Duchess of the Shire

This blog is a fictional account of a semi-Georgian Duchess. It was inspired by the love of all things 18th century and is purely the work of my imagination. All stories, themes, names and addresses http://duchessoftheshire.blogspot.com/ are fictional but also under the UK copyright laws. © .

I hope you enjoy everything that you read and it gives you some insight to a troubled, scandalous and rebellious Duchess.

D. S.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

It has just occurred to me that in being here over a month, the White Knight has failed to respond to my letter imploring him to keep in contact. How rude.


There is not much I can do to scorn him; I could not avoid his presence more keenly than by staying twelve thousand miles away, here in the Antipodes, but I am stung slightly, by his arrogance in believing he could ignore me!


At least I have found refuge in the no-longer-anonymous woman's company. We laugh merrily about the sticky situation we got ourselves into at the Manor party and how we survived the scandal, even though the three of us were walked in on. We  ponder as to what has become of the third member of our ménage à trois, and delight in the memories as we tease each other; neither of us quite brave enough to make the first move.


I sound besotted, and though I am intrigued by her passion and content in her presence, I do not crave her approval nor pine for her when we are not together. It is not a desire like one I had for the musician or Head Architect, it is far more comfortable and I suppose that comes from us both being women and understanding our own needs... I'm sure Marie Antoinette would understand.


In two days time I shall have my rendez vous with the masked guest. I am to be wined and dined in the city and I cannot wait, for the countryside has it's beauty but there are few distractions so enticing as the city.


My labouring too, takes me into the city and I have seen places that I didn't even realised existed. Working in fashion has truly opened my eyes, and I feel embarrassed to think how ignorant I was before I'd laid a finger on a piece of cloth that wasn't already stitched and sewn into life. My no-longer-anonymous woman doesn't approve of my work, she is of too high a class to appreciate the skill of craft, and though she is not even a Duchess, she has no want to learn, whereas I crave an understanding of everything that I do not know. I appease her by attending soirées and garden parties, but they hold very little meaning here in the Antipodes, especially if I think of the raucously civilised events held by my dearest friends...





And with that, I must remember to respond to their letters accordingly. There is much to tell them and even more to ask.





D. S.

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