The House of Wiggleworth

🌹 About the Duchess

My dearest roses, welcome to Eglantine Court — a house of faded grandeur, eternal roses, and perfectly timed applause.

I am Her Grace, The Duchess Hyricath Wiggleworth (née Bucket) — one-time leading lady of the provincial stage, now the reigning hostess of the House of Wiggleworth.

I was not born a Duchess, my loves — I was discovered.

It happened one fateful evening at the Grand Imperial Theatre, Preston — a palace of red velvet, gilt cherubs, and dangerously narrow staircases. I was appearing in a touring musical of “The Merry Widows of Morecambe” when, from the third row of the Dress Circle, I felt a gaze so steady it nearly threw me off my high note.

It was the Duke of Wiggleworth — resplendent, refined, and rumoured to own half of Lancashire’s canal system. After the final curtain, he appeared at my dressing room door with a single rose and the words: “My dear, one does not simply applaud brilliance — one must preserve it.”

And preserve it he did.

Now, from our beloved Eglantine Court — a crumbling Victorian jewel along the Preston–Lancaster Canal — I write to you, my darlings, sharing tales of elegance, eccentricity, and survival in a world that’s misplaced its glamour.

Each missive is a rose from my garden — a little outrageous, a little nostalgic, but always offered with love.

So, come in, roses. Wipe your feet, pour yourself a sherry, and remember: no matter how cracked the mirror, it still reflects beauty — especially if you tilt it towards the light.

With petals and affection,

Her Grace, The Duchess Hyricath Wiggleworth

✉️ A rose-scented chronicle from the House of Wiggleworth.