“I assure you it’s true, Lady De Vil. I have a note here written in your mother’s hand stating her intentions to have you married to Lord Shortbottom. . . .” The poor man’s hands were shaking. I wanted to put him out of his misery, but I think I sort of enjoyed seeing him so wound up. “I’m sorry, I meant Lord De Vil,” he said, looking at Jack.
“Please, do call me Jack,” Jack said, smiling over his cup of tea and trying to cut the tension in the room. Oh, my Jack. Always trying to fix everything with a smile.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” said the round-faced man, clearly ruffled. “Please.” He handed me the letter. “Read it for yourself.”
It was just a folded piece of paper. A harmless thing. But it seemed ominous to me. Deadly. And I didn’t want to touch it.
“Darling, Jack. Will you read it?” I asked.
“Yes, my dear,” he said, taking the letter from the nervous solicitor. “Shall I read it aloud?” I couldn’t believe I was so nervous. That a small folded piece of paper could elicit such terror.
“No, just read it. We will discuss it later.”
I could see the color in my husband’s face fade away as he read the letter, only for a moment, as if a deep and penetrating sadness washed over him. He composed himself quickly, put the letter in his breast pocket, and took my hand. “My sweetest dear,” he said, with the saddest look on his face. He didn’t have to tell me Sir Huntley was right. He didn’t have to tell me what the letter said. Everyone was right about my mother. My father, Sir Huntley, Miss Pricket, and quite possibly Anita. But it was no matter. Why shouldn’t she be hurt by my father leaving all his money to me? Why shouldn’t she want me to marry a rich man? Did that make her an evil person? I thought not. And I couldn’t stand the look on Jack’s face. I never wanted to see pity in his eyes when looking at me. Not ever again.
“It’s no matter. I would still like her to have the money,” I said. I had made up my mind.
“But Lady De Vil!” Even Sir Huntley’s bulldog jowls seemed to jiggle in protest.
“You heard me, Sir Huntley. I have made up my mind. There is nothing you could say that will change it. We won’t speak of this again.”
Jack and I never did speak of it again. And he never showed me the letter, just as I requested. I never again saw that look of pity on his face. I had seen that look all too often while I was growing up. I was surrounded by faces filled with pity when I was a girl. I wouldn’t have it in my new home.
I was starting a new life.
I spent my days happily in our large country estate, and every so often I would travel back to London to see Mama. Life was good with Jack. We threw lavish parties, inviting all the young bright things. And we often traveled to America, to see Jack’s holdings there.
Jack and I did all the things I ever dreamed of growing up. We visited all the exotic places I fancied. All I had to do was make my wishes known, and Jack made all the arrangements. He was the best traveling companion. Always up for adventure. Always charming the locals. There was nothing he wouldn’t try. From riding unruly camels when we went to Egypt to exploring the ruins of Angkor Wat … from lazily gliding in a gondola in Venice to living our best lives in a luxury apartment in Manhattan … the world was ours. It was the life I always imagined for myself. And when we made our way home, we had the grandest parties.
But nothing, I mean nothing, topped my twenty-fifth birthday party.
> Of course Jack had thrown me the most extravagant party. It really was the biggest event of the season. I think the only party bigger was our wedding day. (I mean, how can you outdo a wedding at Westminster Abbey?)
Jack went all out. There were ice sculptures of me modeled after various important women of history, chocolate fountains, trays upon trays of caviar and toast points, bands in every wing of the house, and the ballroom was simply packed with the who’s who of London society. Plus, there was a smattering of Hollywood thrown in for good measure, to keep things interesting. It was a night to remember. It was far from an intimate affair, so Mama decided she wouldn’t attend. Instead, she sent me a marvelous gift: a fur coat, her signature gift.
I was living the grandest life I could wish for. I was married to the love of my life; my mother was safely tucked away in my childhood home; I was rich, beautiful, and happy. I was Lady Cruella De Vil.
But of course, isn’t it always the case that the higher you fly, the farther you fall? And I would indeed fall, farther than I could have possibly imagined.
How shall I start this chapter? Should I tell you where I was when I heard the news? What I was wearing? How it changed my life in ways I thought could only be true in nightmares?
I was visiting my mother in London, the Monday after my birthday soiree. I wore a black slip dress, my jade earrings, and a white fur coat with red lining that Mama had given me for my twenty-fifth birthday. My shoes and gloves were red, and my handbag was made of white fur and dripping with white fox tails with black tips. As usual, I looked magnificent. “Simply stunning,” Jack said, when I kissed him goodbye and left him to his work while I spent the afternoon with Mama.
“Now, don’t be too long in London, my love, or I will miss you terribly,” Jack said. He was sitting at his desk going over some paperwork.
“You have plenty to keep you occupied while I’m away, my darling,” I said. He laughed, taking a sip of his drink and rattling the ice cubes that were left at the bottom of the glass.
“I will miss you nevertheless,” he said.
“We just spent the most glorious evening together, my love.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you again for such a lovely evening. It was the best birthday I could ever wish for.” He flashed his Clark Gable smile, the smile I now realize reminded me of my papa.
“Yes, but I had to share you with all of our guests. I want some time alone with you. Oh, wait.” He snapped his fingers. “I haven’t given you your gift.” He took a little box out of his breast pocket.
“You already gave me the perfect gift, Jack. The party.” He just smiled and opened the little box, revealing a beautiful jade ring. “Oh, my love! It matches my earrings.” He put the ring on my finger.
“I know, Cruella. I had it made specially.” He really was the most thoughtful husband.
“Blast,” I said, looking at my watch. “Mama is expecting me.” I kissed him quickly. “I really do love you so much, my Crackerjack. I’m so sorry, but I really do have to run.” I had no idea it would be the last time I told him I loved him, or saw his handsome smile. But I am jumping ahead.