A moon passed, however, Duke Landon’s atonement punishment to his only daughter persisted. Young Lady Francesca was still barred to attend any social gatherings of any sort. She was kept inside the duke’s manor as an ultimatum for all the scandals she’d stirred; and was only allowed to wander on the nearby cotton farm.
Bearable at first, it was, not until the birthday night of Prince Regent George IV of England arrived. It was noted to be the most highly awaited and anticipated event year round, and it would be a great loss to not attend.
“Father, you can’t be serious of leaving your princess here in our castle when I could be at the palace dancing on my feet and having good time with my friends,” Lady Francesca reasoned out but to no avail. The duke’s heart already hardened with the repeated petty scandals she got herself into, and with the additional convincing from his new wife.
Just last month, she ditched the dance in the middle of the musical piece with the renowned gentleman Earl of Yorkshire just to catch a glimpse of the beautiful northern skies outside. Ridiculous excuse of all reason to spout, but with the lady’s infamous reputation, she sure managed to convinced the man. Then recently, the badmouthing scandal on the widow Countess Candace added more fuel to the fire.
Duke Landon was nowhere near persuaded on Lady Francesca’s word. The rest of the population knew how prestigious tonight’s ball is, for it was to honor the day the kingdom’s ruler- in-charge first got a glimpse of the earthly light.
He couldn’t afford to put at risk the peacefulness of the event on the unpredictable bold stunts of her daughter, no matter how much disheartened he was in doing so. She was not just carrying herself with her, but also the multitude of the Feladencia Dukedom. Better to take precautions, than regret the aftermath later.
***
Meanwhile, the Earl of Verindale was currently riding his way to the St. James’s Palace, where the year’s greatest celebration will be held, as usual. Atop his head was a black beaver hat, made of matted fabric which was repeatedly pummeled and boiled to achieve the thickened felt. He wore a white muslin shirt with ruffles on the frontal view and have high collar on its neck, reaching the chin when starched and standing up.
The valet then topped it with a dark tailcoat having a waist-length cut in the front but continued up to the back of the knee. His lower body was adorned with a personally tailored pantaloon. Finally to complete the gentlemanly rugged look, he paired it with a polished tall boots extending mid calf, presenting him both as a noble and as a rake all together, with a devilish smirk plastered on his face.
He rarely comes to the palace at least once and twice a year if necessary as he was far cry not the best amongst his fellow lordships with his indifferent principalities, ideas, and beliefs in life, let alone hang out with them.
Nevertheless, as infamously he was painted a hypocritical bold, distinct villain on aristocracy as he, himself, was one, he remained unwavered, unshook, and unbothered.
The coachman halted as the carriage reached the designated unloading vicinity just in front the St. James’s Palace’s high and rigid cold metal gate, deprive of any sign of corroding rust due to excellent maintenance.
The Earl of Verindale withdrew the curtain and looked outside, as to confirm his intuition of having reach the destination. Realizing they were, he quietly stepped outside. The rich, lively, and playful melody and rhythm of the orchestral band inside was within the hearing reach.
It was sure very alive and joyful, and everything would be near as perfect, if not with the disdaining presence of social gaps between the fortunates and the unfortunates; the elites and the commoners. Only people part of the peerage were allowed inside, leaving the ordinary English celebrate on the market streets situated on their respective home area.
As the hypocritical aristocrat he is, Lord Dynirho Syford brought a simpleton tenant’s daughter, but of great wit and bearable poise after a proper training. Offering his right hand, the lucky commoner girl accepts as taught. Then, she unmounted from the luxurious coach, adorned with expensive, high-class curtains having golden tussles on its hem.
Smiling lightly, a shade of light pinch of pink appears on both her cheeks. She is nervous. Definitely. Emily couldn’t think much of being chosen to be the most honourable earl’s muse on a great show, like this, instead of the lovely Catherine, who has a beauty that can be matched on noble-born ladies of their time, despite her lowly birth. Perhaps, it was her wit that appears most desirable and suitable on a critical situation of proving a point to society.
“A lady’s chin should, at all times, be raise up high to declare her finesse and confidence,” Lord Syford reminded his muse as he lightly lifted her jaw to awaken her suppressed brave spirit, the outspoken woman she is, when she advertises their locally produced cottons during the market. Finally, the slight tremble, feeling of unease and uncertainty leaves her be.
“Trap, not, yourself under their arrogant noses and act as you are. Fine and outspoken,” he added as he kissed the back of her palms, before releasing it to hold her on the crook of her elbow.
They proceeded inside and as expected, the spotlight shifted on them like an unwritten law that should be observed and practiced. Who would dare not look at the rumored hypocritical aristocrat when he pulled another bold act worthy of intrigue?
Their eyes pierced like silent daggers as if wishing trying to unveil the identity of the Earl of Verindale’s muse for tonight. T’was been a hobby to check on her date every now and then, whether or not he had tried to bend the natural way of the peerage or did he decided to do it his way. As for today’s occasion, he chose the later.
“Welcome to the dance, Lord Syford! What a great pleasure having us be graced by your aromatic wonderful presence?” A random lady in her mid forty’s approached and greeted, wearing big hat adorned with ostrich feathers and rose flowers.
Emily, as being taught, curtsy to the older woman and give off her best smile. Smiling all night long was definitely the easiest way to survive such critical society so new to a commoner like her, who never had had a good recollection regarding such.
“How could that be possible, when all I could feel was the intoxicating allure of your ageless beauty?” Dynirho retorted back before gently kissing the back of the hand of the random lady, he knew not her name. And he would definitely not ask him directly as it will be deemed disrespectful for the woman knew hers already.
The woman didn’t try to hide her ecstatic feeling as her cheeks bluntly reveals it all to everyone present. “What a good tongue you have there, that an aged flower like mine was able to bloom in no particular reason,” she complimented. Well, of course, it was one of the qualities of the Earl of Verindale.
With no further ado, Dynirho moved on having the woman puts cure on his trouble of not knowing her name. “By the way, I would like to introduced to you my lovely muse, Lady Emily Emmerson of Verindale,” Lord Syford composedly introduced, laying the foundation of his tricks. Now, it was by default that random lady would have to introduced herself too to Emily and to him as well, who doesn’t actually know nor remember her at all.
“Oh! Emily, what a lovely name. My name is Carlotta August-Chandler, the duchess of Feladencia. It was nice meeting you.” Finally, his thirst for her name was satisfied. Now, they have to find themselves comfortable seats.
As Lord Syford and Emily was about to walk pass her after bidding temporary goodbyes, the duchess halted them with an interesting question. “I am no blind nor deaf about your rogue reputation. Now, would you mind sharing me the ‘who about’ of this ill-favored lady you brought along with you, wouldn’t you?” she asked them with a grin.
It was after all her motives in the first place in approaching them, aiming to had the first hand info in order to be the first one to start gossip. It’s not like Dynirho wasn’t in for it.
Curling his luscious naturally velvety lips, he smirked, revealing his seductive allure. Even the duchess had to look elsewhere to avoid the hypnotizing power. He leaned to her ears and whispered the things she yearned the most.
“Emily Emmerson, a Cotton Farmer’s daughter...” he honestly admitted. Shock and dismay were evident on Duchess Carlotta’s eyes but the earl made sure she doesn’t end knowing that enough for it wasn’t the real measurement of a person, as he believes. “… but Emily can speak and dance well too as the nobles do.”
He released the duchess and then he started disappearing in the waves of people, with his commoner muse in his side. Perhaps, t’was enough to spread the word of his indifferent might for tonight, he thought.
A week had passed since the grand ball at the St. James Palace and the duke’s health began to worsen. Duke Landon’s body is starting to fail and reject the medication their family physician was giving him. His breath was starting to weaken as the struggle for air was becoming more and more difficult than it usually is. Pneumonia had been a part of his life for almost three years now. Typically, normal people recover from this withing 1-3 weeks of proper medication, however, it was not the case for the duke, who from his childbirth, had had a frail body and weak immunity. Not being able to cure the illness in its earliest stage, it manifested throughout the years, causing minor troubles of chest pain, difficulty of breathing, and someti
Just as how the sun rises from the east and sets to the west, the grieving moment of Feladencia Dukedom ended after few months. However, for the left daughter of the noble duke, the sorrow and grief will always be a part of who she is. Both the loss of her beloved mother and father will always have a scar on her bitter heart. Lady Francesca woke up early morning as the six o’clock bell of the cathedral resounds, marking the incantation of the Angelus Prayer. As she was not as a religious person as her mother, she sat silently on her bed, mind flying elsewhere, even she could hardly identify where. She just waited for the bell to end before finally getting up off her Georgian inscribed bed. 
The old Lady Margaret embraced the young heir of Felandencia Dukedom as its carriage reached the frontal gate of her mediocre abode. The butlers carried Lady Francesca’s luggage inside with the aid of Lady Maragret’s footman. “What a great pleasure you are here, young maiden? I am sorry about your father,” her grandma consoled amidst their tight embrace while gently soothing her back. She knew how hard must it been for her granddaughter to handle. “Oh heavens! How I miss the warmth of your embrace,” Lady Francesca honestly admitted. Through her grandma, she was able to have the pleasure of hugging something identical to that of the scent of her late mother. After what f
Fired up with embarrassment and shame to having to witness such atrocities, Lady Francesca immediately closed her eyes and covered her palms so as to save her innocence further. She also turned her back into them as she felt the heavy and awkward atmosphere building. She didn’t know Verindale could be this wild and scandalous as she read it in the London publications and tabloids. It was a common knowledge to everyone that the Verindale’s present 19th earl of the earldom was a bold rebellious aristocrat who consistently tries to break the natural flow of the aristocracy as we know it. Just recently, Lady Francesca had heard of his bold attempt of bringing up a commoner as a muse during the grand birthday celebration of the prince regent at the most prestigious St. James Palace. That very event where she was being banned by his late father in attending to. Now, she couldn’t help but to wonder who that ea
Following her instinct and sharp memory, she followed the path she thought was the right one until she finds herself standing in the front door of the family’s tea store. “Here she is, mother. Young lovely Francesca took a stroll around,” Uncle Bastien shouted in enthusiasm towards the opposite side where old Lady Margaret was. For the short time her granddaughter’s disappearance, she was worried. Since Lady Francesca’s arrival at her home, she felt something was off, given that she didn’t gave a prior notice of her arrival like she used to do before to give enough time for the granny to prepare the room for her. This time was abrupt and sudden. There must a reason behind it. And she ought to wait for her granddaughter to take her time to open up for her. “Oh, thank goodness!” Lady Margaret had sighed in relief and immediately approached her newly arrived granddaughter. &
The next morning where Lady Francesca was about to meet the handmaid recruited by Lady Margaret, there was a letter sent from Feledencia, particularly from the duchess herself. It was directly addressed for the young maiden and not for Lady Margaret.And as expected, she was right on what she was thinking all along. Her father had actually fell into the manipulative hands of his second wife’s scheme, making her feel disappointed on how far his deceased father had let the enemy into their lives. Was she wrong all along to consider his father to be a literate and intelligent man? Then, why did he go this far in handling over his own daughter over the scheme of a wicked woman? Was it just because she is a woman of his liking after her mom?Lady Francesca’s thought were troubled with many unanswered questions that she knew all along would never be answered as the one she was asking was already at the
Tying the knot of Lady Francesca’s corset, Catherine Gunner had accidentally measured her waist length wrongly, making her slightly grimaced in pain and discomfort when it became too tight.“Ouch!” The young Feledencian heiress was used to the accurate measurement of Eloisa, and Lady Margaret’s handmaid, but the aspiring applicant was doing slight error on her first try.“My deep apologies, my lady,” she immediately apologized and made an adjustment accordingly. Dressing up a mannequin in the clothing boutique was different from dressing up a real person in actual. She should have known it beforehand so as not to commit such careless error. She knew very well that her dream job was still not officially hers.Lady Margaret had just given her the chance to prove her credibility despite the unwelcoming look received from Lady Francesca prior to the vulg
“Have a sip from my very own handmade aged wine fermented under the cool temperature of the lake in Winstow, my lord,” one of the muses offered to Lord Syford who was busy conversing with another woman on the side in an attempt to steal his attention.Bending over, she made sure her healthy and firm bosoms do their hypnotizing talents but to no avail. Lord Syford had already mustered the art of resistance long before he started with his unhealthy habits on women. He knew ambitious and wicked women would do such in order to win him over as a man, that’s why his paranoid father included them in his training as future successor to the lordship of the earldom.“That’s a wonderful offer my lady. But I am afraid wine wouldn’t do any good especially for a man responsible for such soiree at early times like this. I would more joyous to heed at your offer later when the night respite was ‘bout to