The Disreputable Duke

“This is BBC Radio 4 and here is the news read by Chris Aldridge.”

“The artist son of The Duke of Shettleham, Jasper Neyve, and The Marquis Prybourn was photographed early this morning rescuing a runaway horse at the gates of Hyde Park. It seemed that the rescue happened on the spur of the moment as Marquis Prybourn was naked except for a pair of women’s red silk and lace pants. He ran across the road and jumped on the back of the horse to stop it running into traffic. When the Marquis asked about his attire said that he jumped out of bed and his girlfriend’s knickers were the first thing he picked up. He said the safety of the horse and keeping it away from the traffic was paramount.

The Prime Minister flew to Brussels last night…”

It was a slow news day.

Edwin Neyve closed his eyes in fury and despair. He forced his breathing to be even and slow, his bone white knuckles as he clenched his fists were the only sign of his rage. God help him if the nurse caught sight of his anger, she would fuss and faff around him as if he was drawing his last breath. Edwin knew that moment was not too far away, but it wouldn't be today.

For his son however, if he could get hold of him, drawing his last breath might come sooner than he ever thought it would. Once again Jasper had disgraced their name. Edwin was sick of seeing his only son in the Daily Mail ‘column of shame’. In fact that wasn't the only tabloid newspaper Jasper was in this morning, his charming features and irrepressible grin also graced The Sun, The Daily Mirror, and The Daily Express. Edwin refused point blank to look in The Daily Star. Worst of all he was even on the front page of The Daily Telegraph.

He was seething. What the hell did Jasper think he was playing at? It wasn't the fact that he was tearing around Hyde Park on the back of a horse, but the fact that he was naked except for a pair of red lacy knickers which probably belonged to one of the two topless floozies hanging out of his bedroom window cheering him on!

Did he have no respect for his heritage, for his title, and the name he bore? How could he trust him to take care of the house and land after he’d died? His behaviour was appalling! It was just not good enough, not by a very long shot!

He took a deep calming breath, and soothed his anxiety by looking around his ancient study, it was, he thought, the very best part of Shettleham Manor. Just sitting at his desk watching the early morning sunlight refracting rainbows through the mullioned windows, brought a sense of peace and continuity somewhat dispelling the feeling of anger and irritation caused by his son. The light bounced off the glass fronted shelves housing his leather volumes depicting the history of his home and ancestors. The house had been standing here since 1346 AD, a reward for knightly and valiant service at the battle of Crecy by Edward III.