The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

by Vicktor Alexander

  Orley was uncertain of how to respond to Chester’s query, and he returned his stare to the doctor, who was shaking his head and looking at Chester. Orley had no idea what that meant. Did that mean that he shouldn’t answer?

  Orley cleared his throat again and licked his lips. “I think four is a nice number, my dear.”

  The doctor groaned and had a coughing fit, which alerted Orley to the fact that he had in fact said the wrong thing.

  “Four? You think four is a nice number?” Chester stated in a tight voice. “And are you in fact going to be carrying these other three babes?”

  “Well—no—but—I—uh—I—” Orley looked around the room, seeking salvation from somewhere but could not find it.

  Chester pushed himself up into a seated position and glared at Orley. He folded his hands in his lap. “You seem to have no problems making demands upon my person, Your Grace. You once told me that I had every right to tell you no, and yet you tell me now that you would like me to give you four children. That is more than the heir and spare I hear you nobles are so wont to expect of your spouses, is it not?”

  “Well, yes, but I thought that with your family…,” Orley hedged.

  Chester shook his head and sighed. “You thought incorrectly, Your Grace.” He closed his eyes. “I find that I have grown tired of this conversation. Perhaps it would be best if you left my presence. You should seek someone else to give you the other two babes that I will not be providing you.”

  Orley dropped his mouth open in shock, and he stared at the doctor, who shook his head and gestured for him to follow him from the room. “Very well, my dear. I shall return later to check on you?” “If you must.” Chester shrugged.

  Orley left and stood in the hall with the doctor, leaning against the wall, his mind in a daze. What in heaven’s name had just occurred?

  The doctor chuckled and patted his shoulder. Orley opened his eyes and looked down at the man who stared up at him sympathetically.

  “Her Grace did not mean it,” the doctor told him.

  “How do you know?” Orley asked.

  The doctor nodded like a wizened old prophet. “Si, Your Grace. Mi moglie, Carlita, we have this same conversation after the birth of our third daughter. I tell her I want to keep going until we have two sons. So that my family name, Gallo, can continue.” The doctor laughed and shook his head. “She threw many things at me that day. I learned after speaking to other men of the village that the correct way to respond to the question when your wife asks you how many children you would like is, ‘however many you would like to bless me with.’”

  Orley’s mouth fell open at the doctor’s words, and he looked back at the room he had just left before returning his gaze to the doctor, who cackled.

  “Your Grace will have to make many amends to Her Grace.” “How will I do such a thing?” Orley asked.

  The doctor led him down the hallway. “Does Her Grace like roses and jewelry?”

  Chester was ashamed for his treatment of Orley minutes after he’d sent the man out of the room. He heard his husband speaking to the doctor and felt he should call Orley back, but the words caught in his throat. He was unsure why exactly. His emotions were all over the place, which only served to make him angrier. Lady Lucien had not suffered in such a manner, so then why did he?

  Sitting back with a huff, Chester crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, cursing under his breath.

  “That is certainly not the language befitting a duchess,” Ben said from the doorway that separated the room Chester was currently in and his bedroom.

  Chester rolled his eyes. “I am sure I don’t give one whit.”

  Ben chuckled and walked in to sit on the edge of the bed. He tugged on the end of Chester’s hair. Chester swatted at Ben’s hand, growling. Ben merely grinned and leaned back on his hands, crossing his feet at the ankles. He looked around the room.

  “So, how goes the life of a duchess?” Ben asked nonchalantly.

  Chester shrugged. “It has thus far been nothing but shopping and traveling,” he said with a sigh.

  Ben snorted. “Did you expect anything more?”

  Chester looked at Ben with annoyance. “I do not know what I expected, to be sure, Benjamin. I just know that I did not expect… this.” He waved his hand around the room and placed his hand on his stomach. Ben raised his eyebrows. “The babe?”

  Chester shook his head. “Not quite so soon. Not with Mother still at odds with Whitcomb and myself.”

  Ben sighed. “Mother worries for you… all of us.” He rubbed his forehead.

  Chester tilted his head to the side. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “There has been… talk in Tlondon, now that word has gotten out about your marriage to the duke.”

  Chester sat up fully. “What sort of talk?”

  “Of Mother’s heritage, her origins. Maldy is afraid to allow her or any of our siblings to leave the manor without protection.”

  “Why?”

  Ben sighed. “There are those who feel as though you bewitched the duke in order to get him to marry you.”

  Chester gasped. “Bewitched? What? How?”

  Ben laughed. “With witchcraft, you daft twit.” He shook his head. “It’s stupid, really. Don’t worry your pretty head over it. We know that you did not. His Grace knows it. This is merely the gossip of jilted and slighted debutantes and ladies. Once we return to Angland and they see how madly in love you two are, they will cease their wagging tongues and feel shame.”

  Chester’s heart seized in his chest. “We are not in love, Ben.”

  Ben stared at Chester intently, looking more serious than Chester had ever seen him before. “Aren’t you?”

  Orley opened the door to his bedroom, his arms laden down with packages, and found the room dimly lit with a slowly dying fire. Chester lay sleeping in bed, and Orley cursed the errand that had taken him so long to complete. He pushed the door closed with his cane, walked quietly toward the bed, and placed the packages on the trunk that sat at the end of it. Then he sat on the edge, gazing down at Chester’s gorgeous face in repose.

  He sighed, the tight knot in his chest easing as he looked down into the beautiful light brown visage of the angel he’d been blessed to marry. Leaning down, Orley pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Chester’s lips, intending to stand and make his way to the dressing room and have Ben help him undress.

  “O-Orley?” Chester blinked his eyes open sleepily.

  “Yes. Go back to sleep, love,” Orley commanded softly. “I had not intended to awaken you. You were just so gorgeous in slumber, I was overwhelmed with the need to kiss you.”

  Chester smiled. “You flatter me, Your Grace.” He frowned. “I missed you. I had to take luncheon alone.”

  Orley nodded. “I apologize for that, my dear. I went to buy you some things to make up for my thoughtless statement earlier.”

  Chester shook his head and lifted his hand to touch Orley’s chest. “Orley, have you not come to the understanding that I am not like the other ladies of your acquaintance? I have no need for fripperies, gowns, jewelry, and the like. I have never had them before and would not know what to do with them now.” He shrugged.

  Orley frowned. “So if I make an error, how am I to make amends?” Chester chuckled. “By saying that you are sorry.”

  Orley lowered his eyebrows in confusion as his mind whirled, turning the simple statement over in his brain, looking for the other possible meanings behind Chester’s words. Unable to detect any subterfuge, Orley sighed.

  “It seems quite easy.”

  Chester laughed softly. “That’s because it is.”

  Orley kissed Chester. “Forgive me?”

  “There is naught to forgive, my Duke. I knew this almost as soon as you left my presence.”

  Orley gasped. “Why did you not ask for me to return to you?” Chester shrugged and fiddled with the end of Orley’s cravat. “Because I did not wish it.”

  “Because you did not
wish it.” He nodded. “I see.” He pounced on Chester, grinning when the young woman let out a squeal of laughter. “I shall have to teach you the error of your ways.”

  “And what shall you do to me, blackguard? Will you tie me to the bedposts and have your wicked way with me?” Chester’s eyes twinkled with mirth.

  Orley stilled atop Chester even as his erection shrank within his trousers. “Where did you hear of such a thing?”

  Chester shrugged. “Some of the maids at the manor were whispering about such things taking place at one of the brothels. Is it horribly naughty?”

  Orley swallowed and shook his head. “N-no.” He trembled as he remembered being bound at the hands of his captors, their taunting and stench filling his nostrils. Rising from his position, he sat back and covered his face, exhaling.

  “Orley?” Chester’s voice sounded small and scared, making Orley feel like a cad. Orley wanted to reassure his husband. But as Chester’s trembling hand touched his shoulder, Orley jerked away.

  “D-don’t,” Orley said, holding up a hand. “Please.” He looked over at Chester, his heart breaking as he watched tears fill Chester’s hazel eyes. “Oh, Angel, don’t cry for me.”

  “How might you suggest I do that, Your Grace?” Chester asked, shaking his head. “For I am not a man, able to live my life without emotions and feelings. I cry because you do not.”

  Wipe your face, you sniveling brat. Men do not cry!

  His father’s voice was as nails hammering into his skull, and Orley longed to tell Chester that he could feel, that he too had emotions, but he had spent decades, aye, an entire lifetime, having them beaten out of him by his father, and he was not sure he would know how to express them. Instead, Orley held out his arms and gathered his duchess close.

  He let Chester cry against his chest until the tears ceased and Chester was once again asleep.

  He let Chester sob for him because he had long ago forgotten what it meant to do it for himself.

  Pulling up to the home of the Conte and Contessa Woodhead was an experience in and of itself, the likes of which Chester was sure he would never forget as long as he lived. Their carriage turned into the drive and was met by not one, not two, but three goats, who proceeded to stop right in front of them. Though Orley grew annoyed, and he and Ben tried to remove the animals, Chester thought they were adorable.

  He also thought the vineyards that surrounded them were absolutely the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his entire life.

  He never wanted to leave Titaly.

  Ever.

  When Orley finally climbed back into the carriage, muttering beneath his breath about “bloody, blithering goats,” Chester had made up his mind to ask Orley to relocate to the area.

  Two minutes later, when the duke was still grumbling about the beasts, Chester had completely changed his mind. There were more goats in the area, and Orley was stunned as he watched them, telling Chester the vermin surrounded them like they were Nafoleon’s spies. Chester wanted to do nothing more than to leave the area, leave the region, really, leave the country, and return to Angland where it was safe.

  Even enduring the snubs and the whispers of the ladies of the ton would be a boon after listening to Orley’s ranting.

  The carriage finally came to a stop in front of the home of Villa Piedmont, and the door opened. Standing in the doorway were two very tall, very broad-shouldered males, one slightly more slender than the other. They had their arms wrapped around each other, and one had very long, brown hair, which fell to below his shoulders, a very soft, round face, and as Chester’s eyes traveled over his frame… he was pregnant!

  “You did not tell me that the contessa was expecting!” he hissed at Orley.

  “I was ignorant of such news myself, my dear. However, it is not so hard to countenance. He is much younger than his husband and not much older than I.”

  Chester nodded, remembering Orley’s brief rundown on his friend’s family and how the first contessa, then only a countess, as they lived in Angland at the time, had passed away after giving birth to the heir. The newest contessa was married much later, and many had remarked that the earl had seemed much happier. Chester returned his attention to the couple, who were making their way down the stairs, and focused on the Conte of Piedmont. Slightly taller than his husband, his hair was starting to recede, but it was still a nice, dark black, though it was gray at the temples as well. He had a friendly smile on his face, though his dark eyebrows were pulled low in a curious expression.

  “I think perhaps we should step out and present ourselves. We seem circumspect,” Orley chuckled.

  Chester gasped as he realized the carriage door stood open and Ben was waiting to help him out. Turning, he stepped from within the vehicle, a smile pasted on his lips, his trembling hand in his brother’s much larger one. He waited for Orley to disembark and took Orley’s left elbow and allowed his husband to lead him forward.

  “Benvenuto, Duca y Duchessa di Whitcomb!” the Conte of Piedmont said boisterously, grabbing Orley and kissing his cheek.

  Orley blushed and chuckled. “Grazie, Conte di Piedmont. Posso introdurre mi marito, Chester Garrick, Duchessa di Whitcomb?” Orley swept a hand out in front of Chester.

  Chester looked from Orley to the conte in confusion. He had absolutely no idea what had been said, but he curtsied all the same. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Conte Piedmont,” he said demurely, his eyes lowered to the ground.

  He heard a tsking noise and looked up. “No, no, no, my dear.”

  The contessa walked toward him, his hand on his belly, a smile on his lips. He took Chester’s hand. “You are quite new to these things, are you not?”

  Chester swallowed and nodded. “But not Tamerican or a former slave?” Chester shook his head.

  “I did not think so. I can hear the Anglish accent. It is authentic.

  Where were you born, darling?”

  “S-Southerby, Contessa.”

  The contessa chuckled. “You must call me Peter. We are going to be great friends, you and I.” He patted the back of Chester’s hand. He interlocked their arms and led Chester away from Orley and the conte. “Now. Though you want to show respect to my husband and I when you first greet us, you must always remember that you and your husband have a higher position than we do. Even in another country. You are, after all, a duchess, or a duchessa. So, you may curtsy, but never too low, as you just did. But most ladies or duchesses of your acquaintance will merely nod.”

  Chester gasped. “Truly?”

  Peter nodded. “Yes.”

  “But that is beyond rude.”

  Peter shrugged. “That is the way things are done.” Peter stopped in front of the doors to their home and looked at Chester. “What was your life before you married the duke?”

  Chester lowered his gaze. “I was a maid, Contessa.”

  “Peter.”

  “Peter.”

  “Ah. I see.” Peter hummed. “We have much to do, I see.”

  Chester glanced up. “We do?”

  Peter nodded. “Oh yes.” He took Chester’s arm again and led him inside. “You see, while I am positive you were privy to many of the scandalous and sordid activities that members of the gentry are wont to get involved in, you were not able to see how they interacted with each

  other when they behaved. It is up to us to fill in the gaps.”

  He clapped his hands, and as if he were summoning an army or even a staff of servants, five young girls appeared, all attired in muslin gowns similar to the one the contessa wore. They lined the hall and stared at Chester as if they found him utterly fascinating.

  “Lady Chester, these are my daughters, the ladies Woodhead. Ladies, the Duchess of Whitcomb. We are going to teach her all she is to know about being a diamond of the first water in Tlondon. Everything about running a household in Angland. And everything about attending a ball and how to handle the wolves and foxes that lurk about Almack’s.”

  Chester looked on in amazem
ent when the contessa’s daughters began to giggle and chatter among themselves, even down to the youngest one. He wanted to tell Peter that he wasn’t sure he would need all of those lessons, but Peter pinned him in place with a look.

  “Now, first things first. Can someone tell me what the duchess is doing wrong right now?” Peter asked.

  Chester looked around and gazed down at himself. He didn’t think he was doing anything wrong. He was merely standing in the middle of the room, watching them, wondering what the bloody hell was going on, wondering where Orley was and why he had left him to the mercy of these women.

  One of Peter’s daughters raised her hands, and Peter nodded at her. “Juliet?”

  “The duchess is standing with his arms crossed over his chest. A lady never stands with her arms folded across her chest in polite company. It makes her appear like a simpleton, as if her present company bores her. She should always appear engaged in the conversation, even if she is not,” Juliet stated, as if she were reciting a book.

  Chester blinked and looked down at his arms. He had indeed folded his arms across his chest. He lowered his arms and dropped them down to his side. He smiled sheepishly.

  “Forgive me, Lady Juliet,” he said.

  “It’s alright, Your Grace. I still do it sometimes too.”

  “Can anyone tell me what the duchess just did wrong?” Peter asked. He inclined his head at the tallest young lady, who barely glanced in Chester’s direction. “Permelia?”

  “A duchess never apologizes. Ever.”

  Chester scoffed. “Well that’s ridiculous and complete rot. I don’t care what book you all got these rules from, but my mother and my maldy taught me that if you make a mistake you apologize, and I don’t care if I’m a duchess or the bloody Queen of Angland, I’m going to apologize.” Chester folded his arms, then unfolded them and put his hands on his hips, then dropped them. He stomped his foot in frustration.

  “Well said, Your Grace,” an unknown voice said from behind him, causing him to gasp.

  Chester spun and almost fell on his arse at the sight of the gorgeous man standing in the doorway to his left. He stood next to Orley, the two men grinning at him. Though the stranger’s beauty paled in comparison to the sunshine that was Orley, Chester could appreciate the man’s handsomeness. He had the conte’s black hair but the contessa’s pleasant rounded face. His shoulders were big and broad, and though he leaned against the doorway with an almost nonchalant pose, Chester could tell that the man was dangerous. It was in the way his eyes took in every movement and every space. He was menacing and formidable.