The Duke's Affair

I

The thin polyester of Lauren's dress was sticking to her chest and thighs in the heat. She could feel the perspiration beading between her breasts, only to be caught by the cotton of her bra as it rolled over her skin. She tried to shift her body inside her dress, but it only tightened against her warm flesh.

An August wedding was all very well, but today it was sweltering. The hottest day of the year so far. Lauren glanced about, wondering how the women managed to look so composed, so refined and glamorous. By comparison she felt unattractive and sweaty, and her sense of inferiority was heightened all the more by the knowledge that she had bought her dress in the sale last summer, and on the high street too. She was sure it must be the only high street dress in the room.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling the slick of sweat that would ruin her makeup. Any second now she would be forced to converse with someone she didn't know; someone who would judge her immediately on hearing her accent. She had tried to say as little as possible, trying to keep the Essex under control in her voice. But it was a thankless task; they knew. These people always knew where you were from, almost instantaneously.

Goddamn the English, she thought.

She desperately needed some fresh air, and there was nothing but centuries of stuffiness in this hall, as grand as it was. She wanted to throw open the windows and let a gale blow through the room, only there was no gale outside. There was barely a breeze at all.

Lauren leant against the cool marble of one of the columns around the hall, pressing her back against its cold solidity. Over by the main entrance she could just see Emily, who was smiling and kissing the guests as they entered, George standing at her side and shaking the hands of the guests. The pair of them looked beyond happy: blissful was the word, thought Lauren as she watched.

She knew she should have been overjoyed at seeing her friend married to such an incredible man. He was rich, he was handsome, and he was kind. And, most importantly, he loved Emily very much.

But Lauren felt out of her depth in this place; this aristocrat's home. It was virtually a palace, almost on a level with houses she had traipsed around when she was younger; Blenheim, Chatsworth and other such beauties. She tilted her head back to take in the decoration; family portraits, mahogany furniture, tables topped with silver framed photographs of generations of the family and visiting members of the Royal Family. A black and white photo of a woman in an ermine trimmed velvet cloak; some sort of ceremonial garb, Lauren assumed. Everything spoke of generations of wealth and privilege, and it was so far removed from anything Lauren knew that she could hardly believe she was there at all.

Emily had warned Lauren that a lot of the guests at the wedding would be wealthy business associates of George's. George was an investment banker at JP Morgan, and for a guy in his early thirties he had already done incredibly well. Lauren recalled Emily being blown away by the gifts he had showered on her and the dates he had taken her on. The fact that he was ten years her senior seemed to make little difference to either of them.

Lauren shivered, despite the fact that the room was too warm. She was worried someone was going to find her out. She was ordinary, she was simple; and everything here was beyond her wildest imaginings.

She turned, peeling herself from the pillar, and pressed open a heavy wooden door, desperate to go outside, but unsure how to get there without going back past the bride and groom and exiting the main entrance. When the door closed behind her the noise of the gathering, the clinking of glasses and braying of laughter, was shut out and she walked on as though in a vacuum, the only noise the clicking of her heels on the floor. She passed down a long gallery lined with paintings and mirrors, with long windows that looked out onto the lawns and fountains below.