Drusilla Tempest, The Duchess of Timberhall, finds herself widowed right after marrying her much-older husband. After her mourning period finishes, she is called to royal duty, carrying out her obliged engagements as one of the only members left of...
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History is written by the survivors. And I am surely that - Catherine De' Medici ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I settled onto the antique chaise in my favourite parlor, the one overlooking the garden and the sea beyond, and scooped up the remote control on the cushion next to me, pointing and clicking at the large flatscreen that was mounted above the mantel. The familiar morning news show lit up the screen as a light knock on the door sounded. The door opened slowly, unobtrusively, and my personal butler Marco appeared bearing my breakfast tray.
"Good morning, Your Grace," he greeted with his recent cheerfulness, "it's a beautiful day out today. I heard we're in for some mild Fall weather." Marco walked across the parlor to deliver the silver tray with the covered plates onto the small tray table set in front of me.
I kept from rolling my eyes at his insistent formalness. I had been a duchess for six months, but I still couldn't get used to being addressed with such a title. I had always been Lady Drusilla, and while I told all of the household staff at Timberhall Castle to just call me Drusilla, most, along with all of the senior staff members, resisted against my plea for casualness. It seemed everyone preferred the old, traditional formalness.
"Thank you, Marco. Perhaps I'll take a walk down to the beach later," I remarked, folding my legs underneath me. I hadn't bothered changing out of my mint green silk pajamas upon waking before I had traipsed through the castle to the parlor with just my Fendi robe covering the flattering nightwear.
"Chef made you Eggs Benedict and fruit with fresh cream," he announced with pleasure.
I smiled at him. Marco had been with me from the first moment I went from Lady Drusilla Volkirk to Drusilla Tempest, Duchess of Timberhall. From newlywed to widow, in the blink of an eye. The paunch-bellied, silver-haired butler had been an unlikely steadfast rock for me over the course of the last several months. From the nerves and high expectations of an all-but-arranged marriage, to the pressures of being a duchess in the Dresnian Royal Family, and then to the shock and sadness of becoming a dowager widow, he had been there with me through it all.
"You are quite chipper this morning," I commented, raising a brow questioningly, though my lips twitched ruefully.
Marco shrugged innocuously, clasping his hands behind his back as was his habit. "I think it's the good weather, Your Grace. The entire household seems to be in a lighter mood."
"Well, that's nice."
"Is there anything else?" he asked, inclining his head to my covered tray.
"No, thank you, Marco. I'll eat this and then go for that walk."
"Superb." Marco gave an efficient but deep bow, and left the room.
I lifted the silver covers off the plates, letting the steam curl from the aromatic food. It looked mouthwatering, and I quickly dug in with my sterling silver knife and fork, turning my attention to the news.
