The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

by Vicktor Alexander

  He was sincerely hoping that their arrival and stay in Tfrance would help to strengthen and renew their passions. It wasn’t enough for him to just be married to Chester, he needed the young woman’s affection, his conversation, his smiles, and his gentle touch. The peace and sunshine that only Chester seemed able to bring to Orley’s battered and bruised soul.

  “Your Grace, are you quite certain that we can be here? Especially after the war?” Chester whispered to him as they walked up the dock toward an awaiting carriage with the ducal crest on it. Orley was glad he’d thought to send his carriages across the Channel ahead of them. He would hate to have to depend upon Tfrench transportation.

  Orley smiled at Chester and lifted his hand to place a kiss upon the young woman’s fingertips. “I am quite sure, my dear. Now that Nafoleon has been defeated and imprisoned at Anelba, Tfrance is once again a friendly place for the Anglish.”

  Chester didn’t look completely convinced. “Are you sure he is secure there and will not be able to escape?”

  Orley laughed. The brain of a woman was so utterly enchanting! They worried for naught. Orley patted the back of Chester’s hand. “Do not worry your head with matters such as those, my darling. Those are things for men to concern themselves with. And believe me, Nafoleon is quite secure in his prison. Now, shall we get settled in the carriage and be off to the inn? I would like to buy you a trousseau while we are in Tfrance.”

  Orley didn’t want to treat Chester like one of the simpering misses from the ballroom, but neither did he want the young woman thinking on things he had no need of. He was determined that they should enjoy themselves in Tfrance. He would find his way back to his duchess if he had to spend his entire fortune to do so.

  Chester wasn’t exactly sure how he felt standing in the middle of the modiste’s shoppe as the Tfrench woman muttered beneath her breath about his skin, his hair, and his body. She poked, prodded, shifted him this way and that and made notes on a piece of paper before giving directions to her assistant who would dash off and bring out either another roll of fabric or another gown that she would lay out for Orley’s perusal. Chester felt as if he were on display, and he hated every minute of it.

  He shifted his gaze toward Orley, who sat back in the settee looking over the same documents he’d been perusing in the carriage moments before, his brow furrowed, as he sipped from a glass of Madeira given to him by Mademoiselle Velsaii. Orley had been in constant communication with someone, sending letters back to Angland only to have another messenger arrive with more documents on the same day. Chester would rather find out what had his husband so enthralled than to once again be poked, prodded, and attired like a bottle-headed chit. Chester wanted to plead with the duke to allow them to leave. He had no need of such frippery, but really what did he know? He had been privy to the numerous gowns, riding habits, and jewels that Lady Lucien had donned just within a week in the country. How much more would Chester be expected to endure and wrap himself in as the Duchess of Whitcomb?

  He barely restrained the sigh of frustration that threatened when the modiste came toward him again, this time holding up a gown of lavender color with a gray petticoat beneath it. Chester’s eyes widened at the way the dress seemed to flow over Mademoiselle Velsaii’s arms as she got closer to him, and he shivered as he thought about the fabric touching his skin.

  “Come.” The woman’s tone was brusque, and Chester straightened immediately. Without looking back at Orley, he followed the modiste to a separate room where he allowed her and the other shopgirls to assist him into the gown. The corset they put on him in order to push his nonexistent breasts up had him grimacing and placing his hands against the wall as he fought against tears.

  “Beauty is pain, no?” Mademoiselle Velsaii said with a grin.

  Chester merely nodded in response, though he was beginning to doubt it was worth it. For the first time in his young life, he was beginning to wish he was more like the other women he knew. Those who were males but who tended to lean toward the more masculine clothing than the feminine. They were the ones who didn’t feel the need to wear cosmetics and jewelry. To do the more “female” things of their gender such as embroidery, flower arranging, and shopping. Chester was male, yes, but he was definitely more feminine. He liked wearing dresses, wearing cosmetics, having his hair done on those rare occasions when he and his sisters would play “aristocrats.” He was just completely ignorant of the lengths the ladies of the ton went to in order to achieve their beauty. Had he known, he would have resigned himself to his maid’s uniform and his black kohl as he’d been doing for years.

  Chester was pulled out of his inner turmoil when Mademoiselle Velsaii tsked at him and turned him toward the petticoat. Chester looked down at his chest and was amazed at the sight of a tiny cleavage. He raised a shocked gaze to the modiste who waved her hand at him.

  “You are not ze first woman who come in with ze small bosoms. They come in all sizes. Some male, some female. Ze Lord, he makes zem all, you see? Women in packages. I work with what I have. Now, dépêcher, s’il vous plait.”

  Chester swallowed the tears that were even closer to the surface, but now for a different reason, and nodded. He stepped into the petticoat and exhaled as much as the corset allowed him to, and focused on what Orley’s reaction would be when he saw him. He hoped it would be a positive one. Maybe if his new husband liked the gown, this would all be worth it.

  Orley rubbed his fingers over his eyes and glanced up from the sheaf of papers in his lap. He looked around the room and noticed Chester was gone. His heart pounded, and he rose quickly to his feet. Where the bloody hell was his husband? Not for the first time, he cursed Frederick, his man of business, or rather his former man of business, who had hopefully been arrested and tossed into prison by now. Orley had caught the man engaging in shady and reprehensible business and using Orley’s funds to do so. Orley was currently trying to dig his way out of the mess. Namely, the pirate ship used to transport illegal goods to Tindia and Tsouth Tamerica, and then there was the plantation the man had purchased in the Colonies. The slave plantation. Orley still shuddered when he thought of that. What confused him even more was the connection Frederick had to Madison Kipling. The two men were distant cousins. Madison Kipling, who had been a part of Orley’s kidnapping.

  He had been so wrapped up in the letter from his investigator, he hadn’t noticed Chester leaving. Orley’s right leg buckled beneath his weight, and he let out a grunt of pain. He looked around for his cane, finding the blasted item lying on the floor. Balancing on his left leg, Orley picked up the polished wood, cursing his need for it and the men who made it a necessity. His rage became a living beast inside him, crawling around, snarling and huffing, its saliva dripping acid of unforgiveness upon his soul, when he turned and gasped.

  In the blink of an eye, all the negativity, the darkness, and anger shrank in the face of the beauty who walked toward him—his angel. Chester.

  Orley felt a grin splitting his face as he walked toward his husband, ignoring the twinge of pain that shot its way through his body. He could give in to the agony later. Right now he had more important things to do. He had to bask in the glow that currently surrounded his duchess.

  The corseted lavender gown wrapped around Chester’s svelte form, making him appear waifish. Orley’s eyes fell to Chester’s chest and his eyes widened as he saw a cleavage where there hadn’t been one before. A light blush worked its way up beneath Chester’s light brown skin, and Orley grinned, finding Chester even more beautiful than ever before. The gray petticoat that peeked just beneath the edge of the dress enflamed Orley’s senses and caused his groin to tighten, and he was hard-pressed not to lay his husband out on the floor of the modiste shop and ravish him for all near and sundry to see.

  Chester’s hair had been piled high upon his head, tiny tendrils pulled down to caress his cheeks, and as Orley stared, he wanted to adorn Chester’s ears, neck, wrists, and fingers with jewelry.

  “You are
absolutely stunning,” he breathed.

  Chester curtsied perfectly, his head bowed and his eyes lowered. When he rose, his gaze slowly traveled up Orley’s body. Orley trembled, feeling the caress up his entire frame. Oh, they needed to depart immediately.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  Orley looked over at Mademoiselle Velsaii and bowed to her. “The duchess will wear this gown as we leave. Please have an entire trousseau created with the items we discussed and have them delivered to the address I gave you. We shall be staying there for a while. You may have it charged to the room, and I will have payment delivered when we receive the items. And you will be paid handsomely for this lovely concoction.”

  Mademoiselle Velsaii curtsied. “Oui, Your Grace.”

  Orley turned back to Chester and held out his elbow. “Come, my dear. I think it is time we returned to our rooms. Don’t you?”

  Chester blushed even more and merely nodded. Orley chuckled and led the way out.

  Later that evening, Chester sat before the vanity in the bedroom that had been deemed his and watched as Missy twisted his hair into an elegant hairstyle. His rear still ached deliciously from the thorough pounding it had received from Orley earlier, and Chester felt as if all was settled between them. Or was at least on its way.

  “You will love the theatre here in Tfrance, Yer Grace,” Missy said.

  Chester looked up and met Missy’s eyes in the mirror and smiled. “Do you think, Missy?”

  “Oh yes.” Missy nodded. “I have heard many fine ladies talk about the theatre and the sights to be seen here in Tfrance. They speak of it as if it were Heaven itself. I always dreamed of visitin’ it one day, but I didn’t think I would ever get the chance. What with me being a maid an’ all. But you gave me the opportunity. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for that.”

  Chester waved his hand. “Really it was His Grace’s idea, Missy; how many times do I have to tell you?” He chuckled. “I merely told him that I liked having you attend me. Which in and of itself is a new concept for me.” He shook his head. When Missy finished with his hair, Chester turned in his chair and looked up at the young woman. “Thank you for accepting the position. I think I am much more comfortable having someone who understands that I was once where they were, but doesn’t judge me for it.” He glanced down for a moment and tried to gather his thoughts. “Not everyone will think I am acceptable for His Grace.”

  Missy made an annoyed noise, and Chester looked up in surprise. “If you will forgive me for saying so, Yer Grace, but what rot is that? His Grace is always smiling in yer direction when you ain’t lookin’ at him. Iffen those old biddies in the drawing rooms can’t see that you make him happy, then they need to just keep their traps shut.”

  Chester snorted out a laugh and covered his mouth. Missy grinned widely before gesturing to the dark red dress that lay on the bed waiting for Chester. Chester rose and walked over to finish getting ready.

  His mind wandered as he pulled on the stockings, garters, and petticoats, and then held on to the bedpost as Missy tightened the corset around his waist and chest. When he was finished putting on everything, Chester finally allowed Missy to lead him to the full-length mirror. His face had been flawlessly covered in cosmetics, not overdone, of course, and Chester gasped as he saw the creature staring back at him.

  While growing up, his maldy and mother had heaped compliments and praises upon all of their children, telling them all that they were beautiful, smart, and could do anything they put their minds to, with certain limitations. Chester had known he would never rise above a certain station in his life. Until he’d met Orley, he’d never really cared to. Unlike other maids and footmen at Southerby Manor, those few not related to him, which weren’t many, he’d had no delusions of grandeur. No nefarious plans to trap a noble lord into marrying him or even to put him up in a cottage of his own to take care of their bastard child. Chester had wanted to get married one day to a man who would love him, and to have children, but that had been the sum total of his dreams.

  However, looking at himself in the mirror now, Chester realized the folly of dreaming so small. What was wrong with reaching for the stars? He had not gone looking for this life, and yet it had found him.

  The connecting door between his room and Orley’s opened, and Chester turned to greet his husband, then stood still and waited for the duke’s verdict. His breath caught in his chest as he took in the sight of Orley standing resplendent in a black suit with a snow-white buttondown shirt, his white cravat beautifully tied, and a white scarf thrown around his neck. Orley’s blond hair had been brushed and smoothed back into a queue at the base of his neck, and his face was freshly shaved. His blue eyes darkened as his gaze traveled up and down Chester’s body. Though Chester was sure Orley’s suit had been custom-made for his frame, it still looked as if it would burst at the seams, wrapped as it was around his muscled frame. Orley’s right hand gripped the handle of his cane, which was black tonight, to match his attire, but in his right hand were three boxes of various sizes.

  Chester quirked his eyebrow, but before he said a word, he curtsied low to the ground. “Your Grace.” He kept his focus on the floor and heard Orley’s quick intake of breath. “Do I meet with your approval?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” Orley growled low. “I dare say, Duchess, you shall be the focus of every eye tonight. Every man in the theatre shall be envious that you will be on my arm, and every woman shall wish they could be you.”

  Chester blushed furiously as he rose. He watched as Orley made his way to him. Orley handed the boxes to Missy, who grinned broadly at Orley and turned to wink at Chester.

  “As we spent the day at the modiste’s shoppe today, I realized that you were missing some crucial items. Things that you, as my duchess, should never be without. Allow me the opportunity to rectify that immediately.”

  Chester tilted his head, confusion filling him. “Whatever do you mean? What sorts of things?”

  Orley held up a hand and lifted up the smallest box. Opening it, Chester gasped as he saw the two rings within. One was a white gold wedding band, the other was a ruby surrounded by diamonds on a white gold band. Chester’s hand shook as he reached out to touch the ring. His eyes filled with tears. He shook his head as he glanced up at Orley.

  “I-I can’t accept this, Orley. I-It’s too much,” he stammered.

  Orley reached out to caress Chester’s cheek. “It’s really not, my love. One you need as my wife, as is customary. The other you need as my angel, to know how precious you are to me.”

  Chester’s heart leaped at Orley’s words, and he wished the man really meant the sentiment, but while he knew Orley cared for him, perhaps more than he once did, it was not love. It was more than passion, more than friendship, and mayhap had grown beyond fond affection. But how Chester wished Orley really meant to call him his love.

  “I want you to have them. Allow me to do this for you. It is as much for me as for you.”

  Chester nodded. He would do anything for Orley, and perhaps the man knew that. Chester shivered as he felt one ring slide over the skin of the third finger on his left hand, the other placed on his right. Orley turned back to Missy and opened the next box. He pulled out a ruby bracelet that he wrapped around Chester’s right wrist. The last and biggest box held a stunningly beautiful diamond necklace, which dipped right into the very small cleavage created by the too-tight corset. When it was affixed around his neck, Chester reached up and touched it gently, his fingers trembling slightly. He didn’t quite feel like himself, and when he turned back to face the mirror, he didn’t look like himself either. Where moments before that notion had brought him happiness, now it just made him inexplicably… sad.

  “Well, my duchess, shall we be off to the theatre?” Orley asked.

  Chester nodded, then replied softly, “Yes, Your Grace.” He accepted the black beaded shawl that Missy wrapped around his shoulders and placed his hand on the inside of Orley’s elbow. He c
ouldn’t understand why his emotions seemed to be all over the place. Was it the perils of married life? Was it being in Tfrance? Or could it be that his mother was right and he’d made a horrible mistake in marrying His Grace?

  Orley looked over at Chester once again and marveled at the gorgeous woman who sat beside him in the carriage. His heart had stopped when he’d stepped into Chester’s room and taken in the sight of Chester standing there looking lovelier than any other lady of the ton. It had only been the poke of the boxes in his hand against his side that had reminded him that they had a previous obligation. Otherwise he would have sent Missy out of the room and tossed Chester upon the bed, removed each article of clothing from Chester’s body, and taken him hard and fast upon the coverlet.

  Though perhaps he would have left the dress on.

  Yet, once again, Chester seemed to have retreated within himself. Orley sighed internally. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He would have to post a letter to Pompinshire to see if perhaps Lady Lucien had behaved similarly. Though their start had been quite different than that of Chester and Orley, they were married as well. Perhaps Pompinshire could shine some light on the inner working of a woman’s mind. Orley was completely flabbergasted by Chester seeming so… emotional all the bloody time. Orley had made love to him, bought him a new wardrobe, jewelry, and made love to him again… quite enthusiastically if he did say so himself. What more could the young woman want from him?

  They pulled up in front of the theatre, and Orley smiled reassuringly at Chester as the door was opened by a footman. Chester was assisted out, and Orley grabbed his cane and followed. He offered his elbow and led Chester up the stairs of the Comédie-Française, realizing they were the center of much attention. He discreetly looked around and smirked. Okay, they weren’t the center of attention—Chester was the focus of everyone’s speculation and focus—just as Orley had known he would be. Orley felt immense pride sweep through him. He had known Chester was gorgeous, but it wasn’t just his physical beauty, it was an inner beauty that radiated out as well. Orley was proud to have the young woman on his arm.