The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

by Vicktor Alexander

  He reached into his reticule and pulled out the parchment paper that Lady Arthur had scrawled directions upon. He watched the man’s face as he read the letter. His eyes glowed with love and affection, his lips moving as he silently read each line. Lord Cholmondeley looked up at Chester when he finished the letter, and grinned broadly.

  “I thank you, dear woman, for being so bold as to bring me such direction from my lady love,” he said.

  Chester nodded. “I consider it an honor, my lord. I feel quite a bit like the nurse in Romeo and Juliet. Though I am assured that this will have a much happier conclusion than that fated tale of star-crossed lovers.”

  Lord Cholmondeley laughed. “I give you my word, it will. I must go and gather my things so I may meet Lady Arthur and hie away to the

  Green forthwith.”

  Chester nodded. “His Grace and I will await you.”

  Lord Cholmondeley bowed and turned to rush back into the lodging house. Chester turned back to Whitcomb, who watched him steadily. He swallowed nervously and began to fidget with the bag in his hands. “Your Grace, I—”

  Whitcomb held up his hands. “Do not speak, Chester. For I find myself unable to bear the sound of your voice at this moment without wanting to rave at your foolishness.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you not know the serious danger you were in?”

  Chester nodded. He was aware, but only once it was too late.

  “Did you not think I could save you?”

  Chester gasped. “No, Your Grace! The thought never occurred to me. I am assured of your strength and power. I know that you are more than capable of being my knight in shining armor should the need ever arise….”

  “And had not the need arisen earlier?”

  “To be sure, Your Grace, and yet….”

  Whitcomb stepped close to Chester and lowered his voice, his gaze boring into Chester’s. He placed one hand on the tree on the side of Chester’s head, and where the same action by the Tamerican had created terror in Chester, from Whitcomb it only stirred feelings of protection and desire.

  “Do you not feel that you are worthy of being saved by me, Chester? That your being a maid and my being a duke makes you somehow undeserving of my aid?”

  Chester’s mouth opened and closed, his mind moving frantically to form a response, though none was forthcoming. Whitcomb shook his head and stepped away. He sighed sadly. “What else must I do, Chester, to let you know that I do not see you as a maid? I see you as a lady, as I am a gentleman. You are a woman, as I am a man. You are Chester, as I

  am Orley. That is it. When we are together, I am not the duke, and you are not the maid. Perhaps the day you can see that, you will let me get to know you, as I want you to get to truly know me.”

  Chester reached out to touch Whitcomb but let his hand drop when Lord Cholmondeley stepped out. Whitcomb stared at Chester’s dropped hand and shook his head. Stepping away, he called out to the hackney coach, and Chester stepped away from the tree he was pressed against to follow the two men, knowing he had missed an opportunity and unsure he would ever have another one.

  Orley and Chester had watched as Lord Cholmondeley and Lady Arthur were reunited and then rode off to Gretna Green to elope in silence. They returned to the manor in a tense quiet, neither looking at the other, even as they hurried up from the stable to the house so Chester might sneak back in through the servant’s entrance and Orley through the front door to head back to their previous pursuits. As they stood before the manor staring at each other, Orley hoped for some sign, some clue or indication that Chester had changed his mind and would try to get to know Orley. When Chester merely curtsied and hurried away, Orley’s heart felt as if it were being tortured and tightened in a metal vise, which brought up memories of his torture all those years ago and sent him off to Heathcliff’s sideboard for a healthy glass of Tscotch to drown them away.

  He was able to enjoy three healthy doses of the drink before Yarborough found him within the room.

  “Whitcomb! There you are, old man! Why, you have been nothing but a figment of my imagination today.” Orley chuckled in response. Yarborough walked over, poured himself a glass of Tscotch, and refilled Orley’s. He nodded at Heathcliff’s bookshelves.

  “What do you make of that?”

  “Hmm?” Orley turned and narrowed his eyes. He noticed a number of tomes on Tswahili on the shelf and laughed. “I think Pompinshire feels left out that his husband can communicate effortlessly with their daughter, Eshe, while he still needs a translator.”

  Yarborough chortled heartily and slapped Orley on the back. They finished their drinks and placed them back on the sideboard before walking to the door. It was time to prepare for dinner. As two of Heathcliff’s best friends, it would be the height of disrespect for them to be late.

  “So there is something I must tell you,” Yarborough said softly as they climbed the staircase.

  Orley leaned heavily on his cane, shaking his head slightly; he probably shouldn’t have had that last glass. He wasn’t much of a drinker. He looked over at Yarborough. What was the man saying?

  “…like Galeon’s dead wife. Still not sure about it, though. I’m going to get some of my men on it to make certain. What do you think? Should I tell him?” Yarborough asked.

  Orley frowned. Yarborough was asking him something about Quincy’s dead wife. Why in bloody hell would he do something like that? Orley shook his head. Quincy had gone through a very hard time getting over that woman. Orley hadn’t been entirely certain his best friend would come back from the depths of despair and hell he’d sunk into. War had done damage to all four of them—Pompinshire, Galeon, Yarborough, and himself. Though Yarborough’s scars weren’t as easily seen, they were definitely there. But what had happened with Galeon’s family while they’d all been away was something that still haunted them.

  “Absolutely not, Yar,” Orley stated emphatically, slicing his hand through the air. “Just let Lady Galeon rest and let Quincy move on.”

  “But….”

  Orley shook his head. “Bloody hell, Yarborough! I said no!”

  Yarborough stepped back and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, Whitcomb. Okay.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m still going to check it out for me. But I won’t tell Galeon.” He glanced away. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he mumbled.

  Orley ran his fingers through his hair, mussing his queue. “Yes.”

  He watched as his friend walked away, and felt like a heel. He knew he should call Yarborough back to apologize for snapping at the man, but he couldn’t. Not right now. He was still on edge. Letting loose a growl of frustration, Orley turned the handle to his guest bedroom and stepped inside. He had to get ready for an interminably long dinner, and he hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of everyone.

  After dinner was over, the men had enjoyed port and cigars, and had brainstormed with Heathcliff over how to declare his love for Lady Lucien. They finally decided on a billet-doux. “Because all ladies adore billets-doux,” Orley had pointed out, thinking of Chester’s face as he’d watched Lord Cholmondeley read the letter. Orley walked back with Heathcliff as they left the duke’s suite of rooms to rejoin the ladies.

  “You have been extremely quiet of late, Whitcomb,” Heathcliff pointed out.

  Orley wrapped his left hand around the lapel of his waistcoat, trying to adopt a nonchalant poise as he walked beside his old friend, while he tightened his other hand on the handle of his cane.

  “Have I been?” he asked. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Heathcliff snorted. “Well, of course you wouldn’t, Whitcomb. You are the one who is being quiet. You are normally a reserved soul, but it is even more so than usual.” Heathcliff turned to look at him as they walked toward the drawing room. “Is there something amiss?”

  Orley shook his head. “No.” He released his waistcoat and waved his hand. “I assure you, Pompinshire, all is well. I just find myself a bit green with envy, that is all.”

  “Oh?
Of whom?”

  Orley grinned. “Of you, you daft sod.”

  Heathcliff chuckled. “I knew it, lad. I just wanted to hear you say it, ’twas all. But why would you be? You could have any young lady in the country. Why, you could have any young lady in the world, were you to but make your feelings known.”

  Orley shook his head. “If it were only as simple as all that, my old friend.”

  Heathcliff stopped in front of the drawing room and grabbed Orley’s arm. “Is there someone who has captured your heart, then, Whitcomb?”

  “Not yet my heart, for the young lady in question will not allow it to be so engaged for it to be so, but….” Orley sighed and glanced away. “Aye.” He cleared his throat. His Tirish ancestry was making itself known, and while he was not ashamed of it, he did keep it close to the vest whenever he could. “There is a young lady who has thoroughly

  enthralled me, and yet he thwarts me at every turn.”

  Heathcliff shook his head. “Then he is a fool.”

  Orley laughed. “I think he is afraid that my interest in him is not as lasting as it truly is.”

  “Ah. The young lady feels that you only desire a bedmate rather than something permanent?”

  Orley nodded. “But how can I find out if that is what I want if I cannot get to know him?”

  Heathcliff sighed and clasped Orley’s shoulder. “If the lady knew your true character, my friend, then he would never doubt that your integrity is sure. Fret not. Either he will come around, or he is not the one for you.”

  Orley nodded and followed Heathcliff into the drawing room, where he sat and watched in joyful, happy envy as Heathcliff and Lady Lucien declared their love for each other.

  And he tried not to think about what Chester was doing and whether the young woman was thinking about him just then.

  Chester stepped out of the way as the Duke of Pompinshire swept out of the drawing room holding Lady Lucien in his arms. Tears filled his eyes as their declaration of love for each other replayed in his mind. It had been so beautiful and romantic. Brushing his fingers against his eyes, Chester blew out a frustrated breath. His turnting was about to happen, he could tell. He always got overly emotional days before his uterus turned over.

  He also craved chocolate.

  He reached into the pocket of his apron and pulled out a small chocolate covered nut his mother had handed to him. It was from the monthly allowance she received from His Grace, and Chester was never more grateful than he was at that moment. Sliding the delicious morsel between his lips, he let it melt on his tongue, trying not to moan too loudly at the flavor.

  The door to the drawing room opened once more, and the guests began to stream out. Chester pressed himself against the wall again, not wanting to be seen, especially as he’d been eavesdropping on the game taking place within.

  “You have been discovered, my lady. You might as well come inside,” a deep voice said after no one else exited for long moments.

  Chester shivered at Whitcomb’s tone and stepped away from his hiding spot. Peeking around the corner, he found the man lounging on the settee, twisting a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Chester swallowed at the abject sadness he saw on the duke’s face, remembering the words he’d heard the man speaking to the Duke of Pompinshire earlier that evening.

  Not yet my heart, for the young lady in question will not allow it to be so engaged for it to be so, but… there is a young lady who has thoroughly enthralled me, and yet he thwarts me at every turn.

  I think he is afraid that my interest in him is not as lasting as it truly is.

  But how can I find out if that is what I want if I cannot get to know him?

  And then the Duke of Pompinshire’s response, which had frozen Chester in place and let him know exactly what he needed to do.

  If the lady knew your true character, my friend, then he would never doubt that your integrity is sure. Fret not. Either he will come around, or he is not the one for you.

  Whitcomb looked up at Chester and smiled wanly at him. “And how long have you been lurking out in the hallway, my lady?”

  Chester blushed. “I have not been lurking, my lord. I have merely made myself available should their Graces have need of me.”

  “Ah.” Whitcomb nodded. “So you were only there should their Graces Pompinshire have need of you.” He rose from the settee and made his way to the sideboard, swallowing his drink on the way.

  Chester inhaled nervously. “Or if you had need of me, Your Grace.”

  Whitcomb froze. He turned to look at Chester. “What did you say, Chester?”

  Chester stepped into the room fully and closed the door behind him. The snick of the lock sounded loud in the room, and Chester inhaled painfully. He exhaled and turned back to face the duke. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his chin and stared the duke in the eye.

  “I said I was also in the hallway should you want me, Your Grace… Orley.”

  Whitcomb’s eyes flashed brilliantly in the candlelight still burning in the room, and he set down his glass on the sideboard and walked toward Chester. He lifted his hand and gently grabbed the back of Chester’s chignon. Orley released the thick tresses until they tumbled down Chester’s back, and he inhaled sharply. He ran his fingers through Chester’s hair and stared into his eyes.

  “Are you offering to get to know me, my lady?”

  Chester swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Orley. I would love to get to know you.”

  Chester gasped as Orley yanked him close to his hard body, the buttons of the man’s waistcoat digging into his stomach, and yet Chester did not care. Were he a proper lady he would not be able to feel Orley so acutely. Chester lifted his arms and wrapped them around Orley’s neck and breathed in the scent of bergamot and masculinity. Chester fully expected Orley to kiss him. Had, in fact, thought that was the reason they were even now pressed so intimately together, but when Orley lowered his head and inhaled at the side of Chester’s neck, Chester was confused.

  Chester opened his mouth to question but stopped when Orley began talking.

  “When I was a young boy, my father would beat me whenever I didn’t do something perfectly. Whenever I wasn’t his ideal heir, he would take a crop to me or a whip. I have scars that decorate my back that were there long before Badajoz, inflicted by a vicious animal.”

  Orley lifted his head and looked down into Chester’s eyes, his blue eyes pleading with Chester to understand. “I want to lie with you tonight. But not here. Not in this room where it would be fast and make you feel as if you were less than the lady I see you as. I won’t be an animal like my father. I want to take you upstairs and lay you down upon the bed for our first time and sleep with you in my arms, so that maybe I won’t dream about him or Badajoz tonight.”

  Chester swallowed the lump that rose to his throat.

  Orley stepped away slightly and held out his hand. “Will you come with me?”

  Chester nodded and placed his hand within Orley’s to allow Orley to lead him upstairs.

  Orley was acutely aware of the quiet and stillness of the manor as he led Chester to his room. He was also mindful of how hard his heart was pounding and how quickly his breath stuttered from his lungs.

  Calm down, Whitcomb. This is not your first time. It is Chester’s. You are not an untried youth. It is your job to be gentle with him. To not make this a painful experience. You cannot do that if you are afraid the entire time.

  Orley opened the door to his room, stepped within, and pulled Chester after him. He closed and locked the door before turning to face Chester, who stood watching him, still holding Orley’s other hand.

  Smiling reassuringly at Chester, Orley reached up and touched the corner of those hazel orbs that seemed to catalogue his every movement, then traced his finger down to the edge of Chester’s mouth. When Chester’s pink tongue flicked out to wet his lips, Orley swiped his digit across it, grinning as Chester gasped. “You are utterly enchanting.” “I am?” Chester whispered.

 
; Orley nodded. “I have been captivated by your beauty since the moment I opened my eyes and saw you standing above my bed like a glorious angel sent from the heavens. For a moment, just one second, I thought the heavens had parted and God himself had allowed me a glimpse into the Holiest of Holies. I was breathless. Sure that I, a mere mortal, was unworthy to be in the presence of one so beautiful, one so captivatingly perfect. And then you spoke, and your voice was like the song of a thousand nightingales singing only for me.”

  Chester’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and Orley brushed them away. He shook his head and leaned down to kiss first one eyelid and then the other. “I have heard it said that beauty makes fools of men; perhaps they were right.”

  Chester chuckled. “I thought it was love that makes fools of men.”

  Orley stared into Chester’s upturned face. “I believe that may be true as well. But beauty starts men on the path to love, don’t you think?” Chester shrugged. “As you say, my lord.” “Orley,” Orley corrected. Chester nodded. “Orley.”

  Orley kissed Chester’s forehead, then the tip of his nose before sipping from his lips. He did not linger long at Chester’s lips, knowing he could get lost in the man’s mouth forever. Orley moved on, trailing soft kisses down over Chester’s chin to his neck and his collarbone. His hands did not stay idle, however, as he moved them over Chester’s shoulders, his arms, and down to his hands to link their fingers together.

  Orley brought their hands up and placed kisses against the back of Chester’s slim-fingered hands before releasing them and trailing his own back up Chester’s arms to his torso. Wrapping his arms around Chester’s slim, toned frame, Orley found the ties to Chester’s apron and released them. He pulled the apron free and folded it in half, placing it on the back of the chair.

  Smoothing his hands back over Chester’s shoulders to his chest, Orley found the buttons that ran along the front of his dress and began to slowly and methodically unbutton them. With each newly exposed patch of skin, Orley placed a kiss or licked the skin, thrilling at the soft moans that rumbled up from Chester’s throat. He pulled free the collar that Chester wore beneath the dress and tossed it on top of the apron, then continued to undress the young woman.