The Duke, the Duchess, and the Dreadful Duster

Amelia squinted through the dusty carriage window, a plume of grey smoke from the London chimneys obscuring her view. She sighed dramatically, her gloved hand pressing against the cool glass. "Are we there yet, Reginald?" she whined, addressing the portly footman seated across from her.
Reginald, his face perpetually etched in an expression of mild exasperation, peered at the crumpled schedule clutched in his hand. "Indeed, Lady Amelia," he mumbled, adjusting his spectacles. "We should arrive at Blackwood Manor within the hour."
Amelia groaned again, slumping further into the plush velvet seat. Arriving at her betrothed's ancestral home was hardly the romantic adventure she had envisioned. It felt more like being exiled to a dusty mausoleum, judging by the gloomy appearance of the manor and the desolate landscape surrounding it. She fidgeted with the lace at her collar, longing for the bustling streets and sparkling ballrooms of London.
She hadn't met Edmund, Duke of Blackwood, before. Their courtship had been conducted entirely through letters penned by their respective families, a series of formal pronouncements devoid of any genuine warmth or affection. Amelia, known for her vivacious personality and sharp wit, found the prospect of marrying a man she barely knew, let alone loved, utterly daunting.
As the carriage rumbled to a halt before the imposing façade of Blackwood Manor, Amelia straightened her posture, forcing a smile onto her face. Reginald sprang to his feet, opening the door with a flourish. "Welcome to your new home, Lady Amelia," he announced, bowing deeply.
A shiver ran down Amelia's spine as she stepped out onto the cobblestone path. The manor loomed over her, its grey stone walls seeming to absorb the meager sunlight filtering through the overcast sky. Gargoyles leered from the eaves, their grotesque faces adding to the unsettling atmosphere.
Inside, the manor was a labyrinth of dimly lit hallways and cavernous rooms adorned with heavy tapestries depicting scenes of hunting and battles. Amelia trailed behind Reginald, her footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor. The air hung thick with the scent of dust and mothballs, a testament to the house's long period of neglect.
Finally, they arrived at a grand salon, its fireplace flickering weakly despite the mounds of logs stacked beside it. A figure rose from a worn armchair, silhouetted against the dim light emanating from the hearth. Amelia's breath caught in her throat.
Edmund Blackwood was tall and imposing, his dark hair streaked with silver, his piercing blue eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. But it was his attire that truly captured her attention – a dusty velvet dressing gown adorned with faded embroidery, cinched at the waist by a thick leather belt. And upon his head, perched precariously, was a towering feather duster, its yellow plumes drooping haphazardly.
Amelia blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. This wasn't the dashing Duke she had imagined, the romantic hero of her daydreams. He looked more like a deranged scholar who had wandered out of his library and straight into her life.
Edmund extended a hand towards Amelia, his expression grave. "Lady Amelia," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Welcome to Blackwood Manor. I do apologize for the… unconventional attire. I was engrossed in cataloguing the family's collection of ancient artifacts when your arrival was announced." He gestured towards the feather duster with a slight shrug. "This, alas, is my preferred tool for dusting delicate relics."
A choked laugh escaped Amelia's lips, breaking the tension that had settled over the room. Edmund stared at her, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Is something amiss, Lady Amelia?"
Amelia regained her composure, her initial shock fading into amusement. "No, my Lord," she said, her eyes twinkling. "It's just… unexpected. I must admit, I haven't encountered a Duke wielding a feather duster before." She curtsied gracefully, attempting to hide her smile.
Edmund blinked, his cheeks flushing slightly. He seemed flustered by Amelia's reaction, as though he had committed some social faux pas. "I assure you," he said hastily, removing the feather duster and placing it on a nearby table, "that I am perfectly capable of upholding all the traditions and responsibilities of my position. It's simply that… well… I find comfort in the familiar.