As the train sped through the English countryside, looking particularly beautiful in the early summer sunshine, Margaret remembered her former life before Charles had made her his Duchess. It was a period she normally tried very hard to blot out as it had been a pretty turbulent time. Grieving for her parents, she had been plucked from the home she had shared with them and taken to live with her austere Uncle Arthur and prickly Aunt Sarah. They had two daughters; the ghastly Elizabeth, who was the same age as Margaret and who had inherited Aunt Sarah’s snobbish, standoffish tendencies, and the younger, but much more bearable Beatrice, who did make an attempt to be friendly.
Following a year of mourning for her mother, Margaret was given a London season to give her a chance to meet a suitable husband. Margaret launched into the frivolities with gusto, thoroughly enjoying the social round … the balls, the dances, the tea parties, the garden parties and the highlight … being presented at court. Charming admirers flocked to her side, tantalised by this beautiful young girl with black hair, olive skin, deep brown eyes and a tall, willowy figure. They clamoured to talk to her, sit with her, dance with her. Margaret was intoxicated by her success. She had been born for such a life. It suited her … and then she met Jimmy Anderson-Watkins.
Jimmy; he hated being called James, possessed a dreadful reputation for gambling recklessly and no-one had any idea of where he found the money as his family weren’t wealthy and he had no personal means of income. He was good looking, the same height as Margaret so when talking, they looked straight into each other’s eyes. He possessed a ready smile and an intense gaze as he listened with fascination to every word that came out of her mouth. Margaret was smitten and he knew it. He turned up at many of the parties, dances and balls she attended because even though he wasn’t the best marriage proposal on the market, he was immensely popular so invitations were readily made and well received. Margaret made sure she either danced with him or managed a few private words when they attended the same events. She wanted him badly.
Aunt Sarah, watching Margaret closely, couldn’t help but notice what was going on and gave Margaret strict instructions to ignore the young man. “He is not for you, young lady. He is nothing but a rake and will only lead you into trouble. I don’t want to see you anywhere near him again. Is that clear?”
Margaret was beyond caring, driven on by her urgent desire to mate. This young man’s kisses sent her wild when they managed a few moments alone in the darkened gardens of Lord and Lady Armstrong’s mansion during their daughter’s eighteenth birthday party … but Margaret wanted more … much more. Arrangements were made to sneak away from a dance later that week, Jimmy hailing a taxi outside and then, in a dimly lit and tawdry hotel room in the backstreets of Soho, Margaret lost her virginity.
She would never forget the experience. Even with the light off, it was still possible to see clearly as the gay flashing lights from the strip club across the road illuminated the tiny room with alternate pretty colours. The furniture was cheap and basic; a double bed with no headboard, a hard-backed chair, a wardrobe with a door hanging off and a cracked, grubby mirror on the wall. The mattress was old, with a great dip in the middle and the sheets were threadbare and smelled faintly of disinfectant.
It was all quite revolting but Margaret had ignored it, too desperate to get her clothes off in order to satisfy the urgent need she had endured for weeks. She had loved parading around the room with nothing on while Jimmy lay on the bed ogling her but it wasn’t long before she moved towards him, her body bursting to be released from frustration. He grabbed her. They kissed, they panted, they probed and they tussled and within minutes Margaret was a virgin no longer.
“Lovely,” she had murmured. “Let’s do it again … but much slower; much, much slower.”
Margaret came away sore, exhilarated but having learnt a lot. She was now a real woman and no-one could take that away from her. She had seen the stars as her body shuddered in stupendous orgasm. She had touched the summit of the universe. She felt as if she could fly. She wanted to do it again, again and again. Jimmy obliged for a short while but when the meagre funds he did have ran out, he disappeared from London. Margaret wasn’t sorry. She wanted to experiment … see what it was like with others … it could be even better … she had to find out. Over the next few weeks, she became enamoured of three other young men, growing adept at finding excuses to disappear from crowded parties and gradually enticing one after the other to sneak out with her for exhilarating sessions in their cars or pay a quick visit back to the hotel room in Soho.
Margaret’s frequent indiscretions went unnoticed by Uncle Arthur and Aunt Sarah. Their attention had been diverted by Elizabeth’s engagement, not to someone of high rank as they had wished but to a stuffy American professor, with a drawling accent Margaret found most irritating. George was visiting England for three months before taking up a one-year teaching post at Edinburgh University and during one of his outings to the National Gallery, he had met Elizabeth. It hadn’t taken long for their
