The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

by Vicktor Alexander

  Taking in a shuddering breath, Chester set aside his teacup and saucer and smoothed down the skirt of his pink muslin gown.

  “Missy?” he called out.

  “Yes, Yer Grace?” the maid responded as she stepped into the sitting room.

  “Do you know where His Grace is?” Chester asked.

  Missy frowned as she tapped her chin. Her expression cleared after a moment. “Why, yes, Yer Grace. I believe he’s out at the stables with the horses.”

  Ice flooded through Chester’s veins. “H-horses? W-why is he o-out with t-the h-horses?” Chester stammered.

  “Yer Grace, are you feelin’ ill again? Do you need me to get you the washbasin again?” Missy asked.

  Chester pressed a hand to his stomach, shaking his head though the corset was starting to feel slightly constricting. “N-no, Missy. I-I um….” He cleared his throat. “Will you—do you know—is he riding a horse?” Chester asked.

  Missy shook her head. “Oh no. I don’t think so, Yer Grace. I think he said he was just checkin’ on the shoe, and then he was gonna be takin’ a walk.”

  Chester exhaled and nodded. “Well, that’s all right, then. Missy, will you come with me down to the stables? I think I would like to walk with His Grace.”

  Missy smiled at Chester, but he could see the speculation in her gaze. He would not explain the trepidation and the absolute terror he had when it came to horses to her. It was already bad enough that he had it without having to share it.

  “Of course, Yer Grace.”

  They headed toward the stables, and Chester heard Orley’s voice long before he saw the man. It filled him with pleasure unlike anything ever had before. Their conversation from the night before wafted through his mind before floating away. Orley had assured him, sworn on their child’s life, that he had not married Chester just to spite his dead father. Chester believed him. Besides, he knew Orley. The man had more honor than to lie about something as important as that. Chester was just being overly emotional when he had taken offense; it was all a part of the pregnancy. The doctor had warned him about that. Although what that little Tfrenchman thought she knew was a wonder. What the hell was a miasma anyway? And cleaning Chester’s stomach like that was supposed to stop something? Orley had been beyond offended, and Chester hadn’t blamed him. They had both been only too happy to put Tfrance behind them. The Tfrench were strange.

  Orley turned and saw Chester standing at the opening of the stables and grinned broadly.

  “Ahh! There is my duchess now! Excuse me, gentlemen, but when an angel walks into one’s presence, it is a requirement that one must immediately prostrate themselves and worship at the altar.”

  Missy tittered behind Chester, and he chuckled and teased Orley as Orley drew near. “Why, Your Grace, I do believe you fancy yourself a poet. Or perhaps you have decided to repent of your rakehell ways and become an upstanding member of polite society?”

  Orley bowed low. “Only for you, my dearest.” He kissed the back of Chester’s hand, then drew Chester’s hand in to lay on the inside of his elbow. “Now, to what do I owe the joy of this blessed visit?”

  Chester smiled. “My maid told me you were to set off on a walk, and as I am feeling much better this morn’, I thought perhaps I might join you to partake of the wonder of the fresh air around us?”

  Orley lifted Chester’s hand and placed a lingering kiss on his inner wrist beneath his glove. Chester shivered and glanced up at his husband. He saw the darkening of Orley’s blue eyes and knew the action had turned the duke on as much as it had him.

  “Nothing would give me more pleasure, Your Grace,” Orley said huskily.

  “Would you like me to saddle a second horse,” one of the stablehands asked.

  Orley shook his head. “No. The one horse will be fine, Jesse. Her Grace will ride with me.”

  It took a while for the words to sink in to Chester’s brain, but once they did, he began to shiver. He gasped and widened his eyes. “You are going for a walk on a horse? Not merely on your own?”

  Orley frowned and glanced around when the stablehands all shuffled their feet and began to look uncomfortable. Orley stepped close to Chester and hissed beneath his breath. “And how long exactly do you expect me to be able to walk, my dear? Five minutes? Ten? I am afraid that in my current

  state, I will not be able to walk with you long, such as I am.”

  Chester frowned. “Why not?”

  Orley gasped. “You dare to ask me that? Are you seriously so daft that you could have forgotten that I am lame?”

  Chester’s eyes moved over Orley’s body and came to rest on his leg and cane. He blinked and shook his head. He blinked again and looked up at Orley in surprise. He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Though I am sure you will not believe me, but I no longer see your cane, nor your injury. To me, you are a man as any other. Just as healthy. Just as strong. Yes, there are times when you must sit and rest. Moments when you are in pain and I must rub your leg, but you are not lame to me.” Chester shrugged as he sighed. “Apologies if this upsets you. I mean no offense.”

  Orley said nothing, and Chester was afraid he had insulted his husband so completely the man couldn’t speak. But then Orley pulled Chester close and lowered his head and kissed him thoroughly. Chester moaned deeply into Orley’s mouth, pressing himself closer to his husband’s body, feeling Orley’s erection against his stomach, and he lifted his arms up around Orley’s neck. After a moment, Orley removed Chester’s hands and smiled down at him. Chester blinked dazedly at the duke, looking around the stable, realizing that the stablehands and even Missy were conspicuously absent. He smirked. He could remember many times at Southerby Manor when he too would have to “disappear” while still being available when the duke and duchess or other members of the nobility were engaged in activities that were better left unseen or unremarked upon by staff.

  “You are truly a diamond of the first water, Angel,” Orley said in a rough voice. He shook his head, as if he had a hard time processing his thoughts. “This is why I wanted to marry you. And why I am so blessed to have found you.”

  Chester blushed, and he touched his fingers to Orley’s lips.

  “Now, take a walk with me upon the horse they have saddled for me.” Orley gestured behind him.

  Chester shuddered and clutched Orley’s shirtfront, fear surging through him once more. Orley patted his hands. “Truly, there is naught to be afraid of, my dear. I shan’t let you fall.”

  Chester bit his lower lip and looked over at the massive stallion and inclined his head. He had to start overcoming his fears if he were going to become a fotmy. It would not do for him to tell his children they could be anything and accomplish untold wonders if he would not even sit upon a horse.

  “Only for you, Your Grace.”

  “Splendid!” Orley grinned. “Jesse!”

  The stablehand appeared instantly and led the horse out of the stable into the yard. Chester held on to Orley’s elbow as they followed the young man. Chester inhaled and exhaled deeply trying to calm himself.

  He could do this. He would do this.

  “Here you go, Yer Grace.”

  “Grazie, Guiseppe. Vi sono grato.”

  Jesse grinned broadly and bowed before rushing away.

  Chester watched the young man run and turned back to his husband with a surprised expression. “What did you say to young Jesse? And why did you call him Guiseppe?”

  Orley laughed. “I heard the innkeeper, his uncle or zio, call him by that name, and when I questioned him, he told me that was his Titalian name, but the Anglish were usually uncomfortable with calling him such a name or could not say it correctly. So they gave him an Anglish name.”

  Chester shook his head. “So you can speak Titalian?”

  Orley blushed and glanced away, rubbing his hand along the horse’s neck. He shrugged. “I can actually speak Titalian, Tgerman, Tfrench, Tswahili, and whatever those Tamericans speak. They think they are s
peaking Anglish, but it really is not.” He shook his head and grimaced. “Bloody colonists.”

  Chester could tell his husband was about to work himself up into a dither over the war in the Colonies, so he decided to distract him. Gesturing to the horse, which he took a huge step away from, he smiled shakily.

  “So, shall I… um… board the horse first or will you?” he asked.

  Orley blinked and let out a loud laugh. His shoulders shook from the force of his guffaws. When he looked up, his blue eyes were filled with tears, amusement shining in their depths. He lifted a hand and caressed Chester’s cheek. “I find you so unbelievably enchanting, Angel.” He exhaled. “No. One does not board a horse. One mounts it.”

  Chester watched as Orley talked gently to the horse, his hand on the animal’s body before standing on the left. Then he placed his foot in a U-shaped foothold and swung his right leg gracefully over, and settled into the saddle. Chester’s heart caught, and he realized his hands were clutched in front of his chest. When he looked up, Orley was smiling down at him rakishly.

  “Hand me my cane, love?”

  Chester nodded absently and crouched to pick up the cane that rested against the tree stump, then handed it up to Orley, who placed it into one of the saddlebags.

  “And now you.” Orley held out one of his hands, the other loosely holding on to the reins.

  Chester’s heart froze in his chest. He backed up as he looked between Orley and the large beast he sat upon. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t do this! When Orley had done it, it was a beautiful symphony. Poetry in motion. A concerto being portrayed in front of Chester’s eyes, something of which he’d only heard about from the halls of Southerby Manor but never been given the opportunity to actually see. But to really be a part of it? No. That he could never do.

  “Trust me, Angel. I have you,” Orley said, his voice washing over Chester’s body, steeling his spine, halting his steps. Chester glanced up at his duke and back at the horse, which stared at him as if it were an innocent, docile creature, incapable of malice and ill intent.

  Chester wiped his sweaty palms down the front of his gown and stepped toward Orley, who slid up in the saddle to give Chester room in the back. Chester exhaled and reached up to take Orley’s hand, then felt himself lifted into the air. His bottom landed on the edge of the saddle but only for a moment. Chester let out a scream in surprise as he found himself sliding off the back of the horse and connecting with the hard ground.

  All of the air rushed from his lungs, and Chester’s eyes filled with tears. He heard Orley yelling his name, but he could not respond. He pressed his hand to his stomach, wanting to curl into a ball. He could hear shouts coming from all around him but was unable to offer any consolation. When he focused his gaze, he saw the horse’s front hooves rearing up, and fearing that the horse was about to sit on him, he began to scramble away from the angry animal. He could hear Orley talking to the chestnut-colored beast, but in that moment, Chester’s focus was on the babe within him.

  “Yer Grace! Oh, milady! Are you okay?” Missy’s voice penetrated the fear that wrapped around Chester, and he realized he was currently pressed against the side of the stables, trembling. He stared up at his maid. His hair, filled with brambles and twigs from his fall and mad scramble backward, had fallen loose of its chignon and was currently around his shoulders.

  Chester nodded and pointed at the horse, which was being soothed by the stablehands and Orley, who was now resting on the ground, his cane clutched firmly in his hand.

  “Were you on the horse, Yer Grace?” Missy asked.

  Chester bobbed his head, his teeth chattering as shock rolled through him. He heard Orley’s voice, looked up, and saw his husband rushing toward him.

  “Oh love,” Orley breathed. He handed his cane to Missy and bent low to lift Chester into his arms.

  Chester cuddled close to Orley’s chest, a sob bursting forth. “I am so sorry,” Orley whispered. “Are you hurt?” “I know not,” Chester said.

  Orley growled. “I shall have a doctor sent for.”

  “I will tell the innkeeper, Yer Grace,” Missy’s voice sounded breathless.

  “Thank you, Missy.” Orley’s chest rumbled beneath Chester’s head, and he felt them begin to move slowly. Step—thunk—slide—step— thunk—slide—step—thunk—slide. Chester realized after a moment that his husband was attempting to carry him back to the inn without the use of his cane, and he gasped.

  Lifting his head, he stared at Orley, who was gritting his teeth.

  “Whitcomb! I must insist that you put me down. I am in full possession of my ability to walk, I assure you,” he huffed.

  Orley glared at him. “Was it not you, my dear, who said that he did not see my cane, nor my lameness?”

  “Well, yes, it was.”

  Orley nodded. “Then allow me the opportunity to carry my injured and shaken duchess back to the inn after his harrowing experience with a horse.”

  Chester smiled and lifted a hand to Orley’s cheek. When Orley stopped to look down at him, Chester pulled his lips down for a kiss. “You have naught to prove to me, Your Grace. I have full confidence in your strength and know that should I need you to hie me away from danger, you would do so, but it is not needed at this time. And indeed, it would do nothing more than to make you less able to be a gallant knight in full armor and possession of his strength, able to ride in on his steed when the situation arises.”

  Orley chuckled and lowered Chester to his feet. “You speak pretty words, my duchess, that are complete and utter rot, but I know you do so for my benefit, so I will allow you to walk.”

  Chester giggled. He turned to look for Missy but found Ben hovering nearby instead. Smiling at his brother, he nodded at him and accepted the cane he held out discreetly. He offered it to Orley, who rolled his eyes and grunted.

  “Thank you, Ben,” he said without turning around.

  “Quite right, Your Grace,” Ben said with a bow before returning to the inn.

  Chester snickered, cutting off the sound when Orley glared at him. “Your brother is just as insufferable as you are,” he said.

  Chester tilted his head up with a sniff. “And yet you love us both.”

  Chester froze at his words, looking at Orley who had also grown still. Chester opened his mouth to apologize for his words, or to stop whatever it was that Orley was about to say, when Missy rushed up to them.

  “Yer Grace, the doctor is here. He was seeing to the wife of the stablemaster and can see Her Grace now.”

  And yet you love us both.

  Those words were hanging heavy over the pair of them like an ominous cloud as the doctor examined Chester to be sure the babe was okay. Orley kept looking at his husband, but Chester kept his gaze studiously turned away. It was driving Orley mad. He had done nothing wrong. What exactly was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to say that he did love Chester? That he loved Ben? That he loved them both? How in the bloody hell was he supposed to know how he felt? Granted, he was sure he felt affection for Ben. Much as he did Pompinshire, Galeon, Yarborough, and even his old friend, Savoy. But love? And what about Chester? What he felt for the young woman was something infinitely more intimate. Deeper. It was caring, to be sure. But Orley could not remember hearing the word love applied to him or even saying it to anyone else.

  Love was as foreign to him as… well… Tindia.

  “Va tutto bene, Your Grace. Il bambino sta bene,” the doctor told him.

  Orley nodded. “Grazie.” He watched as the man walked over to wash his hands at the washbasin and turned to Chester.

  “What did he say?” Chester asked.

  Orley glanced down at Chester and smiled. He took Chester’s hand and placed a kiss on the back of his fingers. “He said that the baby is fine and that all is well.”

  Chester sighed. “Well, thank God for that. Heavens above, we have had quite an eventful bridal tour, do you not think, Your Grace?”

  “Indeed we have, Your Gr
ace.” Orley chuckled. “And we have yet to make it to the home of Conte and Contessa of Piedmont, Charles and Peter Woodhead, and my old Eton chum, Stephen, Visconte of Savoy, and all six of their daughters.”

  Chester squeaked, “Six?”

  Orley laughed. “Oh yes. Six. If you think Lady Lucien’s maldy and mother are amazing, they have nothing on the conte and contessa. Though they gave birth to Stephen before their long line of daughters. Stephen was the only boy, the only heir; there was no spare. Though they never ceased trying. Their youngest is four.”

  Chester shook his head. “How sad for them.”

  Orley chuckled. “You will never hear them say they are sad about it. They are over the moon about the number of children they have. They are merely attempting to get Stephen to marry now. Preferably a nice young woman who is extremely fertile and will give him lots of healthy sons.”

  Chester blushed. “So what are the names of their daughters?”

  Orley sat on the side of the bed. “Let’s see if I can remember them all; it has been quite an age since I have last spoken to Stephen of his darling sisters, as he calls them.” Orley tapped his chin. “There is Permelia, Juliet, Beatrice, Willa, Annabelle, and little Norah.”

  Chester stared at Orley intently. “And how many children will you be expecting of me, Your Grace?”

  Orley looked over at the doctor when he made a noise like a choked laugh. Returning his gaze back to Chester, Orley felt a bit as if he were walking into a trap. Placing two fingers inside of his collar, he swallowed and shrugged before lowering his hand back to his lap.

  “Well, my dear, that is really not a question I have given much thought to, as I had never thought much about the prospect of having children before,” he hedged.

  He glanced over at the doctor and noticed the man nodding at him, and exhaled. Whew. He’d answered correctly, then.

  “But now that we are, you can think about it,” Chester stated. “So how many would you say?”