The Defiant Duchess

by Kari August

  The Defiant Duchess

  Kari August

  Mountain Track Publishing

  Colorado

  This is a book of fiction. Names and characters are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a living person is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Mountain Track Publishing

  Estes Park, Colorado

  Printed in the United States of America

  Copyright @ 2019 by Kari August

  All rights reserved

  ISBN 9781798487747

  Cover design: Caroline Christner

  Inquiries should be sent to:

  Mountain Track Publishing

  2181 Highway 66

  Estes Park, Colorado 80517

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “destroyed and unsold” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  For my mother,

  who was an intelligent, high-school valedictorian,

  who obtained a Master of Fine Arts,

  specializing in oil portraiture,

  who taught me about painters such as Hugo Van de Goes and Van Eyck,

  who only whispered to her children about winning the best nude figure drawing competition,

  who was kissed in Times Square at the end of the war,

  who loved to dance while cooking our dinner and play the piano,

  who liked vacations in the cities while my chemist father preferred the mountains,

  who adored babysitting her grandchildren,

  who loved to laugh and be teased,

  and is missed every single day.

  Ma, I think you would have gotten along great with Mags.

  The

  Defiant Duchess

  Prologue

  Heaven

  Present Day

  “She’s just an absolute shrew.”

  Margaret, the Duchess of Burgundy, watched the ever-present fog which obscured his features, suddenly billow even more around God, showing his agitation.

  She calmly inquired, “Whoever do you mean?” But she could already guess the answer, since God had just returned from another meeting of the Rulers of the Universes.

  “Why that intolerable Waleena Earnesteena, of course.”

  Margaret smiled to herself. Instead of being irritated by that Goddess running some new universe, Margaret was sure God was intrigued by her. This wasn’t the first time he had mentioned Waleena Earnesteena during one of their chats. God and Margaret often talked with each other, having developed a special rapport in heaven, and her name was coming up frequently.

  “And, Mags, I suspect she has some spy lurking around here. By the way, I like the outfit you’re wearing.”

  Margaret glanced down at her ruffled pink blouse, purple miniskirt, window-pane stockings and high platform shoes. God and she had both taken a liking to 1960’s-style fashion. She often wore it for their chitchats instead of her usual medieval attire. “Thank you, but why would you think that about a spy?”

  “Well, you will remember that she had accused me of running a messy, unruly universe. In her galaxies—as she was so quick to inform me—the inhabits are all fabulously beautiful and kind to each other and get along perfectly well together. Makes me want to puke.”

  “Sounds a bit boring to me.”

  “Exactly! That’s what I told her. And I had further informed her that if I wanted them to, my humans could mingle with each other also quite satisfactorily together.”

  “Oh, uh . . . I see the problem.”

  “I think some spy she sent saw that those parties I recently required everyone to attend here in heaven were causing more antagonism than socializing.”

  Mags shook her head slowly. “I was wondering if some would go to battle over their petty disagreements.” Another thought then occurred to her. “But, tell me, God, why do you allow war? I mean not that I haven’t pondered what it would be like to be a warrior myself, but we’ve never discussed that issue.”

  “Mags, you’re a smart woman. Can’t you guess?”

  Mags paused a moment. “Let me think . . . so you can eliminate undesirable people in one big swoop?”

  “I have easier ways to do that. No, Mags. War seems to be the only way I can get humans to appreciate times of peace. It’s some character flaw in humans that they’re never happy with what they got. Even peaceful interludes! Not sure exactly why that is since I created them, but there you have it. Humans always strive for more. Never relaxing.”

  “You think so?”

  “Know so. Humans muck everything up . . . consistently. Take something as mundane as a clothes washing machine.”

  “There’s a contraption that washes clothes?” This was a revelation to Mags. God scarcely let inhabits in heaven look down at Earth, and she hadn’t heard about this invention from any of her modern gal pals in heaven that she liked to hang around with.

  “Yeah, I let humans invent it sometime in the late nineteenth century. Do you think they then sat around taking it easy, just watching the suds go around and round, with all that extra time they now had? Oh, no. They filled the hours with other duties and now squeeze in the wash at night after an exhausting day at work. And why is that? Because they want more. Always more. Never satisfied with the status quo. Even peace!”

  “Hmmm. I never thought of it that way.”

  “What really does any human require? Tell me. What are the necessities?”

  “Oh, I’ve contemplated that question.” Mags sat straighter in the rubied throne God had provided for her just for their talks. “Well, besides the obvious, like drink and food and feeling well, people should have a dry, warm place to sleep, with a roof over their heads—I was once caught in a cold rain while travelling and never forgot it.”

  “Exactly! That’s it. Everything else they should realize is a luxury.” God paused a moment. “Oh, I guess I would add one more thing to the list.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, it’s not really a necessity, but I think every human should have romantic love. Don’t you think, Mags? At least sometime in their life?”

  Mags drew in a quick breath, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. If what her modern friends had told her was true, she had never known passionate love. Not really. And here God was essentially telling her how vital it was . . . somehow, she had always suspected that but had not wanted to admit it.

  Well . . . when you weren’t receiving any of the kind, one tried to blunt the importance of it to oneself. How had she let that kind of love slip by? Or had she ever had any say in the matter? Oh, she suddenly now yearned to experience what she had missed.

  But, of course, as a noble, respectable lady she wasn’t about to discuss the situation with God. She had to compose herself and change the conversation. What had they been talking about originally? Oh, yes. “Getting back to our prior discussion, I think the problem with your parties was that you tried to bring together too diverse of people. Perhaps you would have more success of everyone getting along if people gathered who had similar experiences or interests—”

  “That’s it! Of course. I’ll forget about the mixers and require everyone to join a club.”

  “A club?”

  “Yes. That’s the modern version of what you called your leagues or societies.”

  “Oh.”

  “So what clubs do you think I should form for them to join?”

  Mags frowned slightly. “Well, I would just say that everyone has to join a club, but they can form any club they like.”

  “Genius, Mags. I like it. And then when that shrew of a Goddess sees how well I can r
un my own universe, perhaps she’ll take another look at me. And . . . and show more respect.”

  And perhaps fall a little in love with him the way he was with her, Mags thought to herself. If only she could find someone herself . . .

  But God interrupted her thoughts again. “So what club are you going to join, Mags?”

  She considered a moment. “Well, I’m sure someone will form the Famous Women of History Club, and I’ll start with that.”

  “Oh, um . . . sure, Mags. You do that.”

  She paused. If Mags didn’t know better, she would think that God was being hesitant about encouraging her in joining.

  Oh, nonsense. She would just ask her modern gal pals what they knew about her accomplishments and then bask in their praise. That would be fun, now wouldn’t it?

  Later Mags pulled her friend Trudy aside from a gathering of her sixties friends. The women had been discussing further aspects of being in love which Mags found now even more upsetting. Trudy was wearing a fringed vest with hip-hugger bell-bottom jeans and clunky boots. Her long straight locks were parted down the middle. “You look fabulous today!”

  “Thanks, Mags. So do you. I like that concept of ‘free love’ but between you and me, it’s so much better with the one ya love. Don’t you think?” She crinkled her eyes and giggled mischievously.

  Mags blew out a breath. She just had to do something about her lack of experience in that area but got to her question. “Trudy, I was wondering what you thought about me.”

  “Gee, Mags, the women in our group all think you’re really cool and groovy. Why do you ask?”

  “No, I mean what do you know about me?”

  Trudy puckered her brow. “Well, you’re from medieval times so, uh . . . you’re probably from like the 1300’s—”

  “late 1400’s—”

  “And, uh . . . you almost certainly lived in a castle and courted gallant knights! How were those hunks? I wouldn’t mind some free love with those boys, I’ll tell you.”

  “Trudy! Can’t you think of anything more about me? Something factual?”

  “Oh, I get what you mean. Yes, I did once catch something about you being the sister of Richard III—the king Shakespeare wrote his play about. Did he really do away with his nephews to obtain the crown?”

  “No!”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. Were you in a Shakespeare play also?”

  “Not that I know of. But haven’t you heard about any of my accomplishments?”

  Trudy shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, Mags. Nobody’s told me anything else, and you haven’t divulged much either.”

  Mags nodded slowly. She hadn’t wanted to brag and had assumed—wrongly—that everyone already knew. Today was just full of disappointments.

  Well! She certainly would not be looking to join any club about famous women in the near future. Not until she figured out what to do about her legacy. How humiliating that would potentially be if the only people who knew her at the first meeting were her relatives. She would find some other clubs to join for now. But Trudy had an inquiry of her own.

  “So, Mags? What kind of lovers actually were those knights?”

  Mags shoulders drooped. Oh, she just had to do something about that also.

  Chapter One

  Heaven

  Present Day

  King Richard III sprawled on his throne and contemplated what he wanted to do with the day ahead. He certainly should celebrate in some way if the rumors were true that God was no longer requiring attendance at his “mixers.”

  For some unknown reason, God had been bothered that the residents in heaven all tended to stick with their same groups—whether by century or clan so that, for example, the Burgundians didn’t have much to do with the Phoenicians. Didn’t even get along all that well, if they happened upon each other. And even though Richard could not see anything wrong with that, God had decided to hold what he called “mixers” to bring people together.

  Richard huffed out a breath. Those inane parties had always been a trial for him—he hadn’t required such stupid gatherings to sort out with whom he wanted to mingle.

  Anyways, what had ended up happening was that more catty cliques were formed than a mixing had occurred. Good Lord. Some had even come to fisticuffs and more. Richard supposed that was why God had made the wise decision to halt the asinine affairs.

  As he thought more about how he wanted to pass the day, Herman—the assistant and top chef to God—appeared before his dais. Richard held up his hand. “Already heard the great news. I don’t have to attend any more mixers. Couldn’t be happier.”

  “Yes, that is true.” Pudgy Herman smiled. “But did you learn about his new edict?”

  Richard frowned. “Oh, no. Now what?”

  Herman hesitated a moment. “Uh . . . well . . . everyone must now join a club.”

  Richard groaned. “You have got to be kidding me. Why would I want to do that? Surely, I can be an exception to the rule. Can’t God see that I have my own friends and my own life—one that I prefer to run by myself?”

  “’fraid not.”

  “Wait a minute.” Richard narrowed his eyes. He had a sudden sneaking suspicion. “Did my sister have anything to do with this decision? Did she have another one of her special chats with God?”

  “Well, Mags did make the excellent suggestion that anyone should be able to form whichever club they like. Wasn’t that good of her?”

  Richard looked off in the distance a moment. “Perhaps. So, when does this whole obnoxiousness begin?”

  “Now. Would you like to see the list of clubs already formed?”

  “If I must.”

  Herman handed him a long sheet and waved. “Got to go, Richard. Seeing your brother Eddie next. Can’t wait to see what club he wants to join.”

  “Yes, you are his biggest fan.”

  Richard watched Herman waddle off with a feeling of resignation and then began perusing the available choices. He had to admit that some were certainly creative—the “All Rulers Named William” being one—but he could not find himself getting truly excited about any of them. Then it occurred to him that he should create his own club.

  Talk about killing two birds with one pebble. First off, he would be fulfilling God’s ridiculous requirement of joining a club and secondly, if he made it selective enough, he would only be socializing with minds such as his—that is to say, clever minds.

  Richard thought about the topics he could make his club but felt almost compelled toward one in particular. He did not want to linger over why that was so. The reason was a source of pride, yet also unease if he thought about it too long. So, once his decision was made, he did not delay in adding his club to the list and posting it on the board.

  Meeting to be held next Monday at five at the Heavenly Fotheringhay Castle for the

  INTELLECTUAL SOCIETY OF WARRIORS

  A club for combatants to DEBATE and DISCUSS battle tactics

  All weapons will be required to be deposited at the door upon entering

  Please bring your war maps

  Richard sat on his throne on the appointed day and time, just waiting to see who would participate.

  Nobody showed the first half hour.

  Well! He hadn’t meant it to be that selective.

  Just . . . fine.

  He would admit to himself why he had formed the club. In addition to being a famous king, he had been a renowned warrior. Exalted for his ability and skill in battle and as a commander. Yet, despite that . . . he had lost. His most important battle. The one that would have allowed him to retain his crown. And the truth was, Richard could not get over it. He felt his life was defined by that failure. Yes, he was smart and wise and had accomplished some important reforms during his short reign, but in the end, he had failed in his most important challenge.

  And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could make better. Or redo. It just kind of hung there. But, with this particular club, he could at least feel some
of his former prowess in military matters. Display his cunning and wisdom with other clever individuals—at least where battle tactics were concerned. But not unless somebody showed.

  He motioned for his servant to close the door. But then, who came scurrying in and out of breath? That bespectacled, overachieving, overeager, stout figure of a booming voice. None other than President Teddie Roosevelt.

  “Dickie! Hope I’m not too late. Had a couple other clubs to attend and the last ran over.” He looked around the room. “Where is everyone?”

  Only close friends ever referred to Richard by the pet name of Dickie which his family had given him. It was still a mystery to him why Teddie considered himself in that category. Sure, they had several mutual acquaintances. But hadn’t he noticed yet that Richard never approached him if he didn’t absolutely have to?

  Apparently not. Besides his complete lack of sophisticated ennui, Teddie was a bit of a busybody—though he seemed to make friends easily—and it irked Richard that no matter what century or what particular topic was being discussed, Teddie always had some contribution to the dialogue. Richard felt upstaged by him at times, and he didn’t like the unusual feeling.

  He ignored his question and just tried to get rid of him. “Teddie, I’m not sure if you comprehend what this club is about.”

  “Oh, indeed, I do! Can’t wait for the intellectual discussion on so important a matter to begin.” He smiled amiably.

  Richard raised his hands. “See, Teddie. I guess I should have made it more concise. This club is for warriors—those who have fought or led in battle.”

  Teddie thrust his arm as if holding an imaginary sword. “Charge! That’s me. Led my Rough Riders in the Spanish-American war. We took that hillside in Cuba. You betcha!”

  “You did?!” Oh, Lord. “Uh, I hadn’t been informed.”

  “So, what are we going to discuss first? And where did everybody go?” He looked around again.

  Richard had no intention of admitting to Teddie that his club was so unpopular. “Everybody is home now.” He clasped his hands together. “Next debate will be in a week. Don’t worry if you can’t make it. I’m sure you’re busy with your other clubs.”