Carrington Mansion Ch 02
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Carrington Mansion Ch. 01 free porn video
An Englishman’s property inheritance in Midwest America leads to romance between a womanizing son of a recently deceased Duke and a beautiful but feisty attorney. Both harbor an unfulfilled desire to find a mate who’d exceeded their expectations.
Chapter 1
In late spring the Mornington Daily News reported at length the death of the Duke of Beaulieu in the county of Hampshire, England, aged eighty-seven. The obituary was noted with considerable relief in the small city of Mornington-on-Test in America Midwest, with those citizens wondering if the demise of the Duke ended some 175 years of invasive dominance of the English-spawned Carrington family on their city.
Mornington spreads on both sides of the city’s river Test, an unusual name for an American river, but in 1832 English aristocrat Lord Charles Carrington, third son of the Duke Of Beaulieu and the recent purchaser (on his father’s behalf) of the city site and a considerable area of plains beyond it, succeeded in having political pals in high places push through the name change with wide support from other people who also found the ancient Indian name difficult to pronounce.
On that day the death of the Duke of Beaulieu was reported, Mayor Al Kennedy called an emergency meeting of council to discuss what action to take. Mayor Kennedy wanted his council to figure out how to seize the land from the Carrington stranglehold, hopefully without having to outlay too much money.
One of the nine councilors attending that meeting was recently elected Kitty Carlisle-Bowden who called herself Kitty Carlisle. Kitty suggested the council offer the Duke $4 million for the purchase of the Carrington Estate in the heart of downtown Mornington and being the only realistic suggestion, that proposal was adopted.
The council was aware its bold plan could fail because on numerous summer vacations to the city, the heir apparent and womanizing elder son of the Duke, the Marquess of Chawton, had been openly contemptuous of Mornington. In one instance during an interview on local television, Lord Chawton called Mornington ‘a poxy place bereft of culture but remarkable for its quality of loose women’. That, of course, reinforced dislike of the arrogant Carrington brood.
The mayor and council agreed the 12th Duke of Beaulieu would surely see merit in having the land preserved in perpetuity as city parkland. The vivacious Kitty, youngest of the councilors by far at thirty-one, had suggested the land be named Carrington Park and the home on the estate converted into the city’s long needed arts center, to be called the Carrington Memorial Arts Center to tempt the new Duke to rid himself of his connection with the place he’d labeled poxy.
While the mayor and other councilors hurried home to their loved ones, Kitty walked to her apartment overlooking Carrington Estate, completely unaware she’d triggered a process that would suck her into the Carrington dynasty.
No one was more devout about seeing Carrington family members purged from the city environs than Kitty Carlisle-Bowden. She had to suggest enshrining that detested name in the city’s history as a matter of expediency, having assumed the new Duke wouldn’t accept a below market price sale without some accompanying incentive.
Kitty looked across to the Carrington Mansion and smiled: Over many generations her family had been harassed and finally crushed by the Carrington’s directly descended from Lord Charles Carrington who’d settled in America and adopted northern values, whereas the originally prosperous Carlisle-Bowden settlers had migrated from Louisiana.
Bad feeling between the two families arose through the original Carrington settlers being used to dominance. The arrivals from Louisiana had slipped in without anyone else aware they were a family of concealed wealth. Eventually the Carrington’s were horrified to discover they had a rival in their domain. Their landholdings were being willing divested very profitably when it became apparent the Carlisle-Bowden’s had acquired large tracts of that land, and so the feuding began. Eventually the feuding died — as did some of the frontline feuding folk on both sides and almost all survivors and kin either died off or relocated. Today Kitty was the only Carlisle-Bowden left in the region and others of American Carrington descent were all but gone.
* * *
Kitty wasn’t surprised that the mayor and the city administrator had not invited her to accompany them when they left next day for England. They took their wives and the foursome could be expected to tour Britain, at the city’s expense, while the incoming Duke and his kin and lawyers considered the council’s proposal.
In bed that night Kitty recalled how it all began. Mornington was established in the early 1830s as the village site on the estate of the recently retired army major, Lord Charles Carrington. Known in America simply as Charlie and acknowledged as the black sheep of the family, Charlie was paid handsomely by his father to settle in America. The hard-living and hard-fighting son of unsavory character when living in England had run up gambling debts and killed civilians in duels including two who’d accused the drunkard of impregnating their wives.
Water buffalo, antelope, goats, wild boar, foxes, pheasants and Canadian moose were brought in by the influential rogue to stock his lands to provide sport for the more bloodthirsty of his pals in high places and visiting nobility and lesser dignitaries from the Old Country. But a continuous replacement program of game restocking ended within a few years when Charlie admitted defeat. For every head of game shot by influential guest, something like ten were shot by intruders including Indians or taken by rustlers or died from the effects of snow, drought or lightening strikes.
With new territorial boundaries and Indian threats settled, settlers were spilling in and offered good prices for land. Charlie’s original estate had grown quickly to 1,137,450 acres and during the next 100 years was sold. Today the estate, now back in English ownership, on the eastern riverbank of Mornington totals a mere five acres right in the heart of downtown. Its value was currently assessed, with the bulk of it restricted from development by open land zoning, at $5.15 million.
For the past fifty years, successive generations of Carrington’s based in New York and the principal branch based in England, had used the sprawling dwelling as a summer residence. With twenty-four bedrooms, there had been room for three generations at a time to share the accommodation. That Great House was lost to fire during an electrical storm five years ago and the Duke had it replaced with an architecturally designed grand dwelling of only ten bedrooms.
That big house would be an ideal arts center, mused Kitty preparing to go to sleep. Kitty had a degree in fine arts to go with her law degree and was developing as a landscape artist, preferring to paint in watercolors. She drifted into sleep thinking if her proposal succeeded, the Carrington’s would be responsible for lifting the level of culture in a community so apparently detested by the incoming Duke.
From a recess within her mind as Kitty’s eyes fluttered closed came the unladylike thought that the Carrington’s wouldn’t know the difference between art and their assholes. Kitty was well aware there was a rebellious gene in her that prevented her from consistently thinking elegantly. That was why she’d never aspired to be anyone but her natural self. In family tradition her father, when alive, had periodically lectured her and her older brother Dean (who drowned ten years ago) that the Carrington’s were and always would be assholes.
* * *
The legacy of the quest to acquire Carrington Estate in Mornington amounted to bitter disappointment and, as well, 105 invoices and receipts plus credit card billings from the extravagant spending in Britain by the mayor and city administ
rator and their wives. The incoming Duke had eventually told the delegation from Mornington to ‘get lost’.
Kitty upset the mayor’s pal who chaired the finance committee on which she served when she insisted the committee go through the claims for reimbursement with ‘due diligence’. Max King, the chairman, told her to be quiet and moved the committee approve the claims ‘as submitted.’ Smiling sweetly Kitty said, ‘Mr Chairman, unless these two claims for reimbursement are considered with due diligence I shall initiate legal proceedings to have the actions of this committee reviewed by a court-appointed Public Commission to look into my claim that criminal actions have taken place within this committee.’
Not unexpectedly the committee exercised due diligence and disallowed claims totally $11,369 from the mayor and $9,019 from the city administrator.
Not unexpectedly, the mayor called Kitty to his office.
‘Good morning Kitty,’ said snake eyes. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yes please Al.’
‘You know Kitty,’ Al soothed, at the bench pouring coffee. ‘As a newcomer on council you may be unaware of some of our customary procedures.’
‘I consider myself expertly informed on procedures as published in the booklet titled, Handbook for Councilors, dated 2007 that I know to be the current publication Al.’
‘There are some procedures that are unwritten policy.’
Kitty took the coffee offered and smiled, ‘Al, let me be perfectly clear. If you or anyone else on council or council administration attempts to coerce me into questionable and clearly illicit practices, I shall nail each and every person so involved.’
‘Yes, quite so Kitty. Now turning to something different, I would like to know your thoughts about me switching you from finance to chair a new committee, um, called recreation and arts.’
‘What is the reason behind that?’
‘I had studied your CV and noticed that you performed with distinction at college and law school in middle distance running, tennis and had some success in swimming and you list your recreational interests as fitness, tennis, kayaking, judo and landscape painting. It occurred to me that you have the interests and attributes to head this new committee of three councilors.’
Noticing the mayor’s cold gaze, Kitty figured she was off the finance committee whatever she decided. ‘Thank you Al,’ she smiled. ‘I accept. I guess arts has been trimmed off social services and the other activities from being misplaced in works and construction?’
‘Yes, good spotting Kitty. Your committee inherits their share of existing budgets and the city administrator and I have tossed in another $100,000 as a sweetener and to get your new committee up and running with the ability to apply some vision.’
‘Oh excellent Al. I realize that since I had accepted so readily you had no need to fish out that so-called sweetener.’
‘How could I keep that incentive from you Kitty? It is our wish to keep you onside and develop into one of our more productive and effective councilors.’
Kitty stood and smiled. ‘Thank you Al. I feel you have handled this diplomatically and effectively because you have managed to tap into my interests.’
The mayor looked at her a little more warmly. ‘Thank you Kitty.’
Kitty hurried back to her law office to assist people in real need — her clients. Cynically she thought who needed corrupt city officials? She vowed to lever the mayor out of office and the city administrator Kent Frohwein sent packing although that could take some time to achieve.
As soon as an email circulated announcing Kitty’s appointment to chair the new committee, Peggy Blewitt called on Kitty to congratulate her. They knew each other socially. ‘I’m aware you often have been in the gallery but must meet my staff and take a look behind the scenes,’ the gallery manager said.
They’d done that and now stood outside a large warehouse where gallery treasures and less noteworthy possessions were stored.
Looking at the two-level building Kitty asked, ‘How much of the space do we have?’
‘All two floors and the basement and we have another single level warehouse containing donations of lesser merit.’
‘Wow, we need a much larger gallery.’
‘Oh yes,’ Peggy sighed, ‘Please get it for me.’
‘Done,’ Kitty joked, unaware of course that in time she would deliver.
* * *
Two months later Kitty took a call her PA had said was important but gave no details.
‘Miss Carlisle-Bowden, you won’t know me. I’m Hayden Carrington calling from London.’
Oh no, not one of the asshole Carrington’s, Kitty sighed, intrigued that this guy’s accent appeared neither to be English or American. Was it mid-Atlantic?
‘Hello Mr Carrington. I call myself Kitty Carlisle but if this is a friendly call you may call me Kitty.’
‘Please call me Hayden. I was astonished to find you, a Carlisle-Bowden, originated the purchase proposal and suggested perpetuating the family name by calling our remaining land Carrington Park should the acreage be sold to the city.’
‘Well, I’m really not one to feud and intelligence suggested a little appeasement might go a long way.’
‘You sound youngish.’
‘Mr Carrington, is this a business call?’
‘No Kitty.’
‘In that case I’m relaxed about personal comment.’
‘When may I come to see you?’
‘Before nightfall today would be convenient.’
‘Kitty, I’m in London.’
She laughed and apologized for teasing him.
‘I’ll try to get my head around time changes and see if I can make it by nightfall if that’s possible and if you insist.’
She laughed and said before nightfall on any day that suited him. ‘I work long days.’
‘Every day?’
‘No, I don’t work weekends.’
‘Kitty, may I have your email address. I’ll be in touch.’
Kitty resumed working on a brief after asking her PA to find pertinent facts about Englishman Hayden Carrington who was related to the Duke of Carrington and to email it to her soonest.
Ten minutes later Kitty’s laptop bleeped and she scanned the email.
Kitty — you were talking to Lord Hayden Carrington, thirty-four, youngest son of the recently deceased Duke of Beaulieu, conceived as a complete surprise to the late Duchess in her 42nd year. An American, she returned to Boston for the birth of her baby, fearing complications so Hayden has dual citizenship and appears to have no occupation but travels considerably off the beaten tracks and sells his photos and paintings.
Kitty called Gina. ‘Paintings? What sort of paintings?’
‘Just a minute…um, here it is. Portraits. Apparently he’s hung in galleries.’
‘Gina, that means he’s a painter of some acclaim. Please find out more. What’s his education and is he into fitness and tennis and swimming?’
‘Kitty, you instructed me to list areas of importance.’
‘Well, this is turning out to be more than a passing interesting to me. Sports and education please Gina and clubs and service on voluntary organizations.’
A revised email arrived and Kitty read on with growing interest, wondering if the asshole Carrington’s had managed to throw up a good guy.
Afflicted by bad behavior problems at Cambridge linked to excessive drinking and womanizing, surged to reach almost elite level in rowing, represented the university in tennis but sent down [expelled] in his second year after being found in bed with the Provost’s [chief academic officer] wife and 18-year-old daughter.
God, what an asshole, Kitty giggled, acknowledging she sometimes imbibed alcohol excessively and at law school rather a large number of male students claimed to have had some familiarity with Kitty’s kitty. Good at rowing huh? Then perhaps she could take him kayaking after tennis. Whoa girl, what are you thinking: he’s an asshole Carrington. She read on.
At his mother’s instance switched from Classics t
o fine arts. The late duchess who drew the sketches in her three well-selling publications of poems had fostered Hayden’s interest in drawing. At art academy his nude painting of his principal tutor, supposedly a chaste married woman, caused a sensation. Critics privileged to view the seized painting agreed one rarely saw such charged emotions and aroused genitalia in a painting of a female immediately after sex. Scandal was hushed up and painting reputedly destroyed. Tutor’s husband and family didn’t find out. Hayden agreed to switch to formal portraiture to avoid the alternative of facing expulsion. Graduated an honors student and began painting his way through some present day nobility in Great Britain but rejected by Royalty with two exceptions due to inside knowledge about his dalliances. Now paints native people found in remote areas in all parts of world, collectors buying them for $10,000 plus each.
‘Naughty boy Hayden,’ Kitty cooed. ‘I wonder if you’ll get to see my kitty? Paint it and I’ll hang it behind my desk. Eventually someone will recognize what it is.’
A few days later Kitty took a call from a Mrs Agnes Wilson who’d insisted on talking to her.
‘Good afternoon Miss Carlisle. I am Mrs Wilson, permanent house manager of Carrington Mansion in Mornington. You know the property of course?’
‘Yes, I look out on it from my apartment. I must say I preferred the grand old residence.’
‘Well said Miss Carlisle. I understand Lord Hayden Carrington has been in contact with you.’
‘Hayden has, yes.’
There was a pause and Kitty could image Mrs Wilson preparing to speak through thin-pursed lips.
‘Miss Carlisle, the correct form of address is Lord Hayden.’
Kitty almost yawned. ‘I take it from your accent you are English Mrs Wilson?’
‘Certainly so.’
‘We Americans have a more relaxed style about peerage and with anyone falling below our own First Family and Governor level. Besides my understanding is the Lord against Hayden’s name is a courtesy title rather than a conferred title. Also he invited me to call him Hayden.’
‘Very well Miss Carlisle. Lord Hayden has emailed asking me to find out your height, coloring, body shape, hair color and mouth shape.’
Kitty was quite flattered. ‘Oooh, I say. Tell him five feet nine, white skin with freckles, 34-23-36, auburn hair and heart-shaped face.’ She actually was five-nine and 34 and 23 and thickening and 36. But she was a brunette and her mouth shape was wide with generous lips. If Hayden boy wished to play games then so could she.
‘Miss Carlisle, I’ve noted what you’ve said but don’t you wish to know the reason for this request?’
‘No Mrs Wilson. I’ll give you my email address and in future Hayden can contact me if he wishes to know more intimate details about my body.
‘Really Miss Carlisle!’
Kitty gave her email address and said goodbye.
Two days later she gazed at the artwork from Hayden Carrington. It was excellent, drawn in pastels. She didn’t like the red hair, especially the tuffs of red poking from under her thong but her bare breasts were awesome and her lips drawn pursed ready to be kissed were perhaps very much like hers. Her hair appeared windblown and riddled with pieces of straw. The artist’s signature was Lord Hayden Carrington.
Kitty read the message again:
Dear Miss Carlisle. Drawn from my imagination and don’t you look lovely? I imagine you have yummy breasts and don’t shave below. Artist’s license if my assumptions were incorrect. I’ll call on you at 5:30 this Friday, flying in from New York. Let’s hit a bar.
Replying by email to thank Hayden for his impressionist joke and added he was welcome to call on her socially, Kitty called Gina who looked at the screen and said, ‘Wow, very sexy. Who is it?’
‘It’s supposed to be me. I lied about my hair color and he hasn’t seen me. My trunk is too long and my legs too short, but all in all it’s a pretty good representation.’
‘You mean your breasts are like that?’
‘More or less.’
‘Wow boss, ask me out on a date sometime.’
They laughed and the PA was asked to send the file out for high quality reproduction and placed in a thin aluminum frame behind non-reflecting glass.
Pansy
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