Duchess Mecklen’s Elegant Revolt - Chapter 1 Part 1

1. The Duchess’s Regression

The dawn at the Mecklen estate begins with the clear sound of a bell. The people who wake to the chime move with swift precision, knowing full well the consequences of drawing the scrutiny of the strict mistress of the house. Those who had once experienced the sting of her whip—enough to make their skin swell and bleed—would understand why everyone moved with such haste.

Everyone gathered in the grand hall on the first floor, standing in orderly rows. Particularly nervous was Becky, a maid who had been reprimanded by Caroline several times before, her anxiety clearly visible.

Click, clack.

“Good morning, Madam,” came the chorus as the measured sound of heels descending the central staircase echoed through the hall. None of the estate’s staff dared to look up, each holding their breath.

Caroline, the supreme mistress of the Mecklen household and its true ruler, was a vision of opulence this morning. She wore a crimson velvet dress with a neckline plunging in a U-shape, adorned with a necklace intricately crafted from pearls and various gemstones. A gold belt cinched at her waist completed the ensemble, a piece so valuable it was beyond estimation.

Yet, despite her lavish appearance, there was a distinct displeasure on Caroline’s face.

“A very good morning, indeed,” she began with her characteristic mocking tone, surveying the room with a gaze as sharp as a viper’s. Those who caught a glimpse of her eyes quickly averted their gaze, fearing the wrath they might provoke.

As tension hung thick in the air, Caroline began pointing out individuals one by one.

“Becky.”

“Y-yes, Madam!” Becky stammered.

“You’ve tied your sleeve knot wrong again.”

Becky’s face fell, her shoulders trembling as Caroline instructed her to follow her to the discipline room later. The sharpness of Caroline’s gaze then moved on to the next person.

“Sven, who told you to wear black leather shoes?”

“I-I’m sorry…”

“Adolf, your right sideburn is not properly groomed.”

“I’ll correct it immediately.”

“Anna, you need to come along too. I told you not to crease your dress like that, didn’t I?”

“M-Madam, it’s not that…”

In an instant, several staff members were called out to join the dreaded discipline session. The discipline room was a place everyone in the estate feared to enter. Those who had narrowly escaped Caroline’s scrutiny exhaled silent breaths of relief, casting sympathetic glances at their less fortunate peers while also feeling grateful they hadn’t been singled out.

And then it happened.

“But what’s that strange smell?” Caroline remarked, her tone hinting at yet another criticism. The unexpected comment sent a chill through the room.

A deep furrow appeared on Caroline’s brow as she scrunched up her face in a sneer, sniffing theatrically at the air. “Hmm? There’s a very unpleasant odor coming from somewhere.”

“A smell… Madam?” the newly appointed chamberlain cautiously asked, his voice hesitant. But Caroline ignored him, quickly scanning the room to find the source of the smell.

“Ah, there it is,” Caroline finally declared, her face twisted in disgust as she pinched her nose. Everyone turned their heads in the direction she pointed and were shocked for a different reason altogether.

‘The young madam?’

She was the one who had joined the Mecklen household about a month ago, a Duchess not born and raised in Baden like the rest of them, but hailing from the distant land of Hartmann.

The Duchess, Eleanor, stood quietly, wearing a green dress made of simple dyed fabric, with no jewelry or adornments typically worn by noblewomen. Her golden hair flowed down her back, and her hands were clasped demurely in front of her, giving her a fragile, reed-like appearance.

Caroline clicked her tongue loudly, making sure everyone could hear.

“Tsk, tsk. This is why we shouldn’t bring in people from poor countries.”

Eleanor Marina Lea de Hartmann, the last princess of the Kingdom of Hartmann, had married the young Duke of the Mecklen household, Ernst Schmidt von Mecklen. After their marriage, she was stripped of her Hartmann name and middle name, becoming simply Eleanor von Mecklen.

The servants, though hesitant, dared not agree with Caroline’s cruel words, for despite everything, Eleanor was still their Duchess. Caroline waved her hand dismissively in the air, signaling her disdain.

“Do you have no shame?”

“……”

“Don’t you ever bathe? The smell is unbearable. Tsk, tsk.”

It was an absurd accusation. The idea that she smelled bad was preposterous. Anyone who knew Eleanor even a little would have known this was far from the truth. She had a habit of washing her hands with the water provided in her room, even after a simple outing. But here, there was no one to defend the young Duchess. Everyone was fully aware that Caroline was picking a fight on purpose. It was all an excuse to drag more of the servants to the discipline room.

“Move away from me. I can’t stand being this close to you.”

“I apologize,” Eleanor murmured, lowering her head. Her confused blue eyes fixed on the floor. Caroline, watching her, let a sneer curl her lips.

‘I need to make sure she knows who the true master of this house is.’

This marriage had been arranged to publicly signal the union of the Kingdom of Hartmann with the Baden Empire. To Caroline, Eleanor, the princess brought into the Mecklen family as little more than a hostage, was nothing but an inconvenience.

No, it was worse than that. Caroline was furious. Her carefully laid plans for her son’s marriage had been completely derailed, and all her anger and frustration had found a target in Eleanor.

And there was more.

‘Everything about her disgusts me,’ Caroline thought, her face hardening as she looked Eleanor up and down.

Gritting her teeth, she asked, “What about the handkerchief you were supposed to embroider with red roses yesterday?”

“…I’m sorry. I’ll finish it as soon as I return to my room.”

“Always so slow.”

Eleanor bowed her head again, enduring the scolding. The handkerchief in question was meant to be one of the Duke of Mecklen’s personal items. There was a superstition that embroidering symbols like roses to wish for peace in the household, the lord’s health, or success in battle could turn the item into a lucky charm. Few noblewomen still believed in such things.

But Caroline’s command to embroider the handkerchief had nothing to do with superstition. She had only given the task to Eleanor because she couldn’t stand the sight of her resting in her room. And Eleanor knew this all too well.

‘Endure it. I must endure it,’ she told herself.

Her fists, hidden beneath her dress, trembled slightly. Though a flicker of anger sparked in her downcast blue eyes, no one noticed the change as they were all too busy trying to avoid Caroline’s attention.