Chapter Text
Essentially, the whole ordeal began with the death of Duke Solomon Lauter.
His daughter Marchioness Stephanie Lauter was his sole heiress and only eighteen years old. Despite her distaste for society’s expectations of women, she knew she would not be allowed to take up the title of Duchess and the responsibilities assumed with it if she were not married (another absolute tragedy of the times in her opinion). While she was not always keen on being a leader, she wanted to prove to everyone else that she could (and quickly turned to a real desire to take on the responsibilities the position would come with). Her father and his head advisoress Lady Tessburger often claimed she was of low intelligence and an ugly disposition, but really, how dimwitted could she be if she had nearly raised herself for a decade of her life?
When Stephanie was eight, her only governess, Miss Holloway, was fired the moment her father learned she was aptly able to fend for and entertain herself. From there, Stephanie had more or less raised herself, teaching herself all the things a proper young lady ought to know. She could ride horseback, had a level of skill with painting that she wasn’t entirely displeased with, could dress herself, and she knew how to prepare meals that sustained her but weren’t completely nutritious or delicious. Most of her meals came from attending galas and balls anyways, and the meals at those were always worth the cakes and cured meats she made do with.
So really, she was neither an imbecile nor a barbarian. Not that anyone would think the Duke’s daughter could have possibly raised herself when they lived in such a luxurious estate and surely had enough wealth to hire plenty of nannies and cooks and maids to wait on the Marchioness hand and foot.
So until she had an opportunity to marry, that bastard Lord Coven was taking her rightful spot in the court. Why couldn’t she have been born in a matriarchal society so she could have attended Oxford and become the most impressive leader the land of Hatchetfield had ever seen???
Unfortunately, she has to go through the grueling process of wooing a pathetically incompetent man. Lucky her.
~*~
Peter was the second heir to Viscount Spankoffski, a new graduate of Oxford and returning home after his less than proud school years. His grades were immaculate, but his social life? Not so much. So much for the title of “The Honorable” Peter Spankoffski. Thank God he was home for good.
“Oh, Petey! You’ve returned!!!” The viscountess pulled her youngest son into a tight hug when he dismounted his horse Newton.
“Hello, Mother,” he beamed as his mom fawned over him.
“Oh, my Dear, you’ve grown so tall!” She grinned, smoothing out his riding coat over her arm as she took it from him. “Your hair has grown out! Your spectacles are scuffed- oh! At least you still dress the same!”
Peter over the years had developed a nasty habit of dressing about eighty years in the past… Around the 1730’s, that is. He got picked on so much by his classmates, but being berated for being too dressed up was so much better to him than being dressed like a slob in the peasantry.
“Well then, I suppose it’s wrong to disrupt perfection!” She smiled as she pinched his cheek. Viscountess Spankoffski handed off Newton’s reins to the nearest stableboy. “I still do not believe you refused the coach!”
“It was two day’s travel; I rather enjoyed the time to myself, Mother…”
She led him into the Spankoffski estate towards the drawing room his father and brother were lounging in.
“Boys, look! Peter has returned!” His mother announced, full of pride.
“Ah, Oxford Boy!” Theodore stood from the chaise, dropping the gossip column to the chair. “Might you be glad to be home?”
“Am I ever!” Peter agreed, shaking his brother’s hand, only for Ted to pull him into a hug.
“Still no woman you're courting?” He asked.
Peter ignored the blush gracing his cheeks. “And you have the ability to say otherwise?” He shot back, and Ted scoffed, letting go of his brother.
Viscountess Spankoffski hummed in interest. “Why, that reminds me, Peter! We’ll be hosting a ball in five days' time to celebrate your return, and more importantly , the beginning of this marriage season!”
Peter sighed. “Mother, I am too young to be wed-”
“You?? No, my Dear, I was referring to your brother!” She interrupted and turned to Theodore. “ You have been quite the eligible bachelor for fifteen years , Teddy, and your father and I are beginning to think you shall never wed!”
“He’s far too busy gorging himself on women’s virtues,” Peter snorted, only to receive a glare from Ted.
“How humorous,” he replied. “And remind me what women of status admire a suitor who dresses like their grandfather?”
Their father huffed as he set down his tea. “Peter has been home for mere moments and yet the two already find themselves bickering… How I missed this.”
Their mother let out a similar indignant breath. “No matter who may be introduced this season, I urge you to be on the hunt for a proper wife, Theodore . I should be expecting voracious mothers all but throwing their daughters and themselves at you.”
“But, Mooooootttthhhhhheeeeerrrrr! ” Ted whined like a petulant child, quickly shutting up when she shot him a look that could kill.
“Ha! As if any woman of substance should choose to entangle themselves with such a beast.”
“You do claim a long list of women to be imbecilic, then. Besides, what must a wife have in substance that she cannot make up for in satisfaction ?”
Peter groaned. “Your future Viscount, Hatchetfield. May God have mercy on our souls…” He said, gesturing to his brother.
“Oh, as if you’ll court the incomparable this season,” his brother sneered and Peter rolled his eyes.
“I’m simply too young for such matters, which is better than your situation : being too old.”
“Why, you little-”
“ Eep!” Peter squealed in terror as his brother chased him out of the drawing room and down the hall.
Viscountess Spankoffski sighed as her husband wrapped an arm around her waist. “Hopefully one of them shall sire children that mock each other less than they do…”
“My Love,” he said, and she turned to face him, “I fear neither of our boys should reproduce…”
The two of them stayed silent for a moment before they broke into a fit of laughter.
~*~
“Now, Stephanie, I know how eagerly you desire to muck things up for yourself and those of your esteem,” Lady Tessburger began before the other cut her off.
“That’s Lady Stephanie to you,” she reminded Tessburger as she carefully arranged her hair to present herself to Queen Goodman. “If I am not to be shown respect as an individual, you may show it to my title instead.” As the daughter of a duke, she did have the title of Lady.
“Brat,” she spat. “Your situation is not to be taken lightly, Lady Stephanie.” She said the words like they were an insult, and Steph smirked to herself. “You must be presentable before Her Majesty if you wish to find yourself a husband.”
“I wish to take my rightful place.”
“And you may not before you are wed, and you shall not be wed if Queen Goodman decides you improper.”
“She shant decide me improper; I’ve very unfortunately had to prepare for this day since I learned to ride Fugitive,” she explained, and looked aside to the portrait she’d painted of her horse. Fugitive was, as Steph was told, one of the offspring of her mother’s mare Hollyhock, and so meant a great deal to her. “‘Twere only that I believed this day should come three years ahead of now,” she added in a mutter.
“Grace upon steed does not equate to grace before the crown.”
“And as I have told you , I have been aware of this day and with nobody else to concern themselves with me, I have done quite alright on my own. The Queen shall not be displeased, I assure you.”
Lady Tessburger let out a frustrated noise. “But shall she be pleased ?”
“Careful now, you do not wish to risk your poise over the likes of a brat such as me, do you?”
The advisor to the late duke raised her hands as if to throttle some imaginary neck, likely imagining it as Marchioness Lauter’s, before she quickly lowered her balled fists to her sides. “Do be ready when I send for you,” she said simply before she stormed out of the room.
“Stomping is not so ladylike, Ma’am!” Stephanie called after her with an evil giggle and returned to pinning her tresses up to have the feathered headpiece sit more comfortably on her head. Lady Tessburger was loyal to the Lauter name, no matter who held it, and until Stephanie took the title of duchess, the spinster was reduced to her governess, not that either of them were happy to admit the technicality.
Stephanie eventually found herself in a castle almost four times larger than her estate, and she marveled at the idea of how many servants it must take to run such a palace. It would be nothing short of a perfect life to be able to run the duchy’s affairs in such a place as this. She supposed a husband would have to be there too, and perhaps an eldest daughter in tow to raise in grateful luxury that would one day inherit her title… Should she like the man enough, that is.
Yes, she was in a hurry to get married, but she had standards at least. If she needed to marry, she would have settled for no life less than picturesque. Throughout her childhood, family was often a topic on her mind, especially the one she should like to have one day. A loving, intelligent husband with whom to confide in such as her mother likely never had, if her father’s temperament was anything to consider. His Grace used to speak ill of his late wife for never siring a male heir to take his place when Solomon should pass, and ultimately, all that did was make his daughter and sole heiress just that much more resentful of her place in society as a woman. She was a commodity, something to be sold. Nay, something that the seller had to pay people to take away . Dowries were such utter bullshit… Being an only child meant many lonely days at home, often interrupted by a promenade with other women of status in her community (lucky for her Miss Brenda Mariens and Miss Stacy Smith would cancel their plans at the drop of a hat to socialize with the future duchess), but she had always longed for siblings, and should she have the opportunity, she’d ensure she has many children under foot to keep one another company.
But she wasn’t allowed the luxury of getting to find that anymore. Should she want to kick Lord Coven to the metaphorical curb as quickly as possible, she’d need to find an eligible suitor to ask for her hand as early as she can manage it. Her opportunity to find love was taken from her by her bastard father passing too early and now she feared her hand would be forced into making hasty decisions. Duke Lauter was an absolute prick, and somehow dying made him even more of one. What a talent.
Stephanie refused to sacrifice her own authenticity for Her Majesty’s approval however. Her pure white dress was accentuated with a similarly colored but elegantly adorned caraco (while considered informal wear at their peak in the 1780’s, the embroidery, beading, and vintage style gave it a certain air of formality and uniqueness it would not have had in its heyday) and a pair of buckled leather shoes not appropriate for a lady of her status but perfectly acceptable for a soldier thirty years ago.
Now, Stephanie wasn’t an entirely graceful young lady, and she begged the queen would give her an ounce of leniency for entering the marriage market three years too soon. She promised Her Majesty would not be displeased, but she silently hoped for the better side of neutral.
“I still can not believe you wore such garments to present yourself to the queen ,” Lady Tessburger whispered angrily. “You make a mockery of your family name.”
“I am but a child,” Stephanie replied. Tessburger would never understand her, and she had grown to stop trying to explain herself. “Any miscalculation can easily be blamed upon my age. I simply do not know any better.”
“You do know better, despite sharing the same size of brain with the Queen’s spaniel.”
“And you share its face,” she countered simply as she straightened out the cuffs of her coat.
Lady Tessburger began to retort, but was interrupted by their announcement.
“Lady Stephanie Lauter, presented by her sponsor, the Dowager Lady Tessburger!”
The doors parted and Stephanie let go of the breath she was holding, beginning her approach to Queen Goodman. Her head was held high, shoulders back, and she took slow but confident strides to stand before Her Majesty, and once she reached the end of the aisle, carefully placed her footing just as she had practiced a billion times. Getting the right curtsey required a certain level of finesse and attention to the detail of every joint and limb that did not come completely naturally to her. She was in no way aiming to be the diamond of the season despite past fantasies of such, but she was raised to believe that with a certain look about oneself, one must have the proper demeanor to counter it. Besides, she could operate herself with decorum when she wanted to. When it really came down to it, she could decorum all over everyone’s asses.
She held her curtsey with practiced precision, hellbent on making her position look simultaneously effortless and effortful, all the while thinking that this is utterly demeaning . When did she ever see men having to parade themselves around to see which would make for a proper suitor? If she could only become the duchess without having to subject herself to this insufferable-
“Intriguing.” Queen Goodman said simply, pulling Stephanie out of her thoughts, and she had to will herself to stay completely still instead of springing up in surprise. “Unexpected poise to be sure, but… Lovely.”
Stephanie’s heart soared. Intriguing? Lovely?? She felt like she may combust with pride. She slowly stood upright once more with a thankful smile. Brenda and Stacy were standing in the crowd, proud smiles on their faces, and Steph shot them a beyond excited look when she turned away from Her Majesty, then schooled her expression once more before she held such a face for too long.
Surely , she’d have her pick of suitors if she did not before.