So the Times ran an obituary for a dowager duchess—both of which, are, apparently, still things—today. Deborah Cavendish was, according to the story, one of those folks who came from money but who had "the common touch" (which I'm pretty sure means "rich person who doesn't use the term 'peasants' unless it's necessary"), despite coming from a wealthy and, according to the story, gloriously eccentric family:

Being a Mitford, Deborah could have hardly been conventional. Diana married a fascist in the presence of Goebbels and Hitler. Jessica was a Communist and prolific author. Unity Valkyrie, in love with Hitler, shot herself when Britain declared war on Germany. As a child, Pamela wanted to be a horse; she married a fabled jockey. Nancy's books satirized the upper classes. And Deborah, tentatively, became a connoisseur of fine poultry.

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My first natural, not-from-money inclination is to say, "Oh, sure, when half of her family pals around with Hitler and Oswald Mosley, they're unconventional. but when my relatives hang their pictures on the wall,* it's all 'unreconstructed racist' this and 'child protective services' that."

My second inclination is to say, "Wow, it's like Downton Abbey, if it were a documentary."

*-Just to be clear, my relatives do not have any pictures of Hitler hanging around. I'm pretty sure the same is true about Mosley, but I haven't checked recently.