🖋️ Diary of Duchess — Entry No. VII: “The Greenhouse Incident”

Dearest Pages,

It happened again.

This evening’s dinner was a bore, as expected. Father droned on about tariffs and succession rights (as if I’d ever be handed anything that wasn’t begged for). I wore the frost-colored corset and the pearl-threaded bolero—not because it was appropriate, but because it was not. You should have seen the Bishop’s eyes. Poor man clutched his rosary like it might save him.

But it was the new footman—Laurent—who caught my attention. Broad-shouldered. Dusky skin. Anxious fingers. He flinched every time I addressed him as darling. So I asked for my wine to be chilled… in the greenhouse.

He followed, of course. They always do.

The orchids steamed in the moonlight, and the air was wet with promise. I leaned against the marble bench and asked him if he’d ever tasted something sweeter than Riesling. He said no. I proved him wrong.

By the time I returned to the hall, my choker was askew, my garter slightly visible from beneath the hem. Laurent didn’t return until morning. When he did, his uniform was unbuttoned in the wrong order, his lips slightly bruised, and his entire soul… shaken.

Father says I lack discipline.

But I say… royalty should be allowed to cultivate a few passions.

Especially in the greenhouse.

Yours (and theirs),

Duchess