The New Duchess

[Cicilia Fitzroy]

When Ciel had penned her letter to the maid she had once loved as a friend, she had not expected her penmanship to run the page as easily as it had done. She had been writing in her husband’s study, using his papers to do so as she scrawled her hand over the page before absconding to join him in his other, more personal rooms. A lot had changed from when they had last seen one another, and though her stubborn nature often prevailed in all things, the thought of unearthing old bones seemed a tiresome job. Let Maggie return, if only she apologised in person that was. After all, no longer was she tip-toeing b b b beneath the sensitive title of a supposed Dowager Baroness, no longer was she a lesser being to the Duchess who had plucked Maggie from her service in a rude act! Ciel, or if you were to go by her birth name Cicilia, was as such a Duchess, and had to act as one if she was to keep her husband’s status yet all a-glimmer.

She had paced the entrance hall on the day where Miss Gladwin was meant to arrive, and had spent a large chunk of the morning preparing her facial expressions in the mirror. She did not wish to seem suddenly pompous, or even rude, but in fact welcoming as she had done all those years ago. When the Duchess had been active in the community, Ciel had done her best to ignore every whisper and notion, which obviously left her blind to what Maggie had been up to. What if her sights were no longer on being a lady’s maid, but rather something more grand? What had the Duchess offered her in the time they had been apart? And would Rhett, who was rich and fine enough to answer almost all of Ciel’s wishes, even care?

Twisting her rings around her fingers, Ciel counted through her worries despite herself, tossing her long blonde hair over each shoulder now and then before she absconded into the morning room. Euston Hall was grand, grander than anything she had ever lived in previously — for though she had a fondness for her childhood home in Wales, the Hall made everything seem so puny and silly in comparison. Like 16 Cheyne Walk, Rhett had allowed his new wife to flex her designer capabilities, and with every room lay pink details and fashionable executions of art, textiles and what not.

If Maggie arrived at that moment, Ciel waited for the footman’s announcement, fixing her hair behind her ears and then over them in a constant shift of movements.

[Maggie Gladwin]

What would she say when she met Lady Ciel again? Maggie wrung her hands trying to think of the words. Hello would be an excellent start, but the words after that? A general blankness filled her mind as she boarded the train at Liverpool Street at the start of her journey to the flatlands of Cambridgeshire, Suffolk, and Norfolk.

What would she say when she met Lady Ciel again? Back at 16 Cheyne Walk, her ladyship had demanded with strident voice that Maggie’s shadow never darken her presence again with her ugly, rustic features and hateful actions. Maggie was young, foolish, and impulsive. The duchess’ offer had been too promising to ignore. Indeed, Maggie’s struggle to find the right words to say allowed her to ignore the advances of a potbellied travelling salesman offering samples of tonics, tinctures, and ointments in his case.

What would she say when she met Lady Ciel again? Her preoccupation with the upcoming encounter continued when she changed trains in Cambridge. That singular thought continued to haunt her on the smaller local train that jostled and jolted its passengers across the sleeping winter Fens. Maggie laid her head against the window of the carriage and stared out at the countryside that rolled past. On any other day, nature’s greenery and wildlife would have restored her – proof you could take the girl out of the country, but not the country out of the girl - yet today, she was understandably restless. She rubbed her stomach vainly trying to soothe her nerves and tried to ignore the smell of sweat, socks, and cheap tabaco that filled the carriage. Perhaps she should have listened more carefully to the salesman’s pitch and pinched a sample.

What would she say when she met Lady Ciel again? The word ‘sorry’ would do some good but would her ladyship accept that? Thetford seemed a quaint market town but exploring it’s lanes and squares would have to wait for another day.

What would she say when she met Lady Ciel again? The grandeur and expanse of Euston Hall loomed large with its many windows and brown brickwork as Maggie walked up the drive. Was it the brisk exercise or her fear that made her heart beat faster? It was no Devonshire House, but Maggie’s first impression was that Lady Ciel had certainly landed on her feet. According to the traditions of domestic service, Maggie should have gone around the back of the house to the servant’s entrance, unseen, unnoticed. But she did not know where this lesser portal was. She knocked on the front door. A footman answered, saying nothing. Maggie was the one expected to answer.

“Miss Margret Gladwin to see her Grace the Duchess of Grafton. I am expected.” She answered with as much confidence as her nerves would permit.

What would she say when she met Lady Ciel again?

[Cicilia Fitzroy]

The house was beautiful, even exquisite, from the outside. With its manicured lawn met with rows of private gardens, the red brick was something akin to a dream and far away from the Welsh Tredegar House she had grown up in, a world in which Ciel had once hoped for when she had been a girl and still optimistic for what life had in store for her. She had come easily to the title she had married into, and had easily opened her arms toward her new family (a step-son and the household staff that came with Euston Hall) despite her initial worry. Even Augustine, with his halo of bright blonde hair and shy nature had come to suit the new environment well, though it was to be whispered that he did miss the cat de Villiers who remained at 16 Cheyne Walk.

Ciel covered her hands with satin gloves and flattened the front of her day dress as she fussed and then re-fussed over her appearance. When they had last seen one another Ciel had wished for Maggie never to darken her door again, and now? Well, how the wheel of Fortuna spun! How quickly time seemed to aid the transition of hurt! Ciel thanked Rhett for his confidence in her, his name followed by God if she was perhaps in a pious mood, but mostly she put the action on her own free will. Though, she remained somewhat aware that the maid could have come to the point of outgrowing her station.. And Ciel was in no place to need a secretary, or anyone to really answer her letters or keep her schedule. By those early months of being a Duchess, her routine was simple and modest, though it would be stated that later — when the season begun — Ciel would take great stock in arranging herself as the centre of bustling social circles.

The footman who answered the door had taken notice of the Duchess’ constant movements around the entrance hall, so much so that by the time the awaited Miss Gladwin knocked, he knew who she was. With the decadent eloquence of a man well suited to his position, he left the girl on the doorstep before venturing off into the adjacent room where the Lady waited. “A Miss Margaret Gladwin to see you, Your Grace,” he announced. Ciel, who was yet to get used to the well-to-do of such a greeting, gave him permission to let her in and went to perch on the sofa. Rhett had been so lovely to allow Ciel to rejuvenate the rooms of such a grand country estate to her likings, though they were still in the process of making every detail to her satisfaction. The sofa had been new, sent for from the now well placed Morris & Co, with their 1883 design of the Strawberry Thief printed onto the fabric — with a small table beside it, Ciel arranged herself suitably, as the footman led Miss Gladwin into the room.

Getting to her feet, Ciel looked at the young woman with tenderness, for all the angst in the world she could not call upon anger or wrath in that moment but only the appreciation of distance and time. She looked pretty, but she always had done, that was why they had met in the first place! With wide eyes she gasped and smiled, exposing that unwanted gap-tooth in the process as she gestured for Maggie to join her.

“Maggie, you will let me call you Maggie won’t you? I know, I know. It’s not very Duchess of me, but I have yet to truly… Well, come sit, I’ll have tea and cake brought up… How are you? How was the journey? You must be exhausted!”

[Maggie Gladwin]

Maggie shifted her weight on the balls of her feet, her stomach felt tangled in a nautical knot that would have made her sailor father proud. Euston House was rich in finery, and she wondered how much of that opulence was due to Lady Ciel's influence. The scent of flowers and furniture polish wafted through the air, unmistakable in its luxury.

With a touch of formality, the footman showed her in. Maggie spared him a quick sideways glance, she did not know him, but she had a good feeling that, unlike the maids, he wouldn't gossip downstairs like a washerwoman.

There she was. As pink and bright as ever.

Lady Ciel stood before her, radiating the warmth and enthusiasm that had been a constant in Maggie's life in the last few years. There had been many mother figures in Maggie's world – Mary and Alma – but Lady Ciel was the one she had looked up to the most, a role model, a guiding light, and a cherished friend. The trepidation Maggie had felt about their reunion evaporated instantly, a sense of belonging wrapped around her shoulders like a blanket.

Maggie forced a weak smile, still trying to process the new reality that had brought them back together.

"Absolutely. Ye one of the few who can, Miss... I mean, Ma'am... How do ye prefer to be called with your new station?" she stammered.

The ease with which they fell back into their old rhythm was reassuring. Maggie allowed her shoulders to relax, and the pent-up breath she'd been holding finally released. It was as if Maggie had been away for just a few days.

"I am tired, yes." She answered the peel of questions. The cake was a nice idea.

[Cicilia Fitzroy]

Ciel smiled at Maggie’s clearly insecure reaction concerning her rise in the world; at least that made two of them! Comfortable in the presence of the girl who had seen Ciel undressed, a mess and scrubbed clean, Ciel settled a little in that large room, crossing one ankle over the other beneath the large bloom of her skirts. “I suppose you should call me ‘my Lady’ when we are in front of others, and certainly ‘Your Grace’ beyond these halls, but I have it under strict instruction that the household should never dare call me that! Ma’am or Miss, if you wish,” Ciel answered, wringing her hands together as if she were soothing the skin with lotion.

The truth was, Ciel still questioned if Maggie wished to return from the goodness of her heart, mostly because Ciel could not picture herself forgiving Maggie a second time. And what of the Duchess she had left her service for? Were they playing some stupid trick on her? She told herself that what came to mind was simple words meant for someone more paranoid, and that Ciel had no means to think that way. But what could she do to stop herself from doing so?

“I thank you for coming on such short notice, it must seem quite out of the blue… But I am glad that we have realigned again, Maggie, I will introduce you to my husband when he is free…” Ciel mused, looking over the girl’s shoulder for the footman with his tray of tea and cake. Maggie had seen her past, her secret meetings and flirtatious conversations. She had been, after all, the friend in which she repeated her tales and stories while they sorted her hair or arranged her wardrobe for the day. Now a Duchess, Ciel had suddenly risen far above the station she had been, and so she couldn’t help but wonder what Maggie thought of it all.

“Oh, you must have so many questions…”

[Maggie Gladwin]

Maggie nodded silently at the revelation of the desired form of address. Her employer’s disdain for titles – at least in private - appeared to be unchanged with her rise up society’s ladder. Her eyes rolled upward to consider her thoughts, there were many questions that she could ask:


“Was he handsome?”

“How did they meet?”

“How did the courtship go?”

“What made ye say yes?”

“Was the wedding beautiful? In town? Or a quaint country church?”

These were the sorts of questions a girl of Maggie’s age could ask Ciel. Regardless of social standing, girls often gossiped about boys, about the best part of their characters and also their flaws. Indeed, had Maggie stayed beside her, she would have discovered these answers in the late hours and the intimate privacy of the bedroom, where formality could be loosened like boot laces after a long day. Yet, the fact Maggie had not been there screamed loudest in her mind. She had no right to know the answers. Maggie had last left Lady Ciel sight in a flood of tears and a shower of cruel words. Would the duchess accept her again?

A duchess… that alone would take some adjusting too. Maggie had been there to hear about some of the dalliances, for the regular commentary on being unattached, for the nightly speculation of the future at the dressing table…. Now that future was the present, with Ciel looking as radiant as ever, her skirt weighed to drape just so across her ankles, gloves spotless.

A question was expected.

“Do ye still like the colour pink, Miss?”

[Cicilia Fitzroy]

Ciel had pulled together some thoughts when Maggie had left, primarily she had wondered whether the lady’s maid had always been ambitious, and that she had used her for the position and the wealth of her brother who arranged for her lessons of literacy. The thought had been dire, and had upset her greatly before something worse had reared its ugly head in the means of a friend-lover-enemy who had sought to put Ciel and her boy in danger. Since then, it was Ciel who had returned to how she had once been or what she was meant to be in the eyes of her long deceased mother — patient (to a point), cunning (slightly) and appreciative of the smaller bounties that came with life. She had even come to enjoy her son more, though perhaps that came to be because her new step-son, the fifteen year old Augustus, had been a good and enjoyable influence on little Augustine.

She had married him because he had always told her that he loved her, that he had saved her in the time of lonely abandonment during her marriage to the Baron and that they had continued to remain close in secret — for Maggie had been sent off on tasks and duties whenever Rhett had been sent for, leaving Ciel to be unusually discreet in her romantic couplings. How funny, how fast things had changed!

The question surprised her, for she had expected something else perhaps as she opened her mouth and laughed gently, lowering her head to look at her day dress — of which still styled itself in pale pinks and waves of opalescent whites. Brushing at the material, Ciel looked back to Maggie, her grin exposing the fine sheen of her teeth. “What do you think?” She asked, a noise akin to a girlish giggle expelled before she put her hand to her lips, touching upon them with her gloved finger tips before she went to hold her hands in her lap.

“So… how was your time away?”