The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

by Vicktor Alexander

Chester swallowed nervously and placed his hands on his suddenly roiling stomach. What else was there that he could possibly need? He swung his hands around to encompass the room. “I am afraid I don’t understand, Your Grace. Am I not merely marrying His Grace? I was aware I would need a few new gowns and shoes, for I hardly have the attire one would require to be seen with one so dashing as the Duke of Whitcomb when he is attending a ball, but have you taken leave of your senses to think that anyone would ever want to call upon me? Or that I would ever have need for a riding habit? Why, I hate horses! They are monstrous beasts, and I have no need of them whatsoever. No.” He shook his head. “I am afraid this is all too grand, and I will not take advantage of the generosity of the duke’s purse. I will not have the duke think me a fortune hunter.”

  When Chester realized all the women were staring at him, he covered his mouth in horror. He had never spoken to anyone in such a way. No one outside his own brothers and sisters. Not even his own parents had borne the brunt of his tongue. He lowered his head and awaited the punishment he was sure to come. Nothing occurred for quite some time as silence hung thick in the air quite like a heavy blanket or the cured ham that Cook prepared for Christmas. Chester raised his eyes and found Lady Kent grinning at him.

  “That was well matched, Lady Boland. I do believe we might have underestimated you,” she said. She stepped forward and took Chester’s hand with her own. Staring up into his eyes, she patted the back of his wrist with a finger. “But listen carefully and heed my words as if they were being spoken from the very lips of the Almighty himself. You do need these clothes. They are bothersome and uncomfortable. You will not see the need for most of them. You will put them on and wear them for only a small amount of time before you will dispense with them only to change into another outfit, but you must not see these garments as mere bits of fabric, silk, muslin, and frippery. This”—she gestured around the room— “is your armor. The ballrooms, receiving rooms, dining halls, Hyde Park, in fact, the whole of Tlondon and Angland is a battleground. You have but a moment, a trifle bit of time in which to enjoy your marriage to His Grace before you must don your armor and fight.

  “You must fight against the matrons who wished their daughters had married the duke. You must fight against the rakes who will see you as a bit of sport because they are envious of the honor given to His Grace. But even more than that, you must fight against those who will hug you with one arm, while plunging a dagger in your back with the other, all because of your upbringing or the color of your skin. You, my dear, are going into battle, and it is our duty to make sure you are outfitted properly. The Duke of Whitcomb is not the only soldier. You are one now as well.”

  “Hear, hear, Lady Kent,” the Duchess of Norfolk stated.

  “That was utterly amazing, Charlotte.” Lady Lucien smiled.

  Chester stared into the blue eyes of Lady Kent and squared his shoulders, feeling almost as if she were supplying him with a bit of her own strength. While he was still quite uncomfortable with the thought of so much finery, if the ladies present assured him that he would need it, then he would accept it all with graciousness and aplomb.

  Just like a duchess would.

  Inclining his head toward Mademoiselle Jean-Luc, much in the way he’d noticed other well-bred noblewomen doing, Chester exhaled. “Forgive my earlier outburst, Mademoiselle Jean-Luc. You have brought me such lovely things to add to my trousseau and wardrobe. I thank you for your diligence.”

  Mademoiselle laughed. “You will make a fine duchess, my lady.” He curtsied and, with another clap, hustled the shopgirls to set about dressing Chester in the dresses and gowns.

  Or rather, fashioning him in his armor.

  Orley sat with Lord Oakley, Lord Nottingham, and Lord Folsom playing a game of whist while Heathcliff, Yarborough, Quincy, and the Duke of Norfolk played at another table nearby when the front door opened and a startled exclamation was heard. Orley looked over at Heathcliff who rose from his chair, walked to a nearby bookshelf, and slipped his hand behind it. Without a word, Orley pushed his hand into his boot for his dagger, and he noticed Yarborough and Quincy reaching for their own weapons as well. While there did not appear to be any sounds of a brawl coming from the entryway, recent deaths weighed heavily on their minds. Pompinshire and his friends’ part in the demise of Madison Kipling, and Lady Lucien’s ties to his associate, young Frederick Remmington, who had also died, had made them all cautious. Orley would take no chances when it came to the intrusion of any blackguard, especially with Chester’s family on the premises.

  The sound of a knock on the drawing room door eased the tension in Orley’s shoulders somewhat, and he saw Heathcliff slowly pull his hand from behind the bookcase, his sword still firmly, and safely, hidden behind it.

  “Enter,” Heathcliff called out.

  Lady Lucien appeared, grinned first at Heathcliff, then turned to smile at Orley. “Hello gentlemen. Might we trouble His Grace for one moment or are you too ensconced in your game?”

  Orley shook his head. “No, Your Grace. I am free.” He spread his lips into a reassuring expression.

  “Yes, I think perhaps it is best that we all seek a moment of quiet reflection, gentlemen, do you not?” the Duke of Norfolk suggested with a quirk of his eyebrow. “I find myself suddenly filled with quite a bit of tension and a need to pray.” He stood and bowed before heading over to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.

  “I thought he was going to pray?” Yarborough whispered loudly.

  The Duchess of Norfolk stepped into the room right after Lady Lucien and chuckled. “My husband is not a religious man. That is how he prays.”

  Orley chuckled and eased his hand free of his boot, sitting back in his seat as one by one the women filed into the room. He found himself anxiously looking for Chester, desperately wanting to assure himself that the shopping excursion had not only been successful but also had not been too taxing on Chester’s sensibilities. While Orley did not think the Duchess of Norfolk, Lady Kent, Lady Lucien, or any of the other ladies who had eventually ended up joining Chester on his trip into town would be intentionally hurtful and would in fact do their best to help, Orley had worried nonetheless. When Lady Kent stepped inside the drawing room, followed by her husband, who wore a stunned expression on his face, Orley rose from his seat.

  “Where is Lady Chester, Your Grace?” he inquired.

  Lady Lucien walked over to Orley and placed a reassuring hand on Orley’s shoulder. “Please do not trouble yourself so, Your Grace. Lady Chester is merely taking a moment to ease the butterflies that are no doubt still fluttering around within his belly. He will be along within a moment.”

  Orley nodded and turned back to the open doorway. And not a moment too soon, for Chester walked through just then, his honey blond hair piled atop his head, loose tendrils curling around his light brown face, which had been artfully decorated in cosmetics, his hazel eyes lined in black kohl. Chester’s cheeks were dusted with a fine powder that accentuated his high cheekbones, and from his ears hung a pair of diamond earrings that complimented the diamond necklace around his throat. A long, pink silk gown glided down Chester’s body, caressing his skin like a courtesan, and a small train flowed behind him.

  Orley felt frozen as he stared at the wondrous beauty who was his future husband. Gloves covered Chester’s hands and silver heels covered his feet. Orley was enchanted. He grabbed his cane and made his way to Chester, aware that the entire room had gone silent behind him. He paid no mind to his companions, his focus on the woman who had so stolen his… what? His heart? No. It was much too soon for that. His heart had not been engaged quite yet, but his soul? Yes. Chester was in full possession of his soul.

  “You are the complete embodiment of an angel,” he said softly as he stood in front of Chester. “The very epitome of beauty, elegance, and grace. You encapsulate the very essence of a lady.” He lifted Chester’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of Chester
’s fragrant perfume. “I find myself completely under your spell, Lady Chester. I am your humble servant.”

  Chester shook his head and touched Orley’s hand. “There shall be no servants between us, Your Grace. Was it not you who said that we were equals? Let us then be as we are. Orley and Chester.”

  Orley nodded and smiled. “In this you are correct, love, however, seeing you now, I must confess that I want to retract my earlier statement, for you are a goddess and I want to worship you.”

  Chester chuckled. “Perhaps when there are not others about, Your Grace.”

  Orley cleared his throat and turned around, suddenly remembering that they did, indeed, have an audience. He found the amused gazes of his friends and the embarrassed, red faces of some of the unmarried women in the room upon them. He bowed, Chester’s hand still in his own, and gave them all a small smile.

  “Forgive me for my absentmindedness. I appear to have lost my head and forgotten that I was in mixed company.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Oakley said with a low laugh.

  Lady Lucien shook his head. “Why, Your Grace, that was quite romantic. I do believe that serving in His Majesty’s Navy has created a bit of a poet in you, as it has done in my own husband. Perhaps being faced with all that you were has stirred the romance in all of you?”

  Orley covered his mouth when Heathcliff grunted. “Perhaps, Your Grace. I am more inclined to believe that it is merely finding the person who stirs the soul, heart, and spirit of the poet within us.” He looked over at Chester. “It is easy to speak of the stars and the sun themselves being blinded by the beauty of Lady Chester, and the clouds parting in his presence so as to not offend him, because he has opened that part of me long thought dead.” He looked back at Lady Lucien. “It is him, not I, who has done these things.”

  “Yes, well. I do believe there were plans made for an elopement?” Heathcliff said after a long moment had passed.

  Orley cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from where it had once again rested on Chester’s face. He was still amazed by the change Chester had undergone. While he had found Chester resplendent in his maid’s uniform, devoid of cosmetics and jewelry, as he stood now, the woman was enchanting.

  “Yes. You are correct, Pompinshire. Let us away to the carriages. I find that I do not want to wait a moment longer than I must to make Lady Chester the Duchess of Whitcomb.”

  “The Maid Duchess of Whitcomb,” Lady Exeter haughtily said from behind him. Orley turned and pierced her with a glare. He felt Chester stiffen beside him and tremble slightly, though he did turn as well. Taking Chester’s gloved hand, Orley placed it within the bend of his elbow.

  “My future bride may have once been a maid, Lady Exeter, but he will soon be a duchess and outrank you. It would serve you well to remember that, don’t you think?” Looking at Chester, Orley nodded.

  “Come, my dear.”

  Chester offered him a small smile. “Yes, Your Grace.” Grabbing the skirt of his dress, Chester walked alongside Orley as they made their way to the front door. Orley never glanced back, focusing instead on the way Chester’s hand still shook a little on his arm.

  “We will soon be in the carriage,” he reassured Chester softly. “Then you may place your head upon my shoulder and cry if you wish.”

  “I have no need to blubber like some simpering miss, Your Grace,” Chester told him through clenched teeth. “I wish to behave in a manner much more inappropriate, and it is only my desire to not embarrass you that stills my tongue from giving Lady Exeter the thorough lashing I so feel she deserves.”

  Orley chuckled. “Well, my charming angel, you may tell me all of the things you wished to call her once we are safely ensconced within the coach.”

  “I shall do just that, Your Grace, I assure you.”

  Stepping outside, Orley took note of the Whitcomb coach being brought around to the front of the manor, the ducal coat of arms of Whitcomb emblazoned on the side. As a child, the sight of the two crowned dragons surrounding the shield as they pursued the crowned lion holding the Anglish flag while the animal stood on a bed of grass had been a thing of terror. Not even his father’s constant reassurances that the coat of arms was a symbol of strength and honor could stop him from having night terrors. Orley had been terrified to enter any room with the image etched on it.

  Upon his father’s passing, he’d had them all removed from his home. Staring at the coach now, Orley wondered what Chester thought of it and whether he should have had the infernal image taken off of the vehicle as well.

  “What an unfortunate crest,” Chester murmured.

  Orley snorted out a laugh. Chester gasped and turned to Orley, a hand covering his mouth. “Oh, Orley! Forgive me. I meant no offense. I am afraid that my mouth seems to have grown independent of the rest of my body. I do not mean to insult the dukedom in such a way.” Chester was so contrite that Orley knew he had to put a stop to it.

  Orley lifted a hand and Chester stopped talking immediately. “Cease tongue, my lady. I do not find any grievance with your words.” He smiled. “I must admit that I was just thinking of my own childhood terror in regards to the coat of arms. So your words have hit the mark precisely.”

  Chester sighed and lifted up to place a small kiss on Orley’s cheek. “Thank you, Orley. For easing my troubled heart. I would not see any harm brought to you by word or deed by my hand.”

  “The feeling is quite mutual, my lady.” Orley bowed.

  Orley escorted Chester down to the awaiting coach, which could comfortably seat six, and after having seen the young woman within, Orley turned and held out his hand to help Lady Lucien inside the coach. When he saw Wilhelmina and Imogen striding away toward another coach, one with their other children, Orley felt a stab of sadness shoot through him. He was not sure how he would share that information with his beloved, but he would do his best.

  “Might we ride with you and Pompinshire, old chum?” Yarborough said with a teasing grin, his arm thrown around Quincy’s shoulders.

  Orley gave both men a quick pat on their bicep. “It would be a pleasure, gentlemen.” With a nod, Orley turned and climbed aboard his coach, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot through his right thigh.

  Chester sat to his right, and the young woman, without any words being spoken, placed his hands upon Orley’s thigh and began to massage the damaged muscle through Orley’s breeches. Orley gave Chester a grateful smile; he knew he had overtaxed his leg, and he was thankful for Chester’s ministrations being administered without there needing to be any discussion on the matter whatsoever.

  Orley settled back against the wide, deep, cushioned seats of the coach and looked around the interior. Growing up in opulence, he had never paid much attention to the furnishings of the transportation that bore him from one place to the other, but he had a sudden craving to know if Chester found the seat springs, covered in a rich red velvet, pleasant. The silver braid and thick-fringed tassels that held back the curtains were an eyesore to him, and he had an urge to remove them. Orley glanced over to Chester, who was focused on massaging his thigh discreetly, and could see no disgust on the young woman’s face for the décor of the glass lamps or even the highly polished burl, and yet Orley found himself wanting to send the entire coach to be redone. What was this need he had to please Chester, a woman he had known for only a week? Was this a malady that Heathcliff suffered from as well?

  “Does your leg trouble you, Whitcomb?” Heathcliff asked.

  Orley glanced over at Heathcliff and sighed in disappointment when Chester immediately removed his hands from his thigh. Shifting on the seat, Orley inclined his head in a gesture of thanks toward Chester and returned his gaze to his friend. “It is nothing, Pompinshire. I merely overextended myself today.”

  “Did you take your laudanum?” Quincy inquired.

  “Yes, I—”

  “Yes, he did, my lord. I was in attendance when he did so,” Chester interrupted. “Though I do believe he only took half of the
prescribed dose.”

  All eyes turned to him, and Orley sighed. Rubbing his forehead with a finger, Orley chuckled. “It is a bit like being surrounded by a clutch of mothering hens,” he teased.

  “Actually, it would be a brood, Your Grace,” Lady Lucien corrected him with a cheeky grin.

  Heathcliff chuckled. “Quite right, my dear.”

  “I’m sure you did not know that, Pompinshire,” Yarborough stated.

  Heathcliff shrugged. “My husband knew it, and as the Father stated during our wedding, we are one now. So anything he knows, I know.”

  Lady Lucien turned to Heathcliff with raised eyebrows. “Is that right, my lord?”

  Heathcliff nodded. “But of course it is.”

  “Ah, I see. So, if we are one, which by your own accounting we are, then does that mean that the same thoughts and feelings that I have, you have as well, and vice versa?” Lady Lucien asked.

  Heathcliff hesitated only for a moment before nodding. “Yes.” Orley mumbled beneath his breath, “It’s a trap, you daft fool.” “Of course it is.” Chester breathed a soft laugh.

  “So that means we share everything, yes?” Lady Lucien continued.

  “Of course we do. I hold you in the highest regard, you know this,” Heathcliff responded.

  Orley’s soft groan echoed Quincy’s and Yarborough’s, and Lady Lucien turned and winked at them.

  “So when I experience my sholfting, to bring your heir into this world, that means that you too will experience the same pain and agony that I do? That you will know what I am thinking when I am thinking it, that you are, even now, aware of what is in my mind at this moment.” Lady Lucien quirked an eyebrow.

  Heathcliff’s face flushed, and the coach filled with laughter as he stammered out an apology to his husband. Orley turned to Chester and lifted his hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the backs of his fingers. When Chester smiled warmly at him, Orley felt his heart turn over and his gut clench. He was utterly besotted with this woman, and though it frightened him, the intensity with which his emotions and feelings were engaged, he was happy to see they were reflected in Chester’s eyes.