The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

by Vicktor Alexander

  “Chester?” he asked softly, tears filling his eyes.

  Quincy shook his head and smiled, patting Orley’s knee. “Her Grace is quite well, though he is extremely worried about you.” Quincy gestured, and Orley turned his head as Chester ran toward him, kicking up dirt along the cobblestone in his haste.

  “Oh my darling! Are you all right? I’ll kill the bloody bastard who shot you,” Chester said angrily.

  Orley chuckled. There it was. The fierceness that only came out when Chester felt as if someone he loved was in danger or a part of him was being threatened. Orley reached up with his uninjured arm and caressed the side of Chester’s face.

  “I know you would, love,” he said.

  “Come, let us move His Grace into the church,” the archbishop said. “The doctor can treat him in the bishop’s quarters.”

  Orley gritted his teeth as he was lifted by Stephen, Quincy, Pompinshire, and Yarborough, and the four men bore him inside. He could hear Chester speaking rapidly to Ben and Missy before he heard the heels of his husband’s shoes as Chester followed them up the aisle to the back of the sanctuary. As Orley was placed upon the settee, he glanced up, and his eyes were ensnared by the dark, worried, and caring gaze of his duchess, who held Samson in his arms.

  Orley frowned. “Why did you not send Samson back to the estate?”

  Chester shook his head. “I refuse to take any chances”—he glanced around—“my lord.” He gently bounced the babe in his arms, staring down at Samson, before looking back at Orley. “We are a family, the three of us, and I will not send our son off on his own so someone can take him from us, and I will most certainly not leave you.”

  “I would be the same were I in your shoes, Your Grace,” Lady Lucien said, trembling in Pompinshire’s arms.

  Orley wanted to comfort Chester, but what could he say exactly? Had the roles been reversed, he knew he would be standing in the same place Chester was, though it might have been after firing a round or two in the direction of the Tamerican bastard….

  Wait. I know the man who fired that gun. The Tamerican from Southerby….

  “The doctor is here,” the archbishop stated. Orley nodded and prepared himself for what he knew would be a painful process. He had endured it before, though it had been out on the battlefield and not in the chambers of a bishop at St. George’s Cathedral.

  As his friends went to walk out, Orley grabbed Yarborough’s arm. Of them all, Yarborough was the deadliest and the one who could find anyone, anywhere.

  “I know the man who shot me,” he said, grunting as pain washed through him anew.

  Yarborough’s eyebrows went up. “You do? How?”

  “I saw him in the crowd. Seconds later he pulled out his revolver and….”

  Yarborough nodded. “Who is it?”

  “A Tamerican. He was staying in Southerby during the week we were at the country-house party with Pompinshire.”

  “Know you his name?”

  Orley shook his head. “No. But he made advances upon Chester, and I bested him. Perhaps he took offense?”

  Yarborough’s lips straightened into a thin line. “I shall find him, and he will be dealt with. This I promise you, Whitcomb.”

  Orley nodded his thanks as Yarborough walked away. The doctor stepped up to him and bowed. “Now then, Your Grace, shall we begin?”

  Coventry Estates

  Chester stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door softly behind him. He raised a hand to his lips and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. Orley and Samson slept peacefully within, and Chester could finally give in to the grief that wrapped itself around him fiercely. Pressing a hand against his belly, Chester walked quickly down the stairs and headed outside toward the garden. He could hear conversations taking place in the drawing rooms and library from their guests, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He needed air.

  Escape.

  Just a brief moment of peace where he could let go of his fear and tears and stop being a “soldier” in the battle of Tlondonish society and just be….

  Chester stopped just inside of the entrance of the garden and inhaled deeply, his eyes sliding closed. The scents and fragrances of the flowers and bushes that surrounded him filled his nostrils, and he shivered as he remembered talking with Orley in the garden at Southerby Manor. How could they have come so far in so short a time? Married, with a child, and now—Chester sank down into the grass and covered his face—Orley lying upstairs with a gunshot wound.

  “He is still alive, milady. That is a comfort.”

  Chester gasped and looked up. Lord Galeon stood just a few feet away from him, his hands clasped behind his back. Chester wiped his eyes, cursing himself for forgetting to grab his lace handkerchief before making his escape. He had known he was coming to cry in the garden, so how could he not have remembered it?

  He glanced up and smiled gratefully at Lord Galeon when the man handed him his own handkerchief, and Chester used it to wipe his tears.

  Sod it all, he hadn’t wanted anyone to see him break down when his husband was alive just upstairs.

  “He should have never been shot in the first place.” Chester sniffled.

  “No, you are right. He should be in the drawing room joking with all of us about the archbishop’s face when we said your son’s name.”

  Chester chuckled and choked on another sob. “Who would try to kill him? Why? I am afraid I am completely thrown, my lord. This is beyond my usual world. The most dangerous thing I have ever had to deal with is an overamorous noble making advances during a stay at the manor. Or perhaps falling down the stairs while holding an armful of linen, but this is twice now when something has happened that has put someone I love at risk.”

  Lord Galeon sat next to Chester and sighed. “I wish I had the right words to say to put your mind at ease, my lady. Unfortunately there is naught I can speak, but to say I have seen him overcome worse than a mere wound to the shoulder. Take heart. He will be fine.”

  Chester nodded at the man’s words. “Aye, I know, my lord, and yet….”

  “You imagined for a moment—just a brief one—your life without him, and it was bleak and dark,” Lord Galeon said, his voice soft and filled with heartache.

  Chester glanced over at him. “Yes.”

  Lord Galeon gave Chester a wan smile. “I have experienced that loss, my lady. It tears away at you. You cry and scream. You rail at the heavens and curse the Almighty. For days, weeks, and months, sometimes years, you feel as though you can’t breathe, as though you are walking through mud, and you can see others around you living. They continue on with their lives while you slowly fade away in your grief and sorrow. You want to rant at them and ask them how they can laugh, smile, how they can fall in love when the world—your world— has crashed down around you and then one day….” Lord Galeon shook his head and chuckled. “One day you wake up and the pain in your chest has eased, just a tiny bit, and you can take a breath without wanting to shout out in agony. The devastation that you feel when you have lost a lover, someone you see yourself growing old with, is unbearable, but it is not impossible to overcome.”

  Lord Galeon looked at Chester then, and Chester was humbled by the strength he saw gleaming through the man’s grief. “And Whitcomb would want you to overcome it, if not for yourself, then for your son.” Chester nodded and wiped away the few tears that had managed to escape. He sighed and looked up at the bright blue sky, watching the clouds overhead. “How did you grow so wise, my lord?” he asked after a while.

  Lord Galeon let out a grunt. “Experience. When I lost my wife and child, I thought my life was over, but Whitcomb, Yarborough, and Pompinshire pulled me out of the darkness. And should the need ever arise, my lady, there are plenty of people around who would do the same for you.”

  Chester lowered his head and smiled at Lord Galeon. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, my lord.”

  The sound of footsteps had them looking up, and Chester smiled at
the sight of Lord Yarborough, Lord Savoy, the Duke of Pompinshire, and Lady Lucien standing inside of the garden.

  “There you are!” Lady Lucien said. “Well, come on, then. Your cook has prepared lunch, and I think we all deserve a bit of a break from the drama.”

  Chester nodded and allowed Lord Galeon to help him up from the ground.

  “Whitcomb has been summoned and shall join us forthwith. He just needs to change. Something about baby Samson’s nappy.”

  Chester laughed and followed the rest of the party inside. He was warmed by their affection and concern, not only for Orley, who had been injured, but for him as well.

  Perhaps things were not as bleak as he thought they were.

  “Cease your prattle, woman. I am fine,” Orley growled at the housekeeper when she tried to once again assist him with his greatcoat, lamenting over his injury for what felt like the fortieth time in a fortnight. Orley had grown weary of the hovering he had been forced to endure from the servants and even Chester since being shot. He was quite at his wit’s end.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace. I only worry that you may be doing too much.”

  Orley rubbed two fingers across the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Aye, I know. I fault you not for your care of me, only for its incessantness.”

  “Whitcomb, do not offend the poor woman,” Chester said, walking out of the drawing room into the entryway where Orley stood. “Mrs. Noblet, you may go and see to the rest of your duties. I shall deal with His Grace.”

  “Right away, Your Grace,” Mrs. Noblet said with a tiny smile as she curtsied and left, heading off toward the kitchen.

  “Now, then, Your Grace of Nokes, what are you complaining for?” Chester asked stepping close to him.

  “Grace of what?” Orley questioned, affronted. He narrowed his eyes at his husband, fully prepared to disagree with the insult, when Samson made a cooing noise, drawing his attention. Orley glanced down at his son and smiled. Every day with the small boy was a gift, one which Orley was very happy to have, in spite of the Tamerican’s attempt on his life.

  “Grace of Nokes. You know, a foolish, silly man.”

  Orley huffed. “I know what it means, Angel. I am wondering why you are calling me such a thing.”

  “Because that is how you are behaving. Do you not understand that Mrs. Noblet and I, indeed the entire household, waited anxiously for you to be well again? You cannot fault the dear woman for wanting to make sure you are not overtaxing yourself.”

  Orley groaned. “Must you be so reasonable?”

  Chester laughed. “Naturally. It is my job as your duchess to see things that you do not.”

  Orley leaned down to press a kiss to Chester’s forehead. “And I thank you for it.” He held out his elbow to his duchess and escorted Chester, who held Samson in a small baby sling against his body, often used by the nanny, into his study.

  “Would you like to tell me what called you out of our bed so early this morn’ and kept you away for most of the day?” Chester asked as they made their way down the hallway.

  Orley sighed, thinking of his meeting with Yarborough earlier that day. “I went to the Remmington to play a game of billiards with Lord Yarborough.”

  Chester hummed and nodded but said nothing further. Realizing that his husband knew he was keeping something from him, Orley continued talking.

  “We had a meal and a spot of tea while we were there.”

  “And did you discuss the man who shot you?”

  Orley looked down at Chester in surprise. “And what leads you to believe we were holding a conversation about such matters?”

  Chester scoffed and stepped into the room. Orley found his gaze moving over his husband’s form. He’d heard tales of men who lost interest in their spouses upon wedding them, going out to find their pleasures among the doxies in the brothels. Orley never felt such a need. Chester was gorgeous, and there only needed to be the mere thought of seeing Chester’s plump bottom to have his groin tightening uncomfortably.

  “Do you think me daft, Orley?” Chester asked, walking over to perch on the edge of a chair. “I know you, and you will not allow your being shot with Samson and I close by to go unanswered. So, did Yarborough find anything?”

  “We discovered that the Tamerican from Southerby was the one who shot me.”

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  Orley sighed and followed his husband into the room, running his fingers through his hair. Leaning against the edge of his desk in front of Chester, he shook his head.

  “Nothing else as of yet. The Tamerican seems to have vanished, and Yarborough can find no lead as to discovering his name. It’s blooming annoying.”

  “Surely someone remembers him?” Chester’s voice trembled slightly, and Orley looked up at his lover, concern and anger rushing through him. He eased himself down onto his knees in front of Chester and placed his hands over Chester’s where both now cradled Samson. “I know I will never forget him.”

  “Ah love,” Orley’s eyes slid closed. “Were he in front of me now, I would run him through with my sword for frightening you thusly.”

  Chester chuckled and shook his head. “You sound absolutely frightening, Your Grace.” He held out Samson to Orley. “Would you like to hold your son? You have not spent any time with him today.”

  Orley nodded. “I would love to.” Using the top of the desk, Orley pushed himself to his feet and sat in the chair next to Chester, taking their son into his arms. He looked down into the infant’s eyes, his heart still clenching in awe over Samson’s presence. Orley kissed his son’s forehead and leaned back into the chair, relaxing.

  “Samson, did you know you are the heir to two dukedoms?” Orley said, speaking softly. “It is quite a daunting task, being a duke. I am not sure anyone truly understands. If one wants to be a proper duke, he must take care of those who have properties on his lands, he must serve in Parliament, and he must be a man of honor and integrity. However, if one wants to be a great duke, one must take care of his family, not gamble, and be faithful to his spouse. He must listen to the concerns of those who live and work his lands and then try to take care of them, and he must be a great father or she must be a great maldy to their children. So take heed, my son, that you grow up to be a great duke, for I shall not take the cane to you when you get something wrong, but I shall be sorely disappointed.”

  He glanced up at Chester then and saw his husband nodding at him in approval. “Well done, my dear. Now all you must do is make sure you stay true to those words.”

  Orley smiled. “I know you shall make sure I do.”

  “You’re bloody right I will.”

  Orley laughed and stared down at Samson for another moment before looking back at Chester. “You know I will do all I can to keep you both safe, do you not?”

  Chester reached over and touched the back of Orley’s hand. “Of course I do, Orley. But truly, you know that is not my biggest concern, don’t you? All I want is for you to care about us. If you do that, then the rest will come.”

  Orley leaned over and rested his forehead against Chester’s. “There is no need for worry, then, my angel, because I care for you both more than I ever thought I could.”

  “Then the Tamerican should make his peace with the Almighty, I think,” Chester said with a grin.

  “Right you are.”

  Orley kissed Chester’s lips softly and looked back down at his son, swearing to himself quietly that he would find the man who had placed his family in danger and dispatch him, the same way the Tfrench had attempted to do to him in Badajoz.

  Chester wrapped Samson securely in his swaddling and lifted the babe into his arms. He was going to take his son for a walk, just around the estate property, but he needed to get out before he went crazy.

  “Shall I come with you, Your Grace?” Missy asked.

  “I will be just outside, Missy,” Chester said, waving a hand. “I think Samson and I shall be safe. Besides, there will be dozens of footmen and groomsmen
about. No. You stay here and see to the new frippery His Grace thought I needed. Though why he insists on purchasing more items for my wardrobe I do not know.”

  “A duchess can never have enough finery, Your Grace,” Missy responded.

  Chester laughed. “Spoken like a true lady’s maid.”

  Missy blushed and curtsied. “I am glad to know the lessons I received when we were in Titaly served me well, Your Grace.”

  “As am I, Missy.” Chester hesitated, his hand on Samson’s belly as he looked out of the window. “Missy?”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Do you think I should take the Duchess of Pompinshire’s example and tell His Grace that I love him?” It was something Chester had been

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  thinking of a lot lately, especially since Orley had been shot all those weeks before.

  “I am unsure, Your Grace. Do you feel you are ready to tell him? You should not tell him until you are.”

  Chester nodded. “I do believe you are right, Missy. But don’t you believe that someone should make that first step?”

  “Aye.” Missy inclined her head. “I do, Your Grace. But there is naught that says it must be you.”

  Chester laughed. He lifted Samson into his arms and turned away from the bed. “You have given me much to ponder, Missy. I shall return in a moment. Please tell Cook to prepare the meal of beef and roasted vegetable ragout upon my return. I do believe His Grace is out meeting with Lord Yarborough and Lord Savoy once again, so I shall be dining alone.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Chester nodded and walked away. Heading down the stairs, he held Samson close to his chest, wrapped in a Tafrican designed baby sling. He knew other ladies of the ton would not have worn such a thing, but in his mother’s homeland, Tafrica, the mother or fotmy always wore the sling in order to keep the babe close and still be able to work. Chester smiled as Samson let out a soft coo and wiggled in the fabric.

  “Yes, my love. We are, in fact, going outside. You like that, do you not?” Chester asked. He laughed as Samson released a gurgle, and stepped out into the garden. Chester raised his face to the sunshine, inhaled, and breathed in the fresh Tlondon air.