The Duchess of Devonshire

　　Early on the morning of the second day of April, little Sophia, who had just turned four, already opened her large eyes with pupils nearly as dark as black. She blinked once, then again, before fully waking up. As she did every day before, instead of immediately pulling the bell to summon someone, she lifted the covers herself.

　　Keeping her feet still warm, she quickly put on thick cashmere socks, then hopped down from her tall four-poster bed. Slipping out of her nightgown, she changed into a more fitted petticoat and then pulled on a red flannel dress without a waistline—this was her outfit for today. Oh, she had forgotten the shoes! Her shoes were suede with heels, not too high, and fairly comfortable.

　　After dressing, Sophia moved to stand before the mirror. Turning five in just four months, she was currently 3 feet 5 inches tall (1 meter), looking especially plump and adorable. Her fair complexion made her resemble nothing less than a little cherub from an oil painting.

　　Only after ensuring she was presentable for others did she pull the bell. Shortly after, the maid Nina knocked at the door, carrying warm water.

　　“Miss Sophia, it’s Nina. May I come in？”

　　"Come in. Good morning, Nina." Sophia offered her first smile of the day, then began her morning toilet under Nina's help.

　　Twenty-year-old Nina is the maid who takes care of all the girls in this house. Sophia is the eldest among them. Below her are Mary, who is two years old, and Elizabeth, who has been born less than three months ago.

　　"Is this all right, Miss Sophia？" Compared to tending to Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth all day, Nina found Miss Sophia the easiest little mistress to look after. Each day, she only needed to bring this young lady lukewarm water and help comb her long, silk-like black hair, then she could devote the rest of her morning to the other two misses.

　　"Tighten the silk ribbon on my head a bit more; I'm going out soon." Sophia’s long hair had already been secured at the back with silk ribbons, and now she asked for the decorative bow at the front to be adjusted more firmly.

　　"Certainly, Miss Sophia." Nina quickly fixed it. "Miss Bond is waiting for you downstairs, and your breakfast is at eight o'clock."

　　"I know, I'll be back on time." Thanking Nina, Sophia pushed the door open and stepped out.

　　Outside stretches a long, carpeted corridor, with delicate silver candlesticks placed every few steps, their candles casting faint glimmers of light. By these dim illuminations, one can make out the paintings on the walls—family portraits. Having lived here for nearly five years, with one painting added each year, the family in the frames has gradually grown from five members to the current seven: father, mother, George—two years her senior, Henry—one year older, Sophia, her younger sister Mary, and little brother Frederick, now a year old. The newborn Elizabeth has yet to be painted, but her mother was already depicted carrying her in the canvas when pregnant.

　　Sophia rather admires her current mother, who has been having children year after year without a break. When she gave birth to Elizabeth this past January, she was already 39 years old. Yet, not long after, the actress returned to the stage, radiant and glamorous. In contrast, her father—four years younger—has long since developed a paunch and can't step out without a wig.

　　"Good morning, Miss Sophia." Downstairs, the waiting housekeeper’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

　　"Good morning, Mrs. Bond." Sophia descended slowly, hand on the banister, her steps so measured that they made hardly any sound.

　　This pleased Mrs. Bond, who felt that Miss Sophia was already taking on the demeanor of a proper little lady. Just look at her smile—so perfectly poised. Tucking away her pocket watch, she slipped the already-prepared cloak over the young mistress before leading her out the door.

　　Breathing in the fresh air outside, Sophia felt herself come back to life. Her family lived near Bushy Park in southwest London, adjacent to the River Thames, about 15 miles from the city center. The air here was crisp, the scenery lovely, and there were plenty of animals to see. Getting into the city center was also convenient—just an hour’s carriage ride away.

　　She rose this early every day just to take a stroll around the park’s periphery. It was 1801 now, the very beginning of the 19th century. In these times, girls didn't have to attend school; at most, they'd hire a governess later on to teach them a few things, just enough to marry, bear children, manage a household, and that would suffice. But Sophia didn't want that. Having been granted a second chance, she at least meant to take control of her own life.

　　She had no desire to end up like her mother—spending her future either in childbirth or on the road to it. Yes, they were a family who could afford a mansion, appearing grand and respectable on the surface, but the stack of unpaid bills behind the scenes was towering. So, even though her mother had just given birth to Elizabeth, she had no choice but to return to the stage to earn money and pay off the debts left by her father.

　　That’s right—in the end, the one settling the debts had become the mother.

　　Sophia wondered when things had first turned out this way. As far back as she could remember, her family had always followed this pattern. Her father, a duke, reportedly received an annuity of over 10,000 pounds a year, plus additional allowances—all together, a hefty sum. In theory, they shouldn't have been poor. But considering the extravagant stable, the endless stream of new clothes, the freshest food every day, and the frequent attendances at social gatherings, no amount of pounds sufficed.

　　What's more, her mother's three daughters from before she married her father—one already of age, two nearly of age—were also financially supported here. Expecially the eighteen-year-old Frances Dailey, who even demanded a dowry of 5,000 pounds from her mother!

　　One pound is equal to twenty shillings, or two hundred and forty pence. Nina's annual salary was a mere ten pounds, which, according to her, was already considered high among maids!

　　Enough of this, enough. Whether they gave it or not, or how much they gave, it had nothing to do with her. She had known from the very start that she would inherit neither her father's property nor any considerable wealth from her mother.

　　Sophia continued along the path beside the park, stepping out for a daily walk to build a healthy body from a young age. Medical conditions in this era are far too poor—a simple cold or fever could potentially cost her life. She must ensure she has enough capital to further strive for what she truly desires.

　　As for what she would do in the future, she needed to think it over carefully. Based on her limited exposure so far, the craftsmanship of glassware available on the market was already quite impressive, leaving little room for improvement before being replaced by mechanization. As for soap, the one her family was using closely resembled the handmade soaps of the future, except it was still quite expensive. A small box containing just six pieces cost one pound. Perhaps she could refine it and bring the price down？

　　These were all matters for the future; only when she could go out and see for herself would she know where her first pot of gold came from. For now, she had to ensure she was in good health first, cultivating good habits by going to bed early and waking up early every day. She must not end up like her parents, who didn’t get up until after noon and had lunch as late as one or two in the afternoon. After dinner at seven or eight in the evening, they would dress up and head out again, only returning in the early hours of the next morning.

　　Enought dwelling on this—this is simply their way of life now, utterly unsuited to her. She would rather simply walk, listening to the murmur of flowing water, taking in the scenery, and if lucky, perhaps catching a glimpse of one or two red deer that have sneaked out.

　　"Miss Sophia, we cannot go that way—it’s far too dangerous." Mrs. Bond had not let go of her young charge’s hand since they left the house.

　　Young as she was, Miss Sophia was a girl of strong will and sound judgment. As early as last year, she no longer needed help getting dressed. Even earlier, she had moved beyond needing to be fed. While her brothers and sisters all had their own personal attendants, she could be considered the one who kept to herself. But compared to the neglect shown by her parents, this singularity of hers counted for little.

　　Prince William—now the Duke of Clarence, Duke of St. Andrews, and Earl of Munster—clearly favored the three daughters whom Mrs. Jordan brought into the marriage, especially the now-grown Miss Frances Daly. When meeting, the Duke would affectionately address her as Fanny (a nickname for Frances). Yet, as Miss Sophia grew older, her standing in the household steadily waned.

　　Even without the masters speaking of it, everyone could see it clearly. Miss Sophia’s black hair and black eyes set her apart from other members of the family, making her seem as though she wasn’t a biological child. Thus, in these past two years, she had been treated with little regard. Her room was at the end of the corridor, and her food and clothing were noticeably inferior to those of the other three young ladies who visited as guests.

　　Miss Sophia was too young to realize the unfair treatment she received. She still put on a composed smile every day and diligently strived to learn how to be a proper little lady.

　　"I think I just saw a few big birds that can't fly, right over there!" Sophia, unaware of Mrs. Bond's thoughts, pointed in the distance at some animals that looked like chickens. Even if she had known, she wouldn’t have felt slighted. Being able to eat and drink her fill in this era was already no small feat. As for the rest, she would have to strive on her own.

　　"Oh, those aren't birds; they're chickens," Mrs. Bond corrected. After hearing her young charge quickly pronounce the word correctly, she slowly explained, "These chickens are very fierce; they peck at people. So, Miss Sophia, don’t get too close to them." They were fighting cocks, raised to be quite aggressive.

　　"Aren't they for eating？" She had a sudden craving for chicken wings and drumsticks.

　　"No, that doesn't taste good. If you're craving meat, I'll ask the kitchen to prepare some small squabs." As it happened, they still had a few being raised in the kitchen.

　　"No thanks, I don't want to eat pigeon." Sophia admitted she was a coward. She had never eaten it before, and had no intention of trying it now—no matter how delicious it might be, she still wouldn't touch it.

　　"Alright, then we’ll skip it. Miss Sophia, it's time for us to head back." Mrs. Bond took out her pocket watch, glanced at it, and calculated the time needed for the return journey.

　　“Yes, let’s head back.” After walking nearly half a mile, that was enough—there was still a journey ahead to return. “Mrs. Bond, if the chickens kept in the park can’t be eaten, are there any chickens available to buy and eat？” Since she had noticed them, Sophia felt she had to clarify. Who knew？ There might just be some, and she wouldn’t want to miss out.

　　"There is, but it doesn't taste good. I've heard the meat is scanty and ends up dry and tough no matter how it's prepared, so nobody really likes eating it." A few workers on nearby farms kept some chickens, only cooking one when they truly craved meat. Mainly because beef and fish were too expensive, they'd resort to slaughtering chicken as a substitute.

　　"Then if I want to try the taste, Miss Bond, could you help me buy some？," Sophia asked. No one liked eating them, which meant they wouldn't be raised on a large scale. She didn't have such grand ambitions either; she just wanted the freedom to enjoy chicken wings and drumsticks. Oh, and eggs too. If she kept a few chickens, meeting a few people's needs wouldn't be too hard.

　　"If you want to eat them, Miss Sophia, I can go buy some," Bond said, guessing the little girl was just curious. Buying a few would satisfy her curiosity, and after tasting them, she wouldn't crave them again.

　　"Yes, please, Miss Bond. I want live ones, preferably a rooster and some hens. I'd like to raise them first and see, so I can eat them when I feel like it." Sophia thought to herself: if she raised them well, she'd be one step closer to chickens laying eggs and eggs hatching into more chickens.

　　"Alright, I'll get the chickens as soon as possible. But, Miss Sophia, where would you keep them once they're bought？" Bond asked, wondering where to house a few chickens, though it didn't really matter—she just wanted to hear the little girl's plan.

　　"Keep them at the end of my daily walk route. Hardly anyone goes there, so they won't disturb others," Sophia said. She knew her father was the Duke and also the gamekeeper of Bush Park. Fencing off a small plot of land on the outskirts wouldn't draw any objections.

　　Seeing Bond nod, Sophia expressed her thanks. The two strolled back leisurely and soon returned home.

　　"Miss Sophia, breakfast will be ready shortly." After helping the young mistress off with her outer cloak, Mrs. Bond reminded her gently.

　　"I understand, I’ll wash my hands first." It has been nearly five years since she became Sophia Fitz Clarence, and she can finally set her mind on something else. Raising chickens may not sound prestigious, but once they’re well-bred, there will be meat to eat—and that’s enough to make her determined to do it right.

　　The breakfast at eight in the morning was just what Sophia liked: soft slices of bread, thin cuts of cooked beef, and a small bowl of fresh fish soup. Given her tender age, she doesn’t need a long table brimming with food, as she can’t eat much. Besides, at this time of day, she is the only one dining.

　　Yes, indeed—just her. Everyone else in the house was still asleep, lazily rising only before lunch, nudged by the servants. This included Sophia's elder brothers, George and Henry; though they were seven and six years old respectively, they had already followed their parents' lead in forming the habit of sleeping late and waking late. In their view, anyone who rose before noon was simply behind the times.

　　Sophia was deemed by them as someone who had degraded herself—incapable of indulging in pleasure and only capable of doing things that were utterly intolerable. For instance, she refused a personal maid and insisted on dressing and washing herself. She went to bed e