The Reluctant Duchess Ch. 01

Karl-Franz, who as the second son, could be a little less focused than their big brother, nevertheless pursued his interest in politics, with degrees from Princeton's School of Public and International Affairs, and Oxford, followed by junior positions at Klippenberg embassies in Berlin and Paris. Karl-Franz was a bit of a playboy, but unlike Sophie, was discreet about his dalliances. He had confided in her, not long before the crash, that their mother had sent him a list of appropriate potential wives, and demanded that he begin the process of making a choice from the list and settling down, and that he was seriously considering doing so. Her brothers could be overbearing sometimes (especially Josef), and critical of her choices, but she knew they loved her, and she would miss them terribly.

Sophie mused on her own path, predicated on her status as third in line to the throne, and a complete and utter disinterest in ruling over anyone. An art history major at Columbia, she availed herself of every distraction available in New York to an attractive and wealthy young woman, while maintaining a GPA sufficient to keep her parents from bringing her home, and sending her to a quiet college somewhere in Germany located in a town with more sheep than people. She knew that if she had been a member of a royal family that anyone cared about, like the Brits, her mistakes would be splashed all over the tabloids, but outside of its borders, no one really cared about the House of Klippenberg.

She loved New York, the excitement, the people, the restaurants and clubs, and the prospect of spending the rest of her life in sleepy Klippenberg, and worse, being subject to the written and unwritten code of being a ruler—and even worse—having to be the ruler, simply horrified her—even if she was prepared, and she knew that she wasn't even close.

The attendant approached and brought Sophie out of her combination reverie and self-pity session. "Ma'am, we are preparing to land."

Normally, Sophie would have recoiled from being called "Ma'am" by a woman at least ten years older than she, but she had much bigger problems to face, and in short order.

*

Mark took Sophie's car back to his apartment in Columbia housing, his head spinning from the events of the past few hours. He grabbed a coffee before heading up. Not surprisingly, his roommates, Dan and Gregg, were still asleep. Although he hadn't gotten much sleep, between the sex and the early wake up, he knew that he'd never be able to fall asleep, so he sat at the small dining table, sipping his coffee and thinking.

Dan emerged from his room, his long brown hair disheveled. Mark and Dan had been roommates since first year, when they had been randomly assigned together, and soon became best friends. Seeing Mark at the table, dressed in his date clothes, Dan grinned.

"So, it went well, man?"

"Fuck, Dan. It was the craziest fucking date I've ever been on."

"What happened?"

"Dinner was great, and Sophie's incredible. So, it turns out, she's a fucking duchess of a tiny country, Klippenberg."

"Wait—seriously? I've heard of it, but had no idea about her."

"You would have, trivia boy, but I hadn't. Anyway, everything's going great, and after dinner, I'm trying to figure out what to do next, when she calls for a car, and a private limo shows up and takes me to the fucking consulate, down near the UN. That's when she tells me that she's a duchess, and we go to her apartment in the consulate."

"That moved quickly."

"Yeah. She didn't waste any time, and anyway, we go to bed, everything is amazing, and we fall asleep."

"Way to go. You've been crushing on her for so long."

"But that's not even the crazy part. Early this morning, we're awakened by banging on the door, and it's a guy from the consulate, and he's yelling and crying. In German, so I have no clue what's happening." Mark grabbed his phone and opened it, handing it to Dan.

Reading the article on the screen, Dan's eyes opened wide. "Holy fuck. Her whole family?"

"Except her mother. Her father, the Grand Duke and her two older brothers."

Dan read more. "So, she's now the Grand Duchess? Of Klippenberg?"

Mark nodded and drank his lukewarm coffee. "And she got dressed, I left, and she got ready to return home, and, I guess, rule a country. I came back here to study for finals."

Shaking his head, Dan replied, "Only you would have that kind of bad luck."

"I know. I mean, she's amazing, and I'll probably never see her again. She's a fucking Grand Duchess. In Europe. And who the fuck am I? Some guy from upstate New York. In America. Fuck."

"I don't know what to say, man. You gotta take your mind off of her. Maybe go to the gym or something, then get some rest. Jeez." Dan went to the fridge and took out some orange juice, pouring some into a glass and taking a swig. "Jeez," he repeated, before heading back into his room.

Mark sat at the table, trying to make sense of his emotions before getting up and heading to his bedroom. A trip to the gym seemed like as good an idea as any.

*

There was no doubt that Duchess Charlotte Marie was an attractive woman, even in her grief, and there was similarly no doubt that Sophie was her daughter, if a slightly taller and thinner version. Despite their resemblance, or possibly because of it, they had never been close, and as Sophie got older and wilder, her mother's innate conservatism often set her in opposition to her only daughter. It was the Grand Duke, Charlotte Marie often complained, who spoiled his "baby girl" and indulged her every whim, resulting in her utter lack of discipline.

Charlotte Marie had been chosen to marry Franz by his father, Josef. Based on some of Franz's behavior at university, his father was worried that Franz was beginning to show some of the unpredictability of his mother, Anna, whose own behavior prior to marriage was considered "free-spirited," but which was, along with her beauty, what initially attracted Josef. That Anna was, luckily, also descended from German nobility, made it possible for Josef to overcome his parents' objections to the marriage despite her "modern" ways. After the wedding, for the most part, Anna settled into her role as Grand Duchess and mother. Whatever rebelliousness remained in Franz was tempered by his devotion to his people and his duties, and the rigor of Charlotte Marie. It seemed that his permissiveness about Sophie was based in a distant memory of what might have been for him, but what could never be, because Sophie was so unlikely ever to be called on to rule the country. Despite their regular heated discussions in private about Sophie's behavior, Charlotte Marie, the daughter of a German count whose hereditary power and wealth had long disappeared, was a vestige of an older world, who was trained to be deferential to her husband in general, and even more so to a Grand Duke, therefore, their disagreements never became public. But Sophie knew, as children do.

Charlotte Marie watched her daughter—her only now living child—walk from the plane toward the limo. She did not look good, puffy around the eyes, tired and even too thin for her mother's taste. She looked, in fact, like any college student who burned the candle at both ends, exacerbated by the tragedy she had just experienced. Charlotte Marie promised herself that she would be supportive of this immature, undisciplined girl who was totally out of her depth and could use the help of her more experienced, demanding mother. Plus, considering the spotlight that was about to be shined on Sophie, her mother was confident that she would have no choice but to moderate her behavior. She hoped that her wayward daughter would rise to the occasion, as her breeding and tradition demanded, and that she would not let down the proud House of Klippenberg. And she pledged not to overwhelm Sophie with every detail of her responsibilities right away, for fear of how she might react.

The driver opened the door, and Sophie slid in to the limo next to her mother.

"Mother," she said blandly. "How are you doing?"

Charlotte Marie wanted to yell, "how the hell do you think I'm doing?" but she held her anger in check. "I'm sad. Terribly sad. And how are you, my dear."

Sophie wanted to scream, "I'm fucking terrible, Mother. My father and brother are dead, and my life is over." But she knew better. As bad as it was for her, it was as bad—or worse—for her mother, who lost her husband, her favorite children, and her position, and even her mother deserved sympathy. "Terrible, Mother. I can't believe it."

After a pause, Sophie asked, "How is Caroline?"

"Devastated. She left immediately after the announcement of the crash to her parents in Germany, which I understand. She'll be back for the funeral."

Sophie nodded. She didn't blame Caroline for getting away to grieve privately for the loss of her husband.

They rode in silence, sobbing, and Charlotte Marie handed her daughter some tissues to allow her to blot her red, puffy eyes.

"What's next?" Sophie asked. She had been briefed on the plane, of course, but things had a way of changing in situations like this, and she knew that her mother, for all of her faults, would be on top of the schedule.

She looked at the vintage Cartier watch on her wrist, its diamonds glinting in the light. "You will get settled into your chambers, and rest. Then, you will freshen up, and there will be a brief meeting with the senior ministers to go over immediate matters. After that, there will be dinner, then you will be on your own until bed. Tomorrow, your work begins in earnest."

Her mother was never happier than when she was telling someone what to do, especially her daughter. Charlotte Marie also had a command voice, and unlike in her childhood, Sophie did not bristle at her mother's use of it towards her. And although Sophie was an adult, and was technically the ruler of this small country, she was too exhausted and overwhelmed to do anything but let her mother take the lead.

*

"Where are you going?" her mother demanded, as Sophie walked up the grand staircase to the family level of Klippenberg Palace and turned toward her room.

"To my rooms, of course," she replied sharply.

"They're not your rooms anymore. You now reside in the Grand Ducal chambers."

Of course, Sophie thought. Father's and Mother's room. "Mother, you should stay there as long as you like. I'm happy to stay in my rooms." With, she thought, at least some minimal personal items, including the stash of weed behind a loose board in one of the closets, and not the museum-like room her parents slept in.

"I am no longer entitled to that room. It is yours. Plus, even if I could violate protocol and stay there, it brings back too many memories. I've already had my things moved to the guest house, as your grandmother Anna did when Grand Duke Josef died."

Sophie remembered visiting Anna, who despite her age, always had a twinkle in her eye, loved spending time with her rambunctious granddaughter, and had confided some salacious secrets about her youth when Sophie became a teenager. Sophie shrugged. That she had less control over her life as the leader of the country than she did as a mere college student was an irony that Sophie was going to have to deal with in ways big and small. It was already getting on her nerves, and she had barely even started.

She reversed her direction and walked to what had been her parents' bedroom. Opening the large, ornately carved wooden doors, she was surprised to see some of her personal items—books, pictures, even some toys—in the main room, while all vestiges of her parents' life was gone. She made a mental note to get a family picture ASAP—and to find the weed.

The bed was huge, big enough for the couple, and when the kids were small, all of them too. And sometimes even a dog. Her whole apartment in New York, and it was a big one in the Consulate by city standards, could probably fit in the bedroom, and, she knew, there were two huge closets, a dressing room, a private study, and an enormous bathroom, all behind the closed doors that surrounded her.

Sophie threw herself onto the bed and sobbed herself to a deep sleep.

*

It was another knock on the door that woke Sophie, but a respectful one, rather than the frantic one at the consulate that portended all of the bad things that followed. It took a few seconds for her brain to shake the jet lag and sleep and for her to remember why she was sleeping in her parents' bed. The sadness returned as her consciousness returned. She pulled the blanket over her and said, "Come in."

A young dark-haired woman her own age, dressed in a maid's uniform, entered.

Sophie's eyes lit up. "Johanna? What are you doing here?"

"Her Highness, your mother, assigned me to be your attendant, and she directed me to wake you for breakfast. Shall I get your clothing?"

"Seriously, Johanna? You work here now?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Wow. That's great. Jo, it's nice to know that I have one friend here. But when we're in private, I would appreciate it if you would call me Sophie. This 'Your Highness' stuff is too formal, especially from someone you grew up with. I can't wait to catch up."

"I look forward to it, Sophie.

Johanna smiled, and Sophie recognized the look of mischief in her eyes from their teenage years. The two women looked at each other, maybe remembering the same incidents where they got caught doing things that they shouldn't, sometimes with people that they shouldn't.

"How is your mother? She was a wonderful nanny."

"She's great, Sophie. She retired a few years ago, and is finally enjoying all of the Fund money in her account, travelling around the world."

"I'm so happy for her. And your father?"

"Retired, too, and with mom, enjoying himself."

Sophie briefly remembered that her father would never have that luxury, but tried not to dwell on her sadness while talking to Johanna.

"Um, Sophie, my job is to get your clothing and to help you get dressed."

"That's ridiculous. We'll need to figure out something more meaningful for you to do. I need to shower, and I'll get dressed. I can dress myself—have done so for years," Sophie replied, smiling.

"As you wish. Your clothing was moved into the closet overnight."

Sophie remembered the door from the hall to the closet that allowed the servants to deal with her parents' clothing without entering the bedchamber, and which she and Karl-Franz used to use to hide from their overbearing older brother.

"Now, can I make a request of you, Sophie?"

"Of course."

"Please get dressed and get downstairs so that your mother doesn't blame me for you disappointing her."

Sophie grinned. "It wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

Johanna shrugged. "I guess not."

"OK, then stop chatting with me and let me take my shower and get dressed."

"You haven't changed a bit, Sophie. Still a pain in the butt."

"You know that I could have you put in the dungeon for saying that."

"And you know that the dungeon was turned into a wine cellar and storage room more than a century ago."

Sophie turned without saying another word and headed for the bathroom. Johanna had to know how to have fun in Klippenberg, so it was nice that she would be around.

*

Sophie had grumbled when her mother sent her back after breakfast to change from her yoga pants and vintage Ramones t-shirt before meeting with the ministers, but she was actually glad that she did, when she saw that they were all wearing expensive suits and dresses for the meeting. The introductions took some time, and although she knew some of the ministers, she didn't know all of them. And when the Minister of the Treasury introduced his assistant, Sophie had trouble concentrating.

Frederic Stolz was, quite possibly, the most attractive man she had ever seen. He ticked off every one of her boxes—tall, dark, handsome, muscular, incredible eyes, and he exuded a powerful confidence, even in his subordinate role to the Minister. She had trouble taking her eyes off of him, as the other ministers made reports, and she tried to take notes. Luckily, this was mostly an informational briefing, and no decisions needed to be made, or she would have been in trouble. She did note that the Treasury Minister regularly consulted with Frederic during his briefing, so it was clear that he must have a brain to go along with that face and body. Despite the fact that it had been only about a day since Mark had screwed her quite well, she felt an ache of desire for this stranger.

But she willed herself to focus, and made it to the end of the meeting without incident. It was still a bit surprising when she stood, and everyone in the room, even her mother, shot to their feet, before bowing and leaving. Sophie briefly considered what it would be like if at the next meeting, she kept standing and sitting, and while the idea of everyone in the room jumping up and sitting down in response brought a smile to her lips, she knew that it would not be "appropriate," a word that she was going to have to get used to hearing.

When everyone but her mother had left, the two women sat down.

"I saw the way that you looked at him, Sophie."

Busted, she thought to herself. "I assume you mean Frederic."

"Of course. You were staring at him like a schoolgirl at a movie star."

I probably was, Sophie admitted to herself. "So?"

"He is not appropriate for you."

Sophie smiled, thinking, there's that word. "I think he would be perfectly appropriate for what I am thinking about."

She could see the anger rising on her mother's composed, perfectly made up face, and then watched as her mother controlled herself. "Very funny, Sophie. Just remember that now you are not just a woman. You are a symbol and the leader of this country. You cannot simply give in to your desires whenever you want."

And there it was, Sophie thought. She enjoyed giving in to her desires. She wanted to keep being able to do so. But by accident of her birth into this particular family who, unlike so many others of its kind, held onto a small amount of power, she was stuck.

"Anyway, Sophie, I have seen your wardrobe, and it is sadly deficient. Where did you get most of that stuff, the trash?"

Like most of her classmates, Sophie was fond of visiting thrift shops and vintage clothing stores in New York, although she never told her mother of this habit, who would have recoiled at the thought of Grand Duchess Sophie Anna Charlotte Maria von Klippenberg wearing someone else's trash. Sure, she had some nicer things, and even a few designer dresses for those few occasions where she was asked to represent the country, but probably not enough for her new duties. "Mother, please," Sophie responded.

"I'm having the dressmakers come by later to measure you, and we can pick out some things for them to make for you."

Sophie realized there were worse things than to have some nice clothes custom made for her, so she didn't respond, changing the subject.

"Mother, I'm uncomfortable with all of the stuff—the bowing, and standing, and formality. Can't I change that?"

Charlotte Marie looked quizzically at her daughter. "You have been treated that way all of your life, why do you want to change it now?"

"Living in New York, like a regular person, made me realize how silly it is. Why can't I be a Grand Duchess, but without all of that?"

The older woman thought about how to respond. "I understand your point, Sophie. But being Grand Duchess, and fulfilling that role, requires that the people of this country, and other countries, for that matter, see you as something apart. You have three problems already. First, you are young—the youngest ruler of the country in centuries, second you are a woman, and there hasn't been a ruling Grand Duchess in Klippenberg since the 1700s—whom you are named after. And third, there's your reputation as a 'free spirit.'" Charlotte Marie was not the type of woman who used "air quotes" but Sophie still heard them in her mother's voice, along with her disappointment.