She once moved through New York’s high society with a martini in hand – now she’s more likely to be found walking the fields of Faversham in muddy boots.
Because Lady Sondes, born Phyllis Kane on Long Island, is no ordinary aristocrat.
Her life began far from the Kentish countryside, in cocktail bars and at rooftop parties in fast-paced Manhattan.
But decades ago, she swapped the Big Apple for the Garden of England, where she has spent almost 30 years quietly shaping the future of the vast Lees Court Estate.
Yet behind her dedicated stewardship lies an eccentric streak that’s earned her a reputation for throwing some of the most flamboyant parties in Kent.
Guests have been lowered into chalk pits in hazmat suits and even dined beside indoor streams filled with goldfish.
She was close friends with US comedian Joan Rivers – even acting as godmother to her grandson – and once found herself at the centre of a security scare when Border Force mistook their film crew for illegal immigrants while shooting a reality show in Faversham.
Now in her 70s, she greets me in jeans and grey boots, her brown hair clipped up, speaking in a soft American burr. The setting is her 16th-century farmhouse – wood-beamed and filled with heirlooms – on the sprawling estate near Faversham.
It was here she moved in the 1980s with her second husband, Henry Milles-Lade, the 5th Earl Sondes, who had inherited the title following the death of his father in 1970.
Phyllis had been widowed in 1977 when her first husband, Boston Celtics owner Robert Schmertz, died barely six weeks after their wedding.
She and Henry began a relationship while he was still married to his third wife, American socialite Sharon McCluskey, who he divorced in 1984.
Two years later, he and Phyllis tied the knot at Sittingbourne Register Office.
Their marriage lasted a decade. Henry died in 1996, aged just 56, after a long battle with cancer.
With no heir, the title died with him, but the estate did not. For almost three decades since, Lady Sondes has carried its stewardship alone.
The Lees Court Estate was once a staggering 85,000 acres. Today, it remains an imposing 6,900 acres, with a core of 2,663 acres centred on Sheldwich and Badlesmere, and further land stretching to the Swale Estuary and Faversham Creeks.
Lady Sondes has made it her mission to evolve with the times. Traditional farming continues, but it’s been joined by crops used in pharmaceuticals, cosmetics, biofuels and nutraceuticals.
Since 2003, the estate has grown borage, echium, oats and oilseed rape, blending agricultural heritage with commercial innovation.
There’s also the Lees Court Education And Research Network, which invites schools, researchers and visitors to explore farming, biodiversity and rural life.
And at Stringmans Farm, archaeologists are excavating one of the country’s largest ancient burial grounds, uncovering Neolithic and Bronze Age artefacts dating back 5,000 years.
Then there’s the shoot, which Lady Sondes took over with no prior experience.
“It’s all of my focus to try to figure it out,” she admits. “When my husband was ill, the shoot was wound down and down and down.
“Here I was, an American woman with no knowledge of shooting, trying to keep this going. I’m really proud to see how it has been built up and how it’s been going.”
The estate is also home to Pacific oysters hand-picked from the Swale Estuary and Faversham Creeks – the UK’s first wild oyster beds, she says. And while some might champion their Whitstable rivals, Lady Sondes insists hers are “far superior”.
But keeping the estate running has not been easy. Recently, trustees put more than 290 acres of Grade 1 farmland up for sale – a rare commodity that accounts for less than 10% of Britain’s agricultural land.
“It is beautiful, gorgeous,” she says of the soil. “You can touch it, smell it, feel it – I’ve rolled in it.”
Newhouse Farm, a 256-acre block of land with an orchard and woodland, forms the bulk of the sale. Gosmere Farm, also included, is smaller.
Together, the land has been listed for £4 million – a fraction of the wider estate, but a reflection of tough decisions.
“I would hope the trustees, who would be the ones selling it, would never have to sell anything – not a blade of grass,” she says.
“But the idea of keeping everything going, with the excitement and all the things we’re doing on the core estate, would be the reason.”
It’s a difficult time for farming – something Lady Sondes doesn’t shy away from.
“The government seems to have no consideration or care about what the rural community is thinking,” she says.
She’s been critical of proposed inheritance tax changes, which would hit estates like hers hard.
But she insists the current land sale isn’t a direct response to that.
“I think the whole way the country and its tax system is structured is the reason almost all estates have gotten smaller, and very important things have been sold to keep them going, and many, of course, don’t exist,” she says.
As our conversation turns to her late husband, I ask if he is at the forefront of her mind with her work across the Estate.
“Yes, I feel this is him. This is…” she tails off.
“This is a way of keeping his memory alive?” I interject.
“I hope so,” she replies.
She describes Henry as “a very charismatic, colourful character” who was once kicked out of Eton for “organising a gambling ring”.
“He was very handsome, and his heart – it was a very happy marriage,” she says.
“He was not an easy person, but he was – it was – wonderful.”
The topic of fading aristocracy arises, too.
“You’ll know this,” she asks her butler, Dale Burrluck, “Were there ever many more aristocrats in Kent?”
“Oh God, yeah! Hundreds more,” he replies, topping up our drinks.
“Really?” she asks, surprised. “Where have they gone?”
“Died out, moved away.”
Dale, who has worked in royal households and grand estates, has been with Lady Sondes for years.
At Lees Court, he’s not just a butler, but the architect of its legendary parties. His husband Jamie is the cook – and tortoise carer.
Reminiscing about one flamboyant bash, Dale recalls: “Everybody came in diamonds and evening gowns, then we put them in hazmat suits and sent them down a denehole.
“They were from Scotland, and when they came to dinner, we tried to imitate a water feature on a 28ft table. So we had a stream with a pair of fake-looking deer…”
“No, no,” Lady Sondes squeals. “The fish!”
“Oh yeah,” he remembers. “We put fish in the stream to make it look realistic. Obviously, we couldn’t put trout in, so we had to use goldfish.”
The parties aren’t always smooth sailing, though.
“We do have very good disasters,” Dale concedes. “When we have a disaster, it is pretty epic.”
Last summer, a live grenade turned up in a chalk quarry just before 27 guests – including the new chair of the Turner Contemporary – were due to have lunch. The army bomb squad was called and carried out a controlled explosion.
On another occasion, Italian socialite Mrs Henry Ford II – married to the late Ford Motor Company boss – got stuck down a denehole.
And in 2012, US comedian Joan Rivers – a close friend of the Countess – was filming in Faversham when Border Force, tipped off about “suspicious” trawlers, accidentally raided the crew.
“They thought they were illegal immigrants,” Dale says.
It’s only near the end of our visit that Lady Sondes leads me toward one of her quietest passions – her tortoise breeding project.
At first glance, the enclosure looks like a paddock for Shetland ponies.
But on closer inspection, the ‘rocks’ are moving. Dozens of sulcata tortoises emerge, hissing and inching towards her as she calls out “hello”, dragging a bag of lettuce behind her.
Sidney, the largest and most sluggish, has fathered 175 babies, so it’s no wonder he looks knackered. The Countess lies down beside him in the straw, speaking softly as she dangles leaves in front of his face.
The eldest tortoises are in their 20s, so with lifespans of over a century, they’re not going anywhere soon.
I’d originally been set to meet Lady Sondes a week earlier, but I received an email from her PA cancelling at short notice as she had to travel to New York for a personal emergency.
Before our interview starts, she reveals her brother took his own life.
But despite her grief, she wanted to talk – about the land, the legacy, and the life she’s built here. “I want to do it,” she assured me.
And by the end of our conversation, crouched in the dust with lettuce in hand, smiling at her slow-moving companions, it’s clear why.
This estate isn’t just her responsibility, it’s her purpose in life. And in these quiet moments, it’s easy to see the joy it still brings her.
