The Defiant Duchess

by Kari August

But wait! How could she have forgotten? This horrible slur might be from the time Mags had irritated—to say the least—another royal, namely that undeserving usurper, who had taken the kingdom from her brother Dickie.

  Henry VII had been terrified of losing his crown from the moment he had placed it on his head, after winning his battle against Dickie, until he finally passed away. And who could blame him? His claim to rule was so weak. Due to intermarrying between nobles and royals throughout the European continent and with England, there were many more with stronger claims to the throne than him, including Maximilian and his heir.

  But he blamed Mags especially for supporting her York nephews and their attempts to win his crown—first “Lambert Simnel,” who declared he was the true son of her dearly departed brother George, and then “Perkin Warbeck,” who Mags actually felt fairly confident was Richard, the long-lost son of her brother Edward. This nephew Richard had managed to escape being slain in the Tower when Dickie had claimed the crown after Eddie had passed away from unknown causes. Unfortunately, another son had apparently lost his life BUT was not because of evildoings by Dickie, Mags was sure, no matter what those Tudors had tried to assert.

  Mags had raised money for ships and weapons, and recruited soldiers for both of these nephews in their unsuccessful invasions of England to become the next king. But did anyone actually think she had done this alone?

  Of course, she never could have supported these York hopefuls to the throne if not for the secretive approval of Maximilian, who was crafty enough not to want the blame placed directly on him. He had desired a stronger alliance with England—once again to help defend against France—than he could obtain from Henry VII and hoped one of her nephews could supply this.

  Naturally, she had wanted to bolster these sons of York. She had always been true to her Burgundian and York family origins. This was what made Mags special. She never faltered in her defense of family. Unfortunately, both nephews were defeated and Henry VII had retained his crown.

  Mags stopped staring at the Internet and changed for bed, but she could not stop her mind from whirling. She was a capable, strong woman who had been dismissed by history and this was a blow. Her practically nonexistent reputation in this century was worse than she had realized. The little name that she had was still being smeared or so it seemed at first glance. She would have to read the book to be sure. But for now? Forget about that silly notion of finding passionate, true love.

  What had she been thinking? She had lived her nine years of marriage and a couple decades as a dowager widow without romantic ardor just fine. She could have remarried if she had wanted to and possibly even for love if she had found it, but then she would have undoubtedly given up the amount of independence and power she had obtained. She had not required a man to maintain the riches she had as a dowager . . . as long as she supported the rulers of Burgundy—which, of course, she had not had problems with doing.

  How foolish to think love was so important! No, she was going to forget about finding a man.

  Well, perhaps she would still track down Archie Leach in heaven.

  But that could wait. For now, she was going to build her reputation properly. Only problem was, she had no current idea how to do that. At least the next day she heard some encouraging news.

  “Hey, Mags. Were you successful doing the Internet thingamajig?” Clarence chuckled as he took a seat across from her at the breakfast table.

  Mags smiled politely, but grimly. “Perhaps too much so.”

  “Huh? Well, never mind because I got some good news. Guess who I heard from?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Gonzo. And guess what he had to say?” He plunged on. “Gonzo got an unexpected onslaught of favorable response from your night at the fights. Apparently, the audience had never seen anything like it and they loved it. He is not only paying the full amount he owes you, but he wants you to return for another bout. I already told him you would be expecting a big raise if you were to do so.”

  Dickie immediately stood from his seat at the table. “Absolutely NOT.”

  Ned oddly pounded his head once on the table. “Geez, Clarence. What is wrong with you?”

  Lindsey just started laughing. “This is hilarious. Are you going to do it, Mags?”

  Mags really had no desire to parade herself in front of those peasants again. But then she thought about the money she was going to receive for the spectacle she had already made of herself. It seemed like a lot to her, though she wasn’t sure. But probably enough to at least do something for her reputation—once she figured out what that should be—and still have some spending money. Yet perhaps she should try for some more. But she knew enough about business tactics to keep Gonzo in anticipation and waiting for a definite answer. “Clarence, please tell Gonzo that I am thinking about it.”

  “Sure thing, Mags.”

  Dickie sat back down, shaking his head ominously, just ready to play head of the family and try to rule her affairs, when a stunning woman, fair and tall, entered the room, saving her from a reprimand.

  “Hi, everybody. Great to see you,” she announced smiling, as she went around, giving hugs to Lindsey and Ned and a kiss to Clarence.

  “Char! You’re back. Where are the twins?” Clarence looked behind her.

  She walked over to Dickie. “Oh, I am so glad you came for another visit.” She enfolded him also in a hug then looked over at Clarence. “I let Connie and Daddy have them a few days more. They love them so. Sally is staying there to help watch them, but Gert came back with me.”

  “Oh, okay.” Clarence looked disappointed. “But just a few more days. I miss them.”

  “Why don’t you drive over this afternoon to see them? I can handle the party preparations myself.”

  “Sounds good. I can razz Sally then, too. I’m sure she misses me terribly.” Clarence gave a devilish wink to the table, then chuckled.

  She then turned to Mags. “I’m Charlena. This is wonderful you came for a visit. Clarence told me all about you. I am so excited to meet another of my relatives. Can you stay for a while so we can become better acquainted?”

  Mags took an immediate liking to this cousin-in-law. “Yes, I would love to spend time with you.” And avoid Dickie as much as possible, she thought.

  Later that day Charlena treated Mags to more shopping—Mags was getting the distinct impression that this century folks liked to do that a lot—and even bought an outfit with which to surprise Dickie. While Charlena went off to find him, Mags returned to her room to do the Internet. She found she could not help stewing about how she could build her reputation. She entered HOW TO BECOME FAMOUS and several solutions popped up. She read the instructions in the first article. Do something obnoxious or stupid to attract attention.

  Mags smirked. Oh, she had already done that. Becoming a warrior for the WWW had not been her finest moment, though she would never admit that to Dickie.

  Make sure to record or publish it, spelling your name correctly.

  Well, too late for that. The event had already taken place.

  She went on to the next article. Create a solution to a unique problem or audition for a reality show or work on a world record or post a silly video or be especially generous—Ha! Not with her finances in their shaky condition. Unfortunately, none of these ideas seemed workable to her either.

  She perused the next article. Get a personal brand.

  What was that? She read further and realized her brand, of course, was being the Duchess.

  Show your expertise in the subject.

  Hmmm. How could she do that?

  Define the profile of people you are trying to engage. Who are your target audience?

  Well, her target audience was the whole world, but she supposed if she started with that mob of peasants at the WWW she would at least have a start.

  Mags reread all the articles and an idea began to form. She found Charlena smiling, as Dickie modelled the clothes she had bought him.

  “They look great, Dickie! W
hat do you think, Mags? This outfit is just the latest.”

  Mags surveyed Dickie up and down. She wasn’t sure what to say about the tight modern attire on Dickie. She was so used to seeing him dress in the fashion of their day. Yes, she had seen some men in—Where was that? Oh, yes—in South Beach similarly dressed, but somehow, she had a feeling that their cousin Clarence was going to think this outfit amusing on her brother. “Ah . . . good choice, Charlena.”

  Dickie puckered his brow, obviously not sure if he believed her. “Now that we’re both free again, I think we should talk some more, Mags.”

  “Later, Dickie. I have something of import with Charlena now.”

  Dickie just shook his head, scowling, as he sauntered towards the room where Mags had last seen Ned.

  “What would you like to do now, Mags?” Charlena inquired enthusiastically.

  Mags motioned with her hand. “Let’s go to my bedroom to speak. I’d like to keep this from prying ears.” She nodded her head in Dickie’s retreating direction.

  Once there, Mags got to the point. “Charlena, can you show me how to make a video on my Internet thing? And also, how I . . . uh, share it.”

  “A video? Oh, that sounds exciting. What is the video going to be about?”

  “It’s a surprise for now.” Actually, Mags hadn’t worked everything out yet herself. First, she required finding out how to do the thing.

  Charlena picked up her device and frowned slightly. “Hmmm. I’m not really sure how to do it on something like this. . . .” She then looked up and smiled. “But I can let you borrow my phone. I can show you on that.”

  A half hour later, Mags was alone again in her room. She had the phone positioned on a few pillows on the desk and was standing before it. She was wearing one of her duchess gowns. She was going to name her video “A Lesson in Manners from the Duchess of Burgundy.”

  She began. “The other night I experienced unspeakable rudeness from the masses, namely booing in an unbecoming manner. But that was just the beginning of what I saw. Now I realize that you American peasants do not have the experience with aristocracy and royalty as perhaps you should, but this video should help all you common folks learn how to behave properly.”

  She smiled encouragingly. “Aaah. You are asking just what my qualifications are to be teaching such a video? Well, first let me inform you why I am one of your betters. I come from a royal line. That means that God ordained my family to rule. God chose for me to be above you.”

  She nodded as if that was self-evident and continued.

  “But for those of you who require further convincing, let me tell you that I was once married to a very rich man, the Duke of Burgundy, and everyone surely knows that the monied affluent are superior beings.

  “Furthermore, I am extremely intelligent. I can even read books.” She looked at the camera meaningfully, knowing how proud she should be of that. “I also speak Dutch competently and French fluently. Mais oui! But what is more important for you is that I have practiced my courtly manners since infancy. What was that you said? You are not at court? Well, keep in mind that people from all walks of life should adhere to a certain amount of daily courtesy. So, with that said, let’s begin with the most basic of rules.”

  She discreetly referred to a paper where she had written some notes to herself. “Firstly, do not belch or swear in public. And if you must spit, do so between your legs, never behind you.” She looked back up at the camera, feeling more confident. “Do not pick your nose or make horrible eyes at your neighbor. If you have to puke, absolutely leave the room. Do not pass around your drink cups, sing bawdily, or sit in each other’s laps. Do not wipe your knives on your neighbors’ clothing or stuff your mouth with food and then try to speak. . . .”

  A few minutes later, she was imploring some further points. “Persons of lower rank should always stand when an important guest—meaning people like me—enters or leaves a room. Of course, one must never address a person of social superiority first. Wait to be spoken to. Furthermore, it is the height of rudeness to avert your gaze to a person of higher rank. I can assure you, hiding one’s face is interpreted as dishonesty. It is also unthinkable to turn your back on a social superior. Wait for the person to pass, or remove yourself from the room backwards.” She attempted to demonstrate but banged into the bed behind her, toppling briefly over. “I do beg your pardon,” she muttered as she composed herself. Then she noticed that the camera was being pushed over by one of the pillows slipping. She quickly decided that instead of repeating her whole video she would just bend over to talk.

  She was on to her finer points. “Strive to appear gracious in your movements. No trotting or running. Walk, looking straight ahead with a tranquil and measured air. Do not wriggle your shoulders or your rears. Also, remember, no dallying around, gossiping or being lazy. . . .

  “So, in conclusion, it is always better to appear humble and weak before your superior than risk being rude. . . .” She waved to the camera. “From the Duchess, I bid you adieu.”

  Mags hit the appropriate places on the device to share her video. She waited to see how many people were now watching her. She waited . . . and waited. After a half hour, she realized she was a failure. Then it occurred to her to change the title to “A Message in Manners from the Duchess of Bordusey,” trying the various spellings that fopdoodle might have used at the WWW fight for her name until she hit upon Bordusey—vaguely remembering a sign when leaving that night.

  Now she got some action on the Internet.

  Mags smiled, pleased with herself. But a moment later, she couldn’t help frowning slightly. If only she was now getting some romantic action also. She found she still could not quite give up on that dream.

  Chapter Nine

  A few days later, Mags tried not to compare this fete to the celebrations she had once hosted. Though entertainments had become less lavish than when she had first arrived for her marriage—that had been the talk of legend—they still were far more than this party. Wasn’t Charlena supposed to be a great heiress?

  Mags did not want to be gossipy, but . . . that buffet table really was quite small compared to the multiple courses—even dozens—served at her banquets. And where exactly was the entertainment? No jesters, no intriguing mechanical devices—such as walking lions that opened to reveal a flower—no pageants or plays, and not even any exotic animals like giraffes on leashes.

  Oh, there was music, but no renowned singer of ballads.

  Mags was taking a break of sorts from socializing at the party and was currently relaxing on a lounge chair on the patio. She could still hear the chitchat but was not forced to participate. It really was more tiring than usual, trying to make conversation with this century populace since they talked about so many modern references.

  After making her video, Mags had continued spending most of her time with Charlena, who had taken Mags for more shopping and introduced her to her team of enthusiastic, flamboyant, assistants. They had practically squealed with pleasure when Mags had agreed to a “makeover,” not realizing exactly what she was getting into. But she thought now that the shorter cut, bouncing around her shoulders, was flattering, if the paint, especially around her eyes, a little heavy.

  She had met Cody—the handsome brother Charlena was so fond of and his wife Bridget—both in their twenties and likable, but had not visited much more with them. Cody and Dickie had some sort of special rapport and were practically inseparable. She had seen them eating pizza together more than once. Bridget had gone to a couple of museums with Lindsey that Mags had no interest in. And all poor Cousin Ned seemed to do was work, talking on the phone every time she saw him. So Charlena had been her amiable companion.

  But when she had a few minutes away from Charlena, what had occupied her attention, was seeing how many people were viewing her video. She wasn’t sure if the numbers could be considered a lot.

  Mags had decided not to divulge anything about the video to her relatives. Easily done, since Char
lena had not inquired further about it—probably to respect her privacy. Mags had realized that the video might cause further problems with Dickie if he inadvertently heard about it since she had used her title with the WWW. And although she had spouted all sorts of specific rules of etiquette, she was quickly recognizing it was unreasonable to expect modern people to follow all of them, and she did not want to give her relatives the wrong opinion of her. In fact, she was beginning to like the more relaxed social interactions Americans seemed to show. Less to worry about. Why guests were even chatting with the help at this party!

  Mags suddenly heard a familiar voice.

  “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  She looked up. “Elle, you made it to the party. How was your trip, concerning your animal foundation?”

  Aunt Elle grinned. “Proud to say, I caught the scoundrel and made an example of him. How has your visit been?”

  “Wonderful. I really like my American cousins.”

  “Yeah, there’s something special about them, isn’t there? I adore them all.” She looked over at the guests. “Oh, I want to say hi to Dickie. I haven’t seen him for a while. Let me sneak over and surprise him.” Elle started walking through the throng again.

  Mags then caught a glimpse of Gert and waved her over. “Could you please bring me a refreshment?”

  She smiled. “Of course, dearie. How about some lemonade? And a pastry?”

  Mags nodded. “Sounds lovely.”

  She shuffled off slowly. Gert was one ancient servant, but she obviously wanted to keep working, and Mags could comprehend why. Mags hadn’t wanted to be put out to pasture either when she was a dowager. Oh, she could have stopped being so involved in governmental affairs as prior dowagers had done, but Mags had relished the activity and being part of it all. Almost until the end, she had been famous for her vigor.

  Gert had apparently worked for Charlena—who she called Muffin—for years. She was extremely faithful to Charlena. Mags had also had a whole slew of loyal personal servants—three hundred as the duchess and well over a hundred as the dowager. She had known how to treat them well, with fairness and kindness, but also strictness. She had been generous to those who suffered sudden mishaps, and she had been loved and respected for it.