandchildren, and I met a very old friend. During some innocent chats with Mama, I discovered that Mrs. Daines, now my mother's housekeeper, was looking for an easier life now since the passing of her quite older husband and I had an idea, a repayment of a very old debt in fact. Chalonier Hall didn't have a Nanny since Nanny Hales had left to get married almost three years before.

Mrs. Daines had been like a big warm and friendly Aunt who kept both of my Grandparent's great houses in the state of perfect domestic bliss, then my parents and she had always treated me with the greatest kindness; her happy cry of 'Lady Katieeeeee' and the sight of her arms held wide for a hug still had the power to warm my heart.

And she actually was my mother-in-law.

I went down to her huge and spotless kitchen at a rare moment of quiet and knocked.

"Lady Katieeeeee!" she called out.

Over a cup of tea and her wonderful cake I'd never forgotten the taste of, I sat in her spotless kitchen and said that Mama had said her housekeeper was thinking of retiring.

"That I am Lady Katie," she said now looking her almost sixty years of age, "Mrs. Owen is the Deputy Housekeeper and more than ready to take over the reins."

I explained that I had the most wonderful retirement job for her. Lady Caroline was growing up and would need help and support for that process. That was a terrible slander on my gorgeous daughter, but this was for a worthy cause.

Mrs. Daines was initially hesitant to come to the house of the recently deceased man that had raped her almost forty years before and whose son had died moments before that rapist's son was badly wounded. I turned on the Lady Katie charm and begged that she consider taking things easier and coming to my house to look after my much-loved girl in the same way she had looked after me years before. She beamed that happy smile and she obviously felt she had to come to my aid.

Three nights later and in the secrecy of the darkened west wing, I told Lord Chalonier that I had a nice surprise for him, taking his hand and leading him through to the old nursery and there was his Mother, in a rocking chair next to the fire nodding in her sleep.

George was stunned but I held my finger to my lips and pushed him in. He paused, then smiled the biggest smile, getting what he had to do.

"Evenin' Ma!" he said.

His mother stirred,

"Oh my, Lord George, you frightened the life out of me, you sounded like..."

"There's a good reason why I sounded like your son Georgie... Ma..."

"Georgie!?" she put her hands to her shocked face.

"Yes Ma," he said with a smile, he dropped to his knees before her and she touched his damaged face, loving the same damaged smile that I did, "This is my, no OUR final revenge on those Chalonier bastards," he snarled.

He explained his advantures from the last time she had heard from him, his last letter from the training base he'd returned to after being wounded and being recommended for his military medal, and Lieutenant George's meeting him and after a bottle of brandy, teasing him that he was his illegitimate brother.

He explained next how 'that bastard' had him busted down to private soldier for insubordination in jealous rage once he'd found out about his now confirmed bravery decoration.

My George explained how 'that bastard' had wanted to be waited on hand and foot even in an ooze-filled Belgian trench and quite how his plan to survive began to manifest itself.

He explained about the tunic swap demand, the bastard shooting him and his many wounds especially the facial ones; then the medics, the Battalion officers, the high command, eventually the Army took him to be Lieutenant The Honourable George Chalonier and he went with it, unable for that time to talk or deny anything initially than his gradual slide into a resigned acceptance of what was happening to him.

He explained about his return to the London house, me and how much in love we were, our secret marriage and finally that young John (named after his step-father, his mother's husband), young George and Caroline were, in fact, her real grandchildren. He said that she could spend her days in the luxury of Chalonier Hall with this entire wing to herself and the three Grandchildren.

He didn't know what her reaction might be but in the end, it was very good and very simple.

She wiped tears from her eyes and hugged him like she would never let go, rocking him and leaning back to look at her son, returned from the grave.

"Well done Georgie," she said using her old name for him, "after losing you for almost twenty years I'm so delighted to have you back and to find that my lovely Lady Katie is actually my lovely daughter in law, and my wonderful grandchildren. Your secret is safe with me Georgie..." she hugged him again. I came across and joined them.

"Good evening... Ma!" I said, and she kissed me. Now she knew that Lady Katie was her daughter in law her care of my family was second to none, our children just calling her Granny Daines and loving her like their own, even if they were never told she was their last surviving Grandma.

The years have passed and Ma has gone to her rest, along with my Grandmama and my Mother and Father. Our life is still the paradise it was all those years ago. The Second World War has come to an end with both John and George surviving their service, John as a fighter pilot, George as an Engineering Officer while Katie served in Intelligence and Security at the War Office. Both of my boys are back at Cambridge completing their studies, John with his beautiful wife Dorothy and our granddaughter Elizabeth. George is engaged to Frances, the older sister of Caroline's Fiancé Roy, and Chalonier Hall now rings again to the sound of house parties, and young people enjoying their inheritance.

Lance Corporal George Daines MM is a name on the Menin Gate and the small war memorial plaque in the Chapel at Westonly Place; George Chalonier wasn't blown to pieces in a barrage in the later stages of Passchendaele as he ran away from the fighting in a stolen tunic. Rather he still walks with his blackthorn stick but that is rather more about his age than his wounds from the Great War. He became Colonel of the Regiment and was very much involved with his Battalions' although he remained in the UK right up until 1945 when Churchill himself cornered him in the Members Bar and insisting that Colonel Lord Chalonier MC should visit his Regiment now doing garrison duties in Holland and lower Germany.

Winston spoke highly of him and of his name and his delight that another generation of Chalonier's were blasting that historic name across the pages of history, with one of them being one of his 'Few'.

I could see in my George's face that somewhere within him was still the remains of that angry and hard-used footman who lived and loved his stolen life; still the tiniest bit angry about the honourable man he left behind to become a good version of a bad one; so this is why I am writing his, indeed OUR story

This short diary will be sealed and hidden from anyone it could do harm to and I hope not found for many, many years when the happy tale of Katie and George will live again.

Katherine, Lady Chalonier."

Epilogue.

Post-graduate Student Holly wiped her eyes for the twentieth time since starting the diary and grinned, at least that was some happy ending.

John, 11th Lord Chalonier DSO DFC had died not two years before and was buried with the military honours owed to one of the last of 'The Few', and she figured his son George would not really benefit from knowing that his grandfather was a low born footman that took the place of his cowardly, murderous half-brother. More than that, she thought back to the huge oil painting above the grand staircase, the gorgeous Lady Katherine who deserved another hundred years of scandal-free memory.

Holly pressed the review buttons on the camera and deleted the pictures of that particular relic and gently folding the most personal history back into the old false book that had kept it safe this far, pasted the lid surfaces and clamped it shut. The next morning she took the now secure and innocently looking book and attached a meaningless and unrecorded white numbered label, slipping it into the bottom of one of a dozen or so large plastic boxes marked 'Chalonier Family Archives' hoping that in another fifty years someone else might open it and read of the love story of Lady Katie and her George.

The End.