Hook up skirt, underbust jacket, overbust steel boned corset
Other colours available on request as part of our bespoke service
Made in limited numbers in Britain
Born into the life of a socialite, but not nursing from a silver spoon, the Duchess didn’t have the fairytale childhood that many assume of this “posh princess”. Instead she was an army brat, born into a third-generation military family and raised on bases and outposts across the vast expanse of the Commonwealth. Her father instilled in her a sound mind for wartime strategy, rigidly enforced by strict disciplinarianism. Ever one to walk her own path, however, she surmised that avoiding war altogether was the best strategy of all – and the only discipline practiced by this proud pacifist is administered with cupped palms and looped floggers. With her husband, the Hunter, she resides in her family’s historic home – a sprawling colonial estate absorbed by the Empire in some long forgotten skirmish. To settle the karmic debt racked up by her forebears, she has opened the gates and invited in the world. This former fasthold is now a palace of pleasure, where differences are something to celebrate, not separate.
Proud to proclaim that she knows, “A little about a lot, but a lot about very little,” the Duchess thirsts for knowledge and experience – and she knows that she will learn more about life from those who have lived it, rather than those who have written about it. “You will know more about the world by keeping the company of escorts and prostitutes than you will experts and professors,” she once remarked, “and you’ll have far better bedtimes, which is really rather important.” Her hunger for life sees her trotting the globe for months at a time, like the grand tours of her ancestors, consuming culture and taking home trinkets that remind of her many realisations and revelations. Some of them spiritual, some physical, some emotional… and many carnal. Putting her imported prurience into practice, she hosts lascivious liaisons both little and large – and virtually every flavour of fornication is catered for. As nights turn to dawns, the Duchess draws her soirees to a close by drawing a bath – and she seldom sinks beneath the suds alone. Be it the cultured chatter of an artist or the metaphysical musings of an academic, she insists that her suitors stimulate her cerebrally as well as sensually. Many would-be mistresses and mastresses have been shooed away by the refrain, “If you have nothing interesting to say, then I have nothing in the way of interest.”
THE DUCHESS’S TALE
She sits alone sometimes, soaking in the dawn-gold afterglow of another all-nighter, and wonders what her father would make of the life she has built. She remembers his finger-wagging warnings that, “Every time you commit an act of carnality, god kills a kitten.” And yet, as she observes the motionless bodies strewn around her – echoes of scream and groan still ringing in her ears – she considers how the aftermath of love and war are not so dissimilar. Perhaps she is more like her father than she imagined… though she is certainly much happier killing kittens than soldiers.
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