The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

by Vicktor Alexander

Turning to the bed, he picked up his dressing gown and pulled it back on. He hated wearing the infernal thing, almost as much as the pajamas he’d pulled off moments before, but it was better than nothing. Especially if he was planning to go next door to wait. He didn’t want to shock the poor maid.

  After walking over to the night table, Orley picked up the book he’d placed there to read. He looked at the spine, then put it back. He wasn’t going to need it. He grinned wolfishly. He picked up the bottle of oil and placed it within the pocket of his dressing gown. Now he was ready.

  Heading back to the door separating his room from Chester’s, he knocked and waited to hear Chester’s voice from within.

  “Come in, Yer Grace,” an unknown voice called out.

  Orley turned the latch to step into Chester’s room. He found Chester pushing his arms into his own pale yellow, silk dressing gown. He barely took note of the footmen carrying out the tub and dirty bathwater, so focused was his attention on the enchanting creature before him.

  “Your Grace, may I present Missy? She’s the maid who helped me,” Chester introduced him to the young woman beside him.

  Orley tore his gaze away from Chester’s delectable form and stared at the maid who stood to the side. He tilted his head slightly in deference to the maid and smiled at her.

  “Thank you, Missy, for ensuring that the duchess was seen to. I admit that there is not much to be done to make sure that Her Grace is beautiful as he always is, but seeing to his comfort is much appreciated by me, I will freely admit.”

  Missy curtsied. “It were no problem, Yer Grace.” She smiled at

  Chester. “Have a good evening, Yer Grace.”

  “You too, Missy. Thank you.”

  Orley waited until Missy walked out of the room and the door had closed behind her before he walked over to lock it. He turned back to Chester and stepped up to the young woman. He ran his fingers through the honey blond locks and sighed. He propped his cane against the side of the bed and pulled Chester close.

  “Hello, Duchess,” he whispered.

  Chester chuckled. “Hello, Duke.”

  “Shall we take this to the bed?” Orley asked.

  Chester put a hand on Orley’s chest and stopped him. Orley glanced down into Chester’s face, alarmed at the trepidation he saw there.

  “Chester? Love? What is it? What has you so troubled?”

  Chester shook his head. “There is naught wrong, Your Grace. It is merely—can you just hold me for a while? Before we sojourn to the bed?”

  Orley was not bothered by the request. He would gladly hold Chester as long as the young woman wanted, but the timing was suspect. Still, he held his tongue. Nodding, he gathered Chester and held him in his arms.

  Where Chester stayed for the rest of the night.

  Laughter. They never stopped laughing. They laughed whenever they were coming to hurt him. Orley tensed when they approached him. There were five of them this time. One was speaking in Anglish to him, trying to reason with him and telling him to give away the secrets of the Crown. Orley would never do that. He was loyal to his King, to his country. Even if he didn’t want to die. Good God. What had he been thinking? He didn’t want to die. He had too much to live for. If they killed him, who was going to take care of Chester? What if Chester was pregnant? He hadn’t talked to his man of business, made no will, no concession for Chester or any children they might have together.

  Orley was dragged over to the fire, his pants yanked down to his knees, and a poker was pulled out of the burning embers as he watched, struggling. Orley was terrified. He started to scream even before the ember was applied to his thigh, the smell of burning flesh, his burning, melting, stinging flesh reaching his nostrils as the pain became unbearable, and he thrashed around, seeking relief. Searching for the darkness.

  “Orley! Orley! Wake up! P-please! Please wake up!” Chester sat on his husband’s chest, holding down Orley’s arms, ignoring the pain in his jaw and eye. There was a furious knocking on his door.

  “Yer Grace? Are you quite alright?” a voice called out.

  Missy.

  “Get your filthy Tfrench hands off me!” Orley growled, still in the throes of a nightmare. He jerked so fiercely, Chester knew he would not be able to hold him down by himself.

  “No. Missy, I need your help,” Chester called out. The doorknob jiggled, but the door remained closed.

  “Yer Grace. The door is locked,” Missy stated.

  “Heavens above,” Chester grunted. Letting go of Orley’s arms, Chester gasped as Orley reached up for his neck. He shoved at his husband’s chest and rushed for the door. He unlocked it quickly and pulled Missy inside and toward the bed, where Orley had fallen back onto the mattress and continued to fight against his invisible assailants.

  “Oh, Yer Grace.” Missy covered her mouth and tears filled her eyes.

  Chester clapped his hands in front of Missy’s face. “We have no time for that, Missy. You may have your fit of the vapors on your own time. His Grace is remembering the war, and I need you to help me hold

  him down until he returns. Can you do that?”

  Missy nodded. “Yes, Yer Grace.”

  Chester hurried back to the bed, Missy fast on his heels, and they both climbed onto the bed on either side of Orley. Chester climbed on top of Orley’s legs and directed Missy to hold down one of Orley’s arms. He took the other and held it tightly.

  His heart pounded as he watched Orley’s head twisting back and forth on the bed. Orley pleaded with his kidnappers to let him go. He pleaded with other soldiers not to die. He mumbled about having to get back to Chester, which was strange since he had not known Chester while he had been commissioned as an officer. Tears streamed down Chester’s cheeks as he watched his husband suffer. He didn’t know how to help Orley. He didn’t know what to do to make it stop.

  Without looking at Missy, Chester stared at Orley and began to softly sing “Sweet is the Vale.” Orley twitched a bit more and fell still soon after.

  “Oh, Yer Grace, that was lovely,” Missy breathed when Chester stopped singing.

  Chester smiled over at the young maid and returned his gaze to his husband. What villains plagued Orley’s dreams?

  When moments passed and it seemed Orley’s dreams were once again peaceful, Chester nodded at Missy. They both climbed off the bed, and Chester made sure his duke was sufficiently covered with the bedclothes before walking Missy to the door.

  “I thank you for your assistance and coming to my aid, Missy,” Chester said tiredly.

  “It weren’t no problem, Yer Grace. If you don’t mind me saying, it seems that His Grace is being chased by a mighty powerful demon,” Missy said, glancing toward the bed.

  Chester looked over his shoulder and nodded. He returned his gaze to Missy’s face. “He served in the war, Missy, and I’m afraid he’s seen things no man ever should.”

  Missy’s eyes filled with tears, and she covered her mouth. “Me brother served as well, Yer Grace. When he came back, he’d lost an arm, but even more than that, his mind wasn’t ever right. Me dad said it would have been more merciful for him to have just died in the battlefield.”

  Chester stared at the servant in shock his heart pounding as he thought of his life without Orley in it. What if Orley had died in battle? Or when he’d been captured? Granted, Chester would never have known the man had existed. He would have continued to live his life completely unaware there had ever been a Duke of Whitcomb, but wouldn’t some part of him, some part of his heart, be empty? Some part of his soul be unfulfilled? Incomplete?

  “It were a good thing His Grace came home to you, I think,” Missy said with a small smile.

  “Yes, I think so as well, Missy.”

  “Good night, Yer Grace.” Missy curtsied and left.

  “Good night, Missy.”

  Chester closed the door behind the maid and returned to the bed. He climbed in beside Orley and found himself staring at his husband for long moments. He would ask Or
ley about his nightmare at first light, but for now, he would take the time to observe the peaceful expression on Orley’s face. He would keep the horror at bay for Orley as long as he possibly could.

  Orley woke to darkness, his mind muddled. The soft notes of an angelic voice faded away on a breeze, floating with the dust particles in the air, causing him to sigh. He clenched his hands, which felt stiff, and unclenched his jaw, moving it side to side. While he could not completely recall the exact details of his dreams from the night before, his body alerted him to the fact he had been locked in a nightmare. And yet…. Turning his head to the right, he saw Chester lying beside him, and he smiled. Looking around the room, he struggled to remember exactly where they were. Tscotland. He had married the former maid and made Chester his duchess. Happiness flooded his system at the thought, and Orley wanted to let out a shout to the heavens. He restrained himself from doing so, however, and instead reached out to pull Chester into his arms.

  Chester let out a gasp and scrambled away from him. “Orley, no! You’re dreaming!” Chester’s eyes were wide and wild, and Orley’s heart clenched at the worry he saw on his husband’s face.

  “Oh, love, no. I am awake. I swear to you.” Orley held out a hand. He watched as Chester blinked at him and after a moment, Chester sighed and relaxed, crawling over to Orley and cuddling up into his arms. Orley wrapped his arms around Chester’s body and looked down into his beloved’s face. The dark red bruise on Chester’s face sent ice through Orley’s blood, and he lifted a hand to his husband’s cheek. He had hurt Chester? What memory had so possessed him the night before he would do damage to someone he felt so… much for?

  “I am sorry I frightened you, Angel.” Nausea curdled in his gut and anger surged in his body. He couldn’t believe he had allowed his demons to spill over and affect Chester in such a way. He would flay himself if he could.

  “Think nothing of it, Orley. You knew not what you were doing. I was just unaware that you were awake,” Chester softly said, his hand petting Orley’s chest gently.

  “I would never do anything to cause you to fear me, you know this, don’t you, Chester?” Orley asked.

  “Of course I do!” Chester replied, affronted, looking up. “There is aught about you that brings me a moment of trepidation, Orley. I assure you. I admit that last night I was alarmed, but now I know how to handle your moments of night terrors.”

  Orley rubbed his hand up and down Chester’s thin back, pressing his lips to Chester’s forehead. “And how will you do that, love?”

  “I will sing to you.”

  A memory of a soft, melodious, singing voice drifted through Orley’s mind. High soprano tones swirling over and through his brain, filling his heart, spreading peace and warmth through him. He clutched Chester closely to him as a lump formed in his throat.

  “That was you?” he asked in a choked voice.

  “Yes.”

  Orley nodded. “I thought ’twas an angel sent to guide me through the wreckage of the battlefield. A guardian angel, Gabriel, dispatched to ensure my safety and my return home to you.”

  Chester’s head tilted back, and Orley glanced down at him. The young woman’s hazel eyes swirled with an unknown emotion, one which had never been directed toward Orley before. It made him uncomfortable, made him want to run, and he was no coward—at least, he was no longer a coward—and yet the emotion he saw also humbled him. He felt unworthy. He longed to prostrate himself before Chester and ask the young woman what he could do to be worthy of such devotion.

  “Chester… I—”

  A knock on the door prevented any further speech, and Orley cursed the person on the other side before bidding them to enter. The maid from the evening before entered, followed by two footmen who brought in breakfast. After they had set up the meal, the footmen bowed and the maid curtsied, blushing furiously.

  “It is good to see you doing so well, this morn, Yer Grace,” she said.

  Orley quirked an eyebrow and turned to look at Chester.

  “I called for Missy to help last night,” he explained.

  Orley nodded. “I thank you, Missy, for assisting my duchess when I was indisposed,” he said. “Your services were greatly appreciated.”

  “It weren’t a problem, Yer Grace.” Missy waved off his thanks. She gestured to the tray of food. “I’ll let you get to yer breakfast.”

  Orley tilted his head to the side when Missy left and looked over at Chester when the young woman climbed from the bed. An idea was forming in his head, but he would have to ask his new duchess before he went ahead with it.

  “Do you like Missy, my dear?” he asked nonchalantly.

  Chester glanced over his bare shoulder as he reached for his dressing gown and pulled it up over his shoulders. Shrugging, he poured Orley a cup of coffee and added cream before handing the cup to Orley, who finished belting his own dressing gown before accepting the saucer with a smile. He took a sip and groaned at the delicious brew, shivering in delight. He wasn’t exactly sure how he had lived on purely tea before discovering coffee, but now he couldn’t live without having at least one cup of the strong concoction. While he didn’t think coffee would ever replace tea in the world, he definitely appreciated its restorative powers.

  “Yes, I do, I guess. Why are you asking me such a question, Orley?” Chester asked as he turned to pour himself a cup of tea.

  Orley walked over to the settee and had a seat. He looked up at Chester, who watched him closely. He sighed and tried to think of how to word it properly without coming across as if he was forcing Chester to do his bidding. He had promised Chester at the beginning of their relationship that he could always say no, and that wouldn’t change just because they were now married and certain things would be required of him as a duchess.

  “You will need a lady’s maid, as you know. To help you with changing the different attire you will be asked to wear, also to attend you at the different events. Many ladies of the ton conduct interviews of lady’s maids who have been in service for many years. Those who have references from other genteel ladies or even princesses.”

  Chester was already shaking his head, and Orley held up his hand. “I know you would not be comfortable with a lady’s maid who would be looking down her nose at you.” He put down the rest of his drink on the side table and went to Chester. “However, I was thinking you could offer the job to Missy. You could bring her with us to Avenice and then on to Angland. You could both learn how to navigate the realm and the battlefields of Tlondon society together. That way you have someone you feel somewhat comfortable with, whose beginnings are humble as well, who will not lift her nose at you, and who will learn beside you.”

  Chester stared at him for a moment before he grinned. “I think,

  Your Grace, that you may just be quite brilliant.”

  Orley bowed. “Why thank you, my dear. I have my moments.”

  When they left hours later, Chester had a lady’s maid. He was still a little stunned by the idea of it all, and he ignored Orley when the man laughed at him as Chester once again looked over his shoulder to make sure Missy was being led to the carriage with his brother Ben. Just when Chester was sure his life was settling in to a sense of normalcy as Duchess of Whitcomb, something happened to remind him that all was different.

  “We are heading to the docks now, my dear. We will stop again in Abiggar and Aedinburgh and stay a few days in both cities. Perhaps a week in both before we leave from the docks of Queensferry,” Orley said offhandedly as he pulled out a stack of papers and began to look them over.

  “Why are we heading to the docks?” Chester glanced at Orley.

  “Hmm?” Orley hummed distractedly.

  “Nothing.” Chester sighed and sat back against the cushioned seat as they pulled away from the inn. He had never really seen Orley in “dukemode” before. Always Orley had simply been Orley Garrick. His title as the Duke of Whitcomb had been a secondary thing. There, yes, always present, and even a stumbling block to their ha
ppiness at one point, but now, as they sat in the carriage together, Chester was realizing that the man he was married to was someone who had duties and responsibilities. While he wasn’t entirely sure what had Orley so enthralled, Chester was remembering the many hours the Duke of Pompinshire would lock himself in the office or would set off to meet with the farmers and other tenants of his holdings. Chester wasn’t sure why he had never considered the fact that Orley would be exactly like the duke. Would he be expected to conduct himself exactly like Lady Lucien? Who spent his days in the garden, or reading, or entertaining ladies from the surrounding area? What would Chester speak to them about? The best way to make up a bed? Or how to not mention that the beloved son of a high-ranking duke had given birth to the child of a servant?

  The carriage came to a stop before Chester could continue to work himself into a dither, and he placed his hand against his stomach. He was riddled with nerves and suddenly questioning his decision to marry Orley. He had never fully considered what he was getting himself into. Had this been why his mother was so against their marriage? Had Wilhelmina known that he would be completely out of his depths, mingling and interacting with the upper crust of Tlondon society?

  “Milady?” one of the footmen—Chester couldn’t even recall his name, though they had worked together for years—called out to him from the open carriage door. It had already begun. He was losing himself. His identity was being washed away by the glittering waves of titles, pomp, and circumstance.

  “Y-yes, I am coming… R-Randall.” With a flash, the footman’s name returned to him, and Chester sighed with relief. He smiled at the footman, who nodded to him. He heard Orley’s grunt behind him but ignored the surly man. The duke would never understand how much pleasure Chester had just received from remembering Randall’s name. Orley had not completely changed his entire life around because of… infatuation. Chester had.

  And only Chester was starting to regret it.

  Weeks later, Orley assisted Chester down the gangway of the Angelic Moon, his argosy ship, his mind cluttered with tasks that had to be completed, the next leg of their journey, and what could possibly be wrong with his new husband. Though Chester was still pleasant and still welcomed Orley’s touch, it was almost as if a part of the young woman had withdrawn from him. It caused Orley no end of confusion and distress, not the least of which was due to the fact that he was sure he had caused the withdrawal of Chester’s affection.