One of us now...
With this in mind, I'll tell you where I've been since April 28th. I've been searching for the woman I thought I'd call my Lady. Suzanne Alfred Akinbiyi-Beto. God's honest truth. Her email touched me on so many levels. I had to find her. I trekked through Europe, the West coast of Africa, down through Morocco and Mauritania, (where men revere a woman of a plumper nature), and through Senegal to Dakar. The home of my dear Suzanne. Except, when I finally knocked at her door, she wasn't home.
All that way and she'd gone without even leaving a note.
"You're too late my friend," said the man she'd been in care of, Pastor Dominik Nielson. "Pretty girls like Suzanne don't wait around. You own house?"
"No," I said. "What's that got to do with it?"
"She went off with man who owns house. From England, like you. Except she go to live in house; something you don't have." He chuckled loudly at my misfortune.
"But I own a title. I'm a Lord. That's got to count for something."
"Unfortunately, he was too. Lord Samuel Wooster, his name. Taken her back to place called Maid-Stone."
I couldn't believe it. Pipped to potential happiness by a fellow Lord. My new arch-nemisis. A Lord with land, and a home to call his own. I had no choice to return with a broken heart. And without a woman I thought I'd be calling Lady Ward.
The trek back was a long and depressing one, but gave me plenty of time to think about my predicament. I was a Lord, without a home. Every Lord had a home of some nature. A country pile and a city pad. More often than not a few thousand acres to go with it.
It got me thinking. I had my square foot of land. Why hadn't I built on it? It was the perfect location, amid the rolling hills of the Scottish Highlands. Plenty of room to organise a hunt with chums.
When I arrived back in England, I took action. I contacted my cousin, an architect called Aliena Archer, and we set to work rectifying my situation. Well, she set to work. I just told her what I needed and let her get on with it. She didn't disappoint:
It was perfect. Exactly a square foot at the base, with room to roam towards the top. A platform to shoot game from, too, should I wish. Exactly what I needed. OK, it may not have been a conventional Edwardian, mock-Gothic, 80-room retreat, but it was better than nothing. And surely enough to lure Suzanne away from the clutches of another Lord.
Lord Samuel Wooster. Genuine arch-nemisis from now on