The Duchess

Charlotte thought she just might faint from being unable to draw precious breath to her lungs, as her maid pulled her corset tighter. Usually, she got by with wearing her stays looser than was fashionable, but tonight’s event called for her to wear them as tightly as humanly possible. Tonight, she would dine with her fiance, whom she had met only briefly before. The Duke of Finnalia, her fiance, lived nearly all the way across the country, while she lived in the far south. Their engagement had only come about as her great aunt had been in close correspondence with his grandmother. Her grandson, she had wrote, was much in need of a bride. He was nearly thirty and had only courted a few girls. Apparently, she had felt that it was time for him to settle down and grant her a few grandchildren. As they were great friends, her great aunt had recommended her as a bride. Then, nearly five years ago, the Brandon’s had a been a wealthy family, and the match had seemed most sensible.

Charlotte heard the door open, and she turned slightly, still keeping a death grip on her bedpost as the maid tightened her stays. Her mother stood at the door, already dressed for the evening, in a widow’s black gown that had been tailored so that it could be worn another year. The worried, heavy look on her face that seemed as much an ornament as the brooch her mother always wore, was in place as usual.

“You are not ready yet?” Her mother asked, clearly irritated.

She turned back towards the bed, wincing as the maid gave the corset strings one final tug. “We still have nearly an hour.”

“And if he arrives early?” She strode across the room, closing the door quietly behind her. “What have you picked out?”

Charlotte gestured at the midnight blue silk gown lying on her dressing table chair. It had been bought last week, unlike her mother and sister’s gowns which had been old gowns and had been tailored to be up in the present fashion. She had been allowed to purchase three dresses, a luxury she had not had in quite a long time. Her mother scrunched her nose, something she did when she did not like something very much, a trait which Charlotte had inherited.

“But should you not wear the champagne colored one?” Her mother suggested. “I thought that it looked very becoming on you.”

“I’ve already picked that out,” She replied, walking towards the dressing table. Her hair was already done to match her outfit for the evening. It was pulled to the side, with one large curl hanging over her shoulder. Pins with dark blue jewels on them decorated her hair, keeping each ebony lock in place.

Her mother frowned but kept silent as the maid helped Charlotte into the gown.“Honestly, I do not know why we are trying to impress him. We are already engaged.”

“You know exactly why,” Her mother replied sharply. “Linda, you may leave now. I will help Charlotte with the rest.”

The maid, sensing that a conflict was about to happen between the mother and daughter, curtsied quickly, hurrying out of the room. Her mother crossed the room, buttoning the buttons as tightly as they would go.Charlotte winced.

“You know how much debt your father left us when he died.” Her mother said, when she finished buttoning the back of the dress. Charlotte turned to face her.

Charlotte shook her head. “You know father would not have wanted this.”

Unlike most father’s in England, Henry Brandon had held the belief that his daughters should marry because of infatuation, rather than because of wealth, social status, or title. Of course, that had been when the Brandon’s were one of the wealthiest families in the country. Her mother, a woman who fiercely held to society’s belief of marriage of convenience, had always called the very idea silly. Love, she had said, could not stock the kitchen nor could it buy you dresses.

“Yes, well if he had not left us with all this debt, perhaps your father’s idea of marriage for you girls could have happened.” Her mother retorted. “I know you are not happy about marrying Peter, but it is the only thing that will save us from ruin.”

Charlotte turned back towards her dressing table, running her finger over the deteriorating gold trim. Yes, her marriage would be the only thing that would save her family from the poorhouse. Somehow, the image of her mother slaving away in a decrepit building did not seem plausible at all. Her mother was born to float around the high social circles, and enjoy the finer things in life, not to spends hours upon hours sewing in the dim candlelight.

“I know,” Charlotte replied in a choked whisper.

“Dear, I know how much this is to have on your shoulders. Believe me, if there was any other way...” Her mother let out a heavy sigh, falling into one of the upholstered chairs by Charlotte’s bed.

“I know, Mother.”

“Besides, you will be a duchess, darling.” Her mother closed her eyes tightly for a moment.

“I know.”

Charlotte pulled back the lace curtain, peering out the window. A costly black carriage with the duke’s family’s coat of arms painted on the side, was just pulling into the driveway. Charlotte felt her breath catch in her throat. For the first time in nearly three years, she caught a glimpse of her future husband. He was handsome as ever, a trait that she was lucky to have been granted in a husband. She watched as he descended from the carriage, regal as ever. She turned back towards her mother.

“He is here,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charlotte descended down the stairs behind her mother, keeping her eyes straight ahead on her fiance. He was in the entryway, giving his hat and walking stick to a servant. His cold blue eyes landed on her and she quickly looked away, brushing at her skirts as if she had a piece of pesky lint on them as an excuse to not look at him.

“Good afternoon, your grace.” Her mother said, sweeping into a low curtsy. Charlotte copied her. “I trust that your journey was pleasant?”

The duke gave her a short bow. “Yes, very.”

Charlotte gazed around at the entryway, noticing how bare it had become. Once, a large crystal chandelier had dominated the room, throwing rainbows around the room as it shined. As a child, Charlotte and her sisters had made a game of trying to capture the rainbows with their hands. Marble vases and golden framed portraits had once lined the walls, most of them had been sold to pay for the numerous debts that had ben piling up. Already, the east wing of the house that contained two large ballrooms and numerous bedrooms and sitting rooms, had been closed off. It had been sacrifice that the family had had to make to avoid having to sell the house and move to a smaller house in a less fashionable place in town.

“You have already met Charlotte, but it has been quite a while.” Her mother said, turning to her.

Charlotte swept into a deep curtsy. “Your grace,” she kept her eyes on the ground.

Shyly, she offered him her hand. He pressed his lips to her hand, his lips cold even through her silk gloves. “Ms. Brandon, a pleasure to be in your presence.”

“Likewise,”

After a moment of tense silence, her mother said. “If you will be so kind as to join us in the sitting room, while dinner is being set out.”

Charlotte followed behind her mother and the duke while they made polite conversation, chiming in when appropriate. She entered the sitting room behind them, hurrying and taking the only chair in the room. Last night, she had made a plan to sit there so that she would not have to sit beside the duke.

“Charlotte, would you be so kind as to let me sit there? I intend to work on my embroidery while we sit in here and I find that the light is kinder to my eyes over there.”

Charlotte mentally sighed, she should have known that her mother would have said something of the sort so that she would have to sit beside her fiance. Rising, she walked carefully over to the couch, sitting gracefully down beside the duke. She sat stick straight, making sure that her mountains of skirts did intrude upon his space. She kept her eyes on her lap.

Suddenly, her younger sister, Eleanor, burst through the door, her red silk skirts flying behind her. “I’m apologize for my lack punctualness” She said curtsying. Quickly, she took a seat beside their mother.

Charlotte did not miss the lingering stare the duke gave her sister, something he had failed to give her. Though Eleanor was much to young for marriage, she already had suitors lining up for her hand. She had inherited their mother’s alluring looks, a fact that she flaunted daily. Even when she had been young, Charlotte had been jealous of Eleanor’s stunning looks and charm. The only thing that Charlotte could be classified as was in fact plain. She was not homely, but she was not beautiful either. The only thing that had ever worked in her favor in the ballroom had been her immense dowry, but that had been when they were rich.

The door to the dining room opened, much to Charlotte’s relief, and the head butler announced that dinner was served. He gave her a small smile, and she felt a little bit of her confidence restored. When she had been a small child, he had been almost like a second father to her. Often times, he did not notify her parents that she had broken a vase or something of the sort, and he always had a candy stick on hand to give her when he saw her.

Once they were seated, the servants began serving the food. Charlotte noticed the large ham in the center of the table. It had been quite a while since they could afford to eat ham, or any meat that is. Charlotte wondered how many servants had been left unpaid so that they could enjoy this meal. Already, what had once been a staff of over a hundred had dwindled down to a very small staff of thirty. Ten maids to do the cleaning, two stable boys, one very old footman, the cooking staff, and their personal maids.

“So tell me, I have heard that your estate, Branburn, I believe it is called, is very beautiful.” Her mother said once grace had been said and the servants had exited the room.

The duke stayed silent for a moment. “Yes, I like to think that it is.”

Her mother sent her a look that clearly told her that she had better speak up. “Your grace,” She swallowed, wondering what exactly in the world she was to say. “I have heard that you are a great lover of the arts, is this true.”

She looked at her mother for approval. She did not look quite impressed, but she did not look disappointed either. One of her weakest skills had always been conversation. She much preferred to remain silent in the company of men, as she was always afraid that she would say something wrong.

“Yes,” He replied. “I take it upon myself to go to the opera or ballet every so often, I believe that it engages the mind.”

“I do so love the stage,”Charlotte said after a moment’s hesitation. “If I could, I should like to go see an opera or ballet nightly.”

“Perhaps you would like to join me tomorrow night,” He said. “ I am going to see Faust.”

On the inside, every fiber of her being was screaming at her to decline his offer. A whole evening with her fiance seemed like a death sentence. Though he had been nothing but polite, she could tell that it was all fake, just as everyone else in polite society was. In truth, he seemed very boring and Charlotte could not think of anything that would fuel the conversation between them without her mother’s prodding.

Her mother’s gaze caught hers and she saw approval in them. There would be no weaseling out of his offer. That was it. She was sentenced to a very boring night with her fiance, she could think of a million things she would rather do. Sighing, she replied that he was very kind and that yes, she should like to join him.