The Duke and The Duchess (5 page)

Archbishop Franz Schiller Windsor wasn't actually archbishop yet and may never be. His father still held onto that title. He also wasn't German, at least not by birth, probably not by blood either. His mother had had a penchant for foreign names, as Franz's elder brother, Vladmimir, and younger sister, Julieta, evidenced. And, despite the layers of foppish adornment and the amount of authority he held in the house, he was merely sixteen. An age at which most young “men” around him were already getting married, whilst he was still getting over his “zooks, girls are a bother” years. But, like so many other noble fathers of sons his age, he was being found a wife. And, as he had not inherited, as he put it, “my brother's unfortunate countenance”, he was on his way to being the more successful son, possibly upgraded to the heir.

He had been introduced to six daughters from the five greatest noble families under their jurisdiction. He understood his responsibility, but was also reluctant. The Holt sisters were still very young and he could only be betrothed to them for the next five years. Miss Adam was snobbish and rude beyond her status. Miss Plumm was a shut-in and, based on her mother, didn't look like she would grow out of it. Eugenia Stark was almost twenty five and would shortly be considered a spinster, but was also the sole heiress to the second largest fortune in the county after his father's. And the Winner's daughter was well-raised, polite, educated for a girl and wealthy, but also utterly boring.

The wisest political move to make would be to marry Eugenia Stark, save her family's blue blood, earn her inheritance and make wise use of it, in the hopes his brother never married or at least never produced an heir, at which point both fortunes would merge. The wisest personal move would be to marry Anne Winner and make sure his brother didn't marry, which would guarantee himself and any sons he had his whole family fortune. But his father wanted him to marry Mía Plumm and his mother, before she had died of a wound she received whilst making the unfortunate decision to dine with Frenchmen in France, had tried and failed to make them both promise to engage him to one of the Holt's. They understood that the real reason was that Mrs Holt had been his mother's cousin, but at the time they had insisted it was delirium and the cries of a dying woman. But her desire and her father's desire still weighed strongly on his mind.

So he took to the garden and brought a sweet pastry with him and sat on a wall and ate pensatively.

He didn't particularly want to marry any of them, so, making sure he was out of the footmen and gardener's view, he lay down on the wall to take in the sun. He spied a bonnet bobbing past. It wasn't his sister's, though the girl must have been around fourteen or fifteen, the same age as her. The bonnet was quite clearly dirty and mended. A maid's bonnet.

“Maid, what are you doing in the garden at this hour? Shouldn't you be scrubbing pots?”

“Terribly sorry sir. I didn't see you there sir. I was on my lunch break and it was such a fine day, I thought I would take it in the garden, sir.”

Her voice grabbed his attention. It was soft and sweet and gentle. He rolled onto his stomach and watched her. She was young and her hair was starting to poke out from under her bonnet at the back in a sweet way that made him want to touch it. Their eyes met and he grinned.

She went beet-red. “I'm terribly sorry sir. I shall take my lunch back indoors, sir, and leave you to the garden.”

“Now, now, now.” He muttered. “It would be terribly bad form to enjoy your lunch and not share any with the young lord of the house, ey wot?” He patted the wall beside him.

She was taken aback by his forwardness, but, as a maid, had few options other than sit next to him or be fired. And it wasn't like with the Archduke, a known womaniser and lecher. The young master was too young to hurt her yet and too foolish to know how to go about it even if he wanted to. She awkwardly clambered onto the wall and sat with both hands clasping her cheesecloth on her lap, afraid to eat.

“Well? Aren't you inviting me to dine with you?”

“Why yes sir.” She fumbled with her cheesecloth and took out some toasted stale bread, leftover from breakfast, and some cheese rinds and vegetable pieces. It wasn't much and they were both acutely aware of how different her diet was to his. But, nevertheless, he accepted his serving of her meagre portions and nibbled at the stale, cold toast.

“La, this is tough.” He muttered as he reached the crust.

“Yes sir. It's better warm, sir, but only the higher servants can afford to eat it like that. I'm only allowed what they don't want. Terribly sorry, sir.”

“It can't be helped.” He handed her the remaining crust. “Tell, what do you think of marriage?”

“It's a fine thing, sir.” She twitched a little, obviously lying.

“No, girl, really.”

“Zooks, sir, really?”

“Yes, girl, really.”

“Well, sir...” She sighed. “My sister is married, sir.”

“Marrried? La, what a ridiculous story.” He laughed at his own sarcasm. “Can't get a word out of you, can I, girl?”

“If I'm perfectly honest, sir, I think it does nobody good, forgive my boldness.”

“Nobody? Not even me?”

“Well, sir, my mother is unhappy and my father is unhappy. My sister was a happy maid and an unhappy wife. And you, sir, would not be out here sitting on a wall, sharing lunch with a maid if you weren't unhappy about the very thought.”

“How dare you, woman.”

The maid blushed again. “Terribly sorry sir. Shall I leave?”

He paused. “No. Whom do you think I should marry?”

“Miss Plumm is a nice young lady, sir. You would make a handsome couple.”

“So father says.”

“Whom do you wish to marry?”

He paused again. “No one. I wish to remain a frivolous, greedy bachelor with pinked toes and alcohol on the breath until the day I die.”

She laughed, quite louder and brasher than his demure sister and courting ladies. “La, you
are
funny, sir!” She gasped, catching her breath.

He smiled. “Whom do
you
intend to marry?”

She stopped and looked pale. “Oh, I hope he's nice, but I really do not know, sir.”

“Do not know? What deuced answer is that? Who doesn't know whom they'll marry?”

“Well, I don't, sir. Father will choose for me. Perhaps with mother's wise advice, if they are on speaking terms that day.”

“Oh...” He looked at his feet awkwardly and kicked his heel towards the hedge at the edge of the wall. “I hope he is nice too.”

She smiled and offered him some more cheese rind. He was starting to feel something stir inside him that hadn't really awakened before. He took the rind from her gently, making sure to catch her fingertips as he seized it. She tried to pull them back, but he held fast.

“Sir...” She was getting redder by the moment. He pulled her hand to his face and put the cheese through his lips, feeling her dusty fingertips brush them.

“Mmm, better like this.” He mumbled through the cheese, finally releasing her fingers and watching her arm dart back to her side. “I do hope your husband is a nice man. A pretty girl shouldn't have an unpleasant husband. Does your father love you?”

“Yes, sir.” She replied, still taken aback. “I love him very much and he loves me.”

Franz nodded. “Then he will find you a nice husband. I am sure of it.” He swallowed the cheese. “And if he doesn't, I will take you as my wife.”

“That is very kind of you, sir.” She smiled, obviously flattered. “Though I'm not sure your father would approve.”

“I suppose not. What sort of a concubine would you be?”

“Sir!” She was red again. “I must be going, sir.”

“Shame. I shall see you later?”

“Of course, sir, see me in the gardens at lunch?”

“Wonderful, I'll be here.”

As she skipped off the wall, he grabbed her bonnet and, loose as it was, it came right off, leaving her hair to tumble down.

“Sir? May I have my bonnet back?”

“Go get another one. I want to be sure you return.”

“I do not have another one, sir. Please return it.”

“Ask another maid for one. Say I told you it was dirty. Now get on.”

Not wanting to argue with her lord, she ran off to the kitchens. She would have to return the next day.

She had a very hard time getting a new bonnet from the head maid, but eventually they agreed her bonnet needed washing and she was told to wash it as soon as he returned it. She was pretty certain she was almost fired. Not that he would probably care. Why did she have to have masters with such inconsiderate whims? Although, when his fingertips met her lips, she had felt deeply towards him. But that was only natural. After all, so few men had ever touched her that her young heart leapt when she felt hands on her face. But she wasn't fully aware of this and she was worried that she may not control herself in his presence. Based on what her sister had been saying about harlots, she should already be deeply embarrassed. But she didn't feel that way. She enjoyed the young lord's company and wanted to spend much more time in it.

That night she dreamt of him. He took her in his arms and fed her from his fingertips and she fed him from hers. He asked her to marry him. It was light and ethereal, but somehow very real, so real that when she woke up she wondered why he wasn't there.

The next day she snuck out a piece of pork pie along with her meagre rations and made her way toward the wall, where he was waiting. She sat on the wall next-to him and they chatted about the garden and their respective future marriages.

“I won't be married for a long time yet, it seems.” He sighed, sounding relieved. “Father has decided that Vladimir must marry first. Zooks, if that man, with that face, ugly as sin, ever marries, I will eat my hat, no, my shoe.”

She laughed. He was so much fun. Especially compared to the other servants and nobles. She dared not tell him how his brother, Vladimir Said Windsor, was always making lecherous advances on her and asking her to clean his room whilst he was still in bed. Her face went bright red just to think of it. She had managed to stop him making any further advances, but she was terribly afraid that if she didn't marry soon, between the Archduke and his first born she had no chance of retaining her purity for her husband.

“He
is
ugly as sin, though, ey wot?” Franz muttered as he bit a chunk out of the pie. “La, this is good eating. Where did you get it?”

She smiled meekly. “It was intended for the valet, but footmen, but I took a small slice whilst the cook was not looking.”

He laughed again. “And if she catches you?”

“Faith... I hope she shan't.” She laughed as well as they passed the pie between them.

Feeling a little bolder, she tore off a piece of cheese rind and, when he next turned, lifted it to his lips. He smiled devilishly and she realized how handsome he looked. Blushing and turning her head the other way, watching him out of the corner of her eye, she fed him the cheese.

“Much better like this.” He said between chews, smacking his lips. “I like you very much, maid, do you have a name?”

“Lucy, sir.”

“A surname?”

“I suppose I have one, but I can't say it nor write it, sir.”

He laughed. “Fine. Lucy Maid it is.”

“I like you very much too, sir.” She blushed again at her own frankness.

“How is a maid so much more demure than those wenches I'm supposed to marry? If you were Miss Stark you would be in my lap right this instance, with your sheer little dress up to your thighs, ey wot?”

She felt herself go even redder. Although crude things had often been shouted at her, this frankness, this compliment combined with an insult, coming from his lips, it all drove her to panic.

“See? So frail and gentle. You, Lucy Maid, are a real lady. Not like those deuced wenches.”

She was almost waiting for a proposal, but, having worked himself into a fury, he hopped off the wall and walked inside.