Hunters

Her Grace, the Duchess of Cambria & Martisine
Martis Palace

28 June 1885

Madam,
How odd it is to address you thus. For so many years you were just Lecia to me, and now propriety dictates I must call you Your Grace. I am honored to do it, as I am the most happy for you and your advantageous match. I have heard that you are just settling in to your new home; I do hope that you find it at least half as splendid as I have found the park at Forneford. You simply must come to visit.

I write to share the most wonderful news. The physician has just confirmed that Henry and I should expect an addition to our small family before Spring arrives again. We are so joyous that our love has been fruitful and that God has been so gracious to bless us with this wondrous gift. I have faith that your union with His Lord Duke will be as prosperous as mine with Henry. Our families shall grow together.

Mother has told me that you and His Grace have been getting on well despite the chaos surrounding your marriage; I do hope you and father have forgiven each other now. I regret that we did not share this past season together as newly married women, but I admit that the holiday Henry and I shared in Italy was marvelous. I am much too excited for Christmas to give you your gift.

I am afraid I must go now. Though I am not yet a Countess, I have been given many duties.
Please write to me, as I do miss you dearly, and give my regards to your husband.

Your sister,
Zora Agnes Fenner

Lecia dropped the letter to her lap and gazed out the window in her parlor. Zora was pregnant. Of course she was; she and Henry loved each other more than anything. Children scared Lecia, but her sister had always been motherly. Lecia was delighted for her sister; everything was coming together for Zora, wasn’t it? Yet…a certain kind of sadness delayed any display of excitement.

A knock came at the door and Izzy slipped in. Looking over her shoulder, Lecia watched as the young maid hurried toward her.

“My Lady, the Marchioness of Brahmsboro has arrived. She’s waiting in the saloon,” the maid said quickly.

Surprised, but not particularly distressed by the news, Lecia instructed her maid to let the Marchioness know she’d be by shortly. Izzy worried how the Duchess would ready herself alone, but was reassured that Lecia would fair just fine on her own.

Alone again, Lecia stood up and folded her sister’s letter, placing it on the small writing desk by the window. She’d gotten dressed this morning to take a turn in the garden with Vaughan, but he’d become busy with something else much more important. She could have gone alone, but it really hadn’t seemed very exciting anymore, and then she’d gotten Zora’s letter.

Satisfied that she would look appropriate—and knowing that the Her Ladyship Catherine Shevington wouldn’t mind if she didn’t—Lecia left her apartment. When she arrived in the saloon, her guest was admiring the new painting over the fireplace.

“I bought that at the Academy,” Lecia said as she approached, glancing up at the piece.

“Well, my dear, you certainly do have an eye for scandal,” the Marchioness laughed.

“Whatever do you mean?” the Duchess smiled. “Edward Poynter is a respectable artist. I think this painting livens up the room quite nicely.” The painting was a nude.

“Some of the women on your guest list will simply faint when they come into this room,” Catherine said gravely. “I suppose I had better get settled in now, then, so I can watch them all.” The old woman laughed and found a seat on one of the sofas.

Smiling, Lecia sat across from her and then asked, “what guest list?”
She wasn’t afraid of being casual with the woman. The Marchioness was as kind and un-aristocratic a woman Lecia had ever met. Quite honestly, she saw her future in the old Lady.

“Oh, well I’ll have to reprimand that boy for not telling you about it,” Catherine grumbled. “The Duchess of Cambria and Martisine always hosts a garden party at the end of the season. It is the event of the summer for those of the ton who get invited. An au revoir to London, if you will. And since you are the new Duchess, Drothea cannot host it anymore. Not that she ever did a very good job of it anyway. So, I’ve come to help you make a splash; I’ve been hosting large parties my entire life. My mother was the Duchess ages ago.”

“Your mother was a Duchess?” Lecia asked. She hadn’t known that at all.

“Dear, my mother was the Duchess. Vaughan is my great nephew; didn’t you know that?”

“I suppose I did,” the girl laughed, embarrassed by her lapse of memory. “Has it changed much since you grew up here?”

“Heavens no. I believe Vaughan has done a bit to the place, but, all in all, it’s the same place I remember, unfortunately,” she sighed and looked around the room. Lecia frowned.

“Were you…unhappy here?”

For a moment the Marchioness didn’t say anything, just looked forlorn, and then she forced a grin and hopped to her feet.

“Let’s not waste our time thinking about the past; we have a party to plan!” With that, the old woman raced out of the saloon and Lecia struggled to her feet to follow.

“Where are we going?” the young woman asked.

“Why, to the kitchens, of course. We need to collect your Housekeeper and speak with the cook. Last year’s food was a disaster; not because of the taste, but because it simply didn’t suit the theme, nor did the array of dishes compliment one another. Utterly shameful, if you ask me. My mother probably rolled in her grave over it. She always did throw the best parties.”

“So, what should I be expecting to plan?” Lecia asked. She had never been in charge of anything like this before, and she was certainly taken aback by the sudden onset of the task.

“Well,” the Marchioness started as they made their way down the hall, “your menu will have to be decided shortly so that your cook can arrange for the food to be here. Before you go choosing that, though, you really ought to have a theme. Then, you’ll need a guest list, invitations, decorations, bouquets, valets, favors, china, the works.”

They had reached the passageway to the kitchen. One of the servants spotted them, bowed quickly, and then ran off to find Orpha.

“Are we supposed to be back here?” Lecia asked quietly as more servants scurried away.

“My dear,” the Marchioness stopped and placed a hand on each of Lecia’s shoulders. “You are a Duchess now. You can go wherever you like. Rules do not apply to you unless you make them to. You’re not above the law, and certainly don’t be liberal with your privileges when you stay with the Queen, but in your own home you can do anything.” With a soft pat on Lecia’s cheek, the older woman headed back off down the corridor.

“What kind of theme is appropriate for this sort of thing?”

“Oh, you know,” Catherine said offhandedly. “It’s all been done before.”

“Can it be a masquerade?” Lecia asked quietly, feeling like the suggestion might be childish.

“Absolutely! That hasn’t been done in ages. Drothea was fond of destinations, or colors. She was a very boring woman,” the Lady huffed. “A masque! How lively.”

They arrived in the kitchen and Orpha was waiting.
“Your Grace, Madam,” she addressed Lecia and Catherine. “Shall we meet at my desk? I have the records from last year’s soiree.”

“Sure,” Lecia agreed after Catherine had looked at her to answer.

Orpha’s office was a small room with a desk and a few chairs. There was a window, which was open, to let light and fresh air in, but it was still stuffy.

“I think I’d like the theme to be Wicked Effulgence,” Lecia said kind of proudly. The Marchioness conceded a nod. “The masks will be the wickedness, and we’ll serve deceptive food—though I have no idea how food could be deceptive. Then, I want there to be lights everywhere: lighted paths, lamps hanging in the trees. It will be mysterious but…fun. I hate overly serious parties. We’ll have it at night, so you can only view the gardens by candlelight, and the maze will be all the more challenging in the dark,” she laughed. “With guides on the inside, of course.”

“I think that will be quite different from the traditional,” the Marchioness said happily. “How did you come up with that?”

“Well,” Lecia blushed and looked to Orpha, who hadn’t said another word and had just been watching in wonder, and then told them, “Vaughan.” Both of the older women didn’t try to hide the glimmer in their eyes and Lecia chuckled. “He bought me a horse from Germany whose name is Wicked Effulgence, though I just call him Wick now. When you said there had to be a theme I hadn’t the slightest idea, and then I remembered reading about a masque ball once. I’ve never been to one, you see, because mother thought they were…wicked.” Lecia grinned at the thought of her mother receiving the invitation. “Besides, they all think I’m a witch anyway; might as well make the most of it.”

Astonished, Catherine let out a small sound of awe. The young Duchess was much more clever than she had given her credit for. It was no wonder that Vaughan had chosen her to be his wife.

“I shall certainly make that happen, Your Grace,” Orpha finally said.

“Thank you, Orpha. I don’t believe I have any other ideas just yet, so if you wouldn’t mind getting started on that and letting me know when you need me again, I would very much appreciate it.”

“Absolutely, Your Grace,” Orpha bowed her head.

Lecia turned to Catherine to see if she had been correct to assume they were done for the day. The impressed expression meant that she had.

As they sat down in the saloon, the Marchioness laughed to herself.

“I was a fool for thinking that you’d need an old woman’s help,” she said.

Lecia leaned across to the other sofa and took her hand. “No, I don’t think I can do all of this without you. I didn’t even know that there was a ball to be planned at all.”

“Perhaps not, but you, my dear, were born for this. You’ve barely been in your own home a week, but you’re so suited for it.”

Blushing, Lecia settled back into her own seat. “I thank you for saying so, but I hardly think that’s the case. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

The Marchioness smiled. “You don’t have to. You have a mind for it, and your staff will be smitten with you in no time at all, so you won’t have to lift a finger. They’ll know what you want before you do. They’re already happy to serve you; you thank them.”

Lecia’s brow furrowed. “I—am I not supposed to thank them?” Catherine gave her a look. “I know, I know: I can do whatever I like. But, is it inappropriate? I didn’t think… I don’t plan to stop.”

“No, no, my dear. You can thank whomever you like for whatever reason you like. It’s just that I’ve never known a Duchess to thank her servants. In fact, I don’t know many people who thank anyone for things they believe they’re entitled to,” Catherine frowned. “Just don’t lose your modesty. Money and power tend to steal it from us.”

Lecia offered a humble smile, and she called for tea. The Marchioness would be staying with them until the soiree was over and she was glad for it. As she looked down at her lap, the elegant skirt of her day dress smooth and unmarred, she frowned. It wasn’t the wealth or the power that scared her, it was the loneliness and heartbreak that she was beginning to fear.

She’d prayed for independence, and that was precisely what she’d received.



So, I'm on break, I don't have a job, and I've been highly motivated to write. I have a feeling there might be another chapter within the next 48 hours, but that's not a promise.

Thanks for reading. <3