She watched them interact, a smile forming on her lips.
After breakfast, it was time to begin her training. Today was the day she would learn about her new duties around the manor. The housemaid, Mrs. Bellum, a stern woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense attitude, stood before her, ready to impart the rules and expectations.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Bellum began, her voice firm but not unkind. “As the Duchess, you have certain duties that must be performed to maintain the household’s standards. The Duchess’s duties are not to be taken lightly, and they require utmost precision and dedication.”
Frances nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders. She had always been a wallflower, more comfortable in the pages of a book than in the demanding world of household management. But now she had no choice. She had to be perfect—for the children, for Christopher, and for herself. The last one, perhaps, the most important.
She had to prove to herself that she was fit for the title that she had married into.
Mrs. Bellum continued, her tone growing slightly more judgmental. “As the Duchess, you are expected to be punctual in your duties. It is vital that you do this, as any error reflects badly on the household. There is no room for error.”
Frances swallowed hard, her mouth dry. The housemaid’s words, though not disrespectful, carried an undertone of doubt. She felt that she was being watched sternly and that any misstep would not go unnoticed.
“Your first task,” Mrs Bellum said, handing her a detailed schedule, “is to oversee the daily meals. The menu must be approved by you, and any changes must be communicated clearly to the kitchen staff.”
Frances glanced at the schedule, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of responsibilities listed. She had to manage the household budget, supervise the cleaning schedules, and ensure that all social events were planned to perfection. The list seemed endless.
“I understand, Mrs. Bellum,” Frances replied. “Though, I must ask. Who handled these responsibilities before I was here?”
Her curiosity had been piqued. Somehow, she could not picture Christopher running around, approving the meal menus each day.
Mrs. Bellum cleared her throat, pride flickering in her eyes. “Your Grace, as the head of the staff, those responsibilities were under my jurisdiction.”
Frances felt the pressure grow even stronger. It made sense why Mrs. Bellum was so critical—it washershoes that Frances was expected to fill, responsibilities that she had spent years polishing to perfection.
“Oh. Of course. I shall try to do my best.”
Mrs. Bellum gave a curt nod, her expression softening just a fraction. “I hope that you do, Your Grace. The Duchess’s role is crucial, and it is important that you rise to the occasion.”
As Mrs. Bellum left her, Frances felt a wave of panic wash over her. Her interaction with the housemaid had only reminded her of her mother, what with how grand her expectations were.
It felt strange that she was already worried about failing, even though she had not even started
She walked to the window and looked out at the sprawling gardens of the estate. The children were out there, playing under the watchful eyes of their nursemaids. Frances thought about joining them but then chided herself. But her duties called, and she knew she had to focus.
Taking another deep breath, she turned back to the schedule. She would learn, she would adapt, and she would prove to everyone, including herself, that she was capable of being the Duchess.
The rest of her morning was spent scrutinizing menus, discussing her schedule for the week, and getting familiarized with the estate.
Mrs. Bellum kept a watchful eye on her throughout. She accompanied her during the tour of the manor. When they passed by Christopher’s study, he poked his head outside.
“Frances?”
“Oh!” Frances started, not expecting to run into him.
“Care to come in?”
Frances looked at Mrs. Bellum, whose stern and unwelcoming expression only unsettled her further. She decided it would be better to spend time with Christopher, and accepted his invitation.
Once the door closed behind her, Frances let out a sigh of relief. Christopher observed her, laughing as he did. It was like he could read her like a book.
“You do not have to look so terrified, Frances. As intimidating as Mrs. Bellum may be, she is only the housemaid.”
Frances straightened up immediately. “I would not use the word intimidated…”she trailed off, even though he was right. “I am just adjusting to my newfound responsibilities.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “So you say.”
“You do not seem convinced,” Frances noted.
