Deborah Mitford, Duchess of Devonshire; with Charlotte Mosley
Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Deborah Mitford, Duchess of Devonshire, is the youngest of the famously witty brood of six daughters and one son that included the writers Jessica and Nancy, who wrote, when Deborah was born, “How disgusting of the poor darling to go and be a girl.” Deborah’s effervescent memoir Wait for Me! chronicles her remarkable life, from an eccentric but happy childhood roaming the Oxfordshire countryside, to tea with Adolf Hitler and her sister Unity in 1937, to her marriage to Andrew Cavendish, the second son of the Duke of Devonshire. Her life changed utterly with his unexpected inheritance of the title and vast estates after the wartime death of his brother, who had married “Kick” Kennedy, the beloved sister of John F. Kennedy. Her friendship with that family would last through triumph and tragedy.
In 1959, the Duchess and her family took up residence in Chatsworth, the four-hundred-year-old family seat, with its incomparable collections of paintings, tapestry, and sculpture—the combined accumulations of generations of tastemakers. Neglected due to the economies of two world wars and punitive inheritance taxes, the great house soon came to life again under the careful attention of the Duchess. It is regarded as one of England’s most loved and popular historic houses.
Wait for Me! is written with intense warmth, charm, and perception. A unique portrait of an age of tumult, splendor, and change, it is also an unprecedented look at the rhythms of life inside one of the great aristocratic families of England. With its razor-sharp portraits of the Duchess’s many friends and cohorts—politicians, writers, artists, sportsmen—it is truly irresistible reading, and will join the shelf of Mitford classics to delight readers for years to come.
Blank. There is no entry in my mother’s engagement book for 31 March 1920, the day I was born. The next few days are also blank. The first entry in April, in large letters, is ‘KITCHEN CHIMNEY SWEPT’. My parents’ dearest wish was for a big family of boys; a sixth girl was not worth recording. ‘Nancy, Pam, Tom, Diana, Bobo, Decca, me’, intoned in a peculiar voice, was my answer to anyone who asked where I came in the family.
The sisters were at home and Tom was at boarding school for this deeply disappointing event, more like
Praise for Counting My Chickens . . .
“More entertaining than anything I could say about it.” —P. J. Kavanagh, The Spectator
Praise for Home to Roost
“Nobody with an interest in the past century could fail to be interested in the gossip, which extends to just about everyone of interest.” —Matthew Bell, The Independent on Sunday
“Behind the wit and quips, there is something else stronger and more rigorous. She goes to the ballet at Covent Garden with the Queen Mother and notices that throughout the entire performance, the Queen Mother’s back ‘never once touched the chair.’ That is how the Duchess is too—never a slouch, never a saggy moment, even in grief alert, attentive, observant.” —Adam Nicolson, The Spectator
Praise for In Tearing Haste
“One of the great twentieth-century correspondences . . . Bursting with wit and conviviality.” —James Purdon, The Observer (London)
“Beguiling . . . Hugely enjoyable . . . What these letters so wonderfully demonstrate is an unfailing appetite for life.” —Anne Chisholm, The Spectator
Praise for The Mitfords
“Funny, loving, sparkly, snarky, heartbreaking, chilling, gossipy, wise.” —Amanda Lovell, O, The Oprah Magazine