Desperately Inn Love with the Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Patricia Haverton

  “The Duke has a revolutionary mind,” the steward answered humorously.

  Melody looked to the Duke for clarification. “I suppose my friend is not wrong,” he admitted. “I have a keen interest in women’s rights.”

  “And your interest is inclined in which direction?”

  For a moment, he looked offended, as if it were not already obvious how he really felt. Melody was unsure if he thought the Gentle Rose Inn to be fascinating, like one would think a play, or genuinely so. His expression eased, as though he could read her thoughts. The Duke had another drink of wine and bite of lamb as he thought over his response.

  “My interest lies in mystification. I do not understand how society can deem women unable, when we do not give them the chance. You, yourself, are a perfect example of what a woman could be without the restrictions of a patriarchy. You and your inn are, in fact, absolutely riveting.”

  “Riveting, is not what I would call the life I live,” Melody murmured.

  “Do not be so modest,” Betsy stated, moving to pat her hand. As she did so, she knocked over a wine glass. Deep red spilled over the table and splashed onto the steward.

  Melody’s eyes rounded as the man leapt to his feet, preparing for the wrath of the upper-class steward.

  Chapter 3

  Caleb erupted in laughter, batting away the wine from his lap, dabbing it with his cloth napkin. “Now, this is a reason to buy new attire I don’t think green is my color, anyhow.”

  Zachariah watched the women let out a collective breath of relief.

  The rest of the dinner proved to be pleasant. Zachariah was not deluded to think that he had the right to question Miss Balfour about her business, and was honored that she even entertained him.

  After her initial guard dropped, the two of them made pleasant small talk about the town, its people, and the intricacies of tax and policy. Conversation with Miss Balfour was nothing short of splendid and refreshing. It was like looking into the face of the values he held, rather secretly.

  Once the dessert plates had been cleared and the second bottle of wine polished off, there was nothing left but the remnants of conversation. Zachariah, while not as awestruck as Caleb, found himself reluctant to retire for the evening. Miss Balfour’s mind and past felt like a gold mine to him, primed for the mining. Not with the intention of exploiting her story, of course, but rather to learn how a woman of her status and stature navigated the world of business.

  “I think I shall take my leave,” Betsy announced, being the first one to mention the end of the night.

  “Ah, so soon? I was thinking we could have a bit more wine and conversation,” Caleb beamed at her.

  “Anymore wine and I fear I will not be able to find the way to my room. And you do not have to be up at the break of dawn to bake countless loafs of bread,” she said, shaking her head.

  The Duke’s lips curled in delight. Betsy was not going to be as eager and malleable as the women Caleb was used to. The cook was as independent as the innkeeper, self-assured in her own life—professional, personal, and romantic. She was happy to flirt with Caleb, but his fancy for her was not going to keep her from going to bed. Alone.

  “Very well, then,” Caleb muttered, deflating from the rejection. He quickly recovered, giving the cook his best smile. “I hope that we will talk again very soon.”

  “Thank you, both, for hosting a wonderful evening,” the Duke stated, rising from the table. “I will do all I can to assist you in anything you may need. If you are ever in need, please do not hesitate to reach me.”

  “You are too kind,” Miss Balfour nodded, rising to curtesy to them. “I hope your stay in our rooms satisfy your requirements.”

  “It has a bed, does it not?” he grinned to her. He didn’t want her to feel sheepish about her inn. Zachariah was aware he was not in a stately manor so he did not expect it to be. From what he had seen of the inn, Miss Balfour was doing her very best to keep the inn orderly. What more could he ask for?

  With that, the two men took their leave, finding their way up the stairs. “Remarkable women,” Caleb commented, once they were out of earshot of the two.

  “I am inclined, for once, to agree with you.”

  His friend chuckled, “You appeared taken with Miss Balfour.”

  His nose scrunched. It was not that Zachariah found the innkeeper to be in anyway displeasing, but he had not considered anything more of her but her business structure and ability to handle it all on her own in a male-dominated society.

  “I fear that you are deflecting, dear Caleb. Or that perhaps you had too much of Miss Balfour’s delightful red wine,” he stated, mocking Caleb’s constant comment throughout the night.

  “She is easy on the eyes and you were so captivated by conversation with her, that I assumed there was more than meets the eye,” he explained.

  Shaking his head, he opened the door to his own bedroom.

  “I think it best for you to sleep off the wine, Caleb. Regain your wits.” Stepping into the room and undressing for bed, Zachariah relaxed into the mattress. It was not as comfortable as his own at home, but it would certainly make for a fine sleep.

  After a deep, restful sleep, Zachariah dressed himself for the day before wandering into the private parlor of their room. He was surprised to see Caleb already dressed and ready for the day, standing at the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “I was certain I would have to rouse you myself after all that drinking last night,” the Duke called to his friend.

  “I hardly slept a wink, but I feel as rested as one can be.”

  “By Jove, the telling signs of a man in love,” the Duke chuckled. “What are you to do about your infatuation with a cook? Surely you know better.”

  “It is a mere fancy,” Caleb waved him off. “I am only indulging in an idle curiosity and attraction. Let me have my fun.”

  “Very well, then. We must get going.”

  Zachariah had once not minded the notion of going to a ball that evening, but after his discovery of the Gentle Rose Inn, he was less than enthusiastic. Balls were a way to fill his time so that he was not just sitting in his estate, pondering over his own thoughts. Though, his casual approach happened to drive his mother absolutely mad. She longed for him to find a wife, and the longing had turn to near demand once his father passed, leaving him a bachelor.

  “Cannot have you late for the ball tonight,” Caleb jabbed, as if Zachariah’s thoughts were written all over his face.

  “The duties of a Duke are never satisfied,” he mused.

  “Would be, if you married already.”

  His glare turned to his steward. “You must count yourself fortunate that I do not currently possess my cane.”

  While the Duke typically cherished the wit of his trusted associate, the topics of balls and marriage were not ones Zachariah found to be particularly funny. The very thought was enough to put him in an ill mood—and somehow his steward still found that reaction something to laugh at as well.

  He and Caleb moved their way down the stairs and were welcomed by the sight of Melody at the reception desk, writing away at paperwork. Her pale green eyes lifted to take in the sight of them, with bags in hand.

  “Leaving so soon?” she called.

  “I am afraid so,” he replied, approaching the desk. “However, we shall return soon, if you will have us. As it happens, this inn is located right between my estate in Kent and London, and thus makes for a beautiful stop between the two. And I would love to discuss further your experiences as an innkeeper.”

  She studied him for a moment, and he noticed for the first time that Caleb had been right, she was easy on the eyes. For a working woman, she had fair skin and a clear complexion, with kind but determined eyes, and hair neatly tucked back in a braid. He could not decide if her hair was a light brown, or a dark hue of blonde. It suited her, that was for sure.

  Perhaps one day she will make a fine wife for a local man, a clerk perhaps.


  Even the fleeting thought did not feel right to him. Melody Balfour was a woman of her own and did not need to be a wife to be a person of value.

  “You are welcome back any time. Do not be a stranger,” she nodded, accepting his extended note to pay for their room and dinner.

  “I don’t think my dear steward would allow such a thing,” he joked so that only she could hear.

  They shared a laugh. “He has his work cut out for him if he is as inclined as he appears, with Betsy.”

  “I think only we are aware. He seems to be tailing behind in that understanding.”

  With a shared smile and bowing of heads, the Duke then departed with his steward. The footman was waiting at the carriage, opening the door for them to enter.

  “I think we will find ourselves frequenting this establishment,” Caleb beamed, a familiar grin on his face.

  “Would that be because of its convenient location?” the Duke questioned. He couldn’t help but snicker at the confused look on Caleb’s face, the man clearly trying to decide whether or not Zachariah was kidding. “It’s halfway between London and the estate, you ninny.”

  “Oh, well, yes. That is even more splendid to hear, Your Grace. I was speaking on the fact I must see Miss Lovell again. I think I will surely die if I do not.”

  The Duke laughed to himself, amused with how his joke had not registered with Caleb. Even in idle conversation, the steward’s thoughts were consumed by the cook. As much as it practically sickened Zachariah to bear witness to such shameless flirtation, it was equally amusing and in a way, warmed his heart.

  “They will make for excellent case studies,” Zachariah thought as the carriage made its way down the road.

  “Case studies for what?”

  “Independent women,” he nodded. Zachariah had always thought about the concept, but had never actually seen proof of it. Even in his revolutionary mind, he was certain there were shortcomings he could not foresee. Melody and Betsy would make him all the wiser. He wanted to know all of the ins and outs of being a woman of the working class, one that did not answer directly to a man. Though, he supposed there was the haggling with the butcher and grocer to see to, points which he made a mental note to inquire next time he spoke with Melody Balfour.

  Perhaps it had been his mother, who was strong in her own right, that had made Zachariah fascinated with strong, independent women. In the life of noblewomen, however, they did not know the meaning of the word independence. Life, in the upper class, was a game where the only goals were to have as much money as possible and to do as little as possible. Neither of which provided much interest to Zachariah, but he was marginally acknowledging of his own privilege.

  When the carriage came to a stop outside of the Livingston estate, the men said their farewells. Zachariah’s mind was still preoccupied with the prior evening as he stepped into his home. However, his thoughts were curtailed by his mother rushing at him and flinging her arms about him.

  “Faith, dear! Where have you been? You did not tell me that you would be gone overnight.”

  Zachariah forced a smile, but it was more of a grimace. It was not only women’s independence which he championed, but his own as well.

  “It was late when Caleb and I finished in London. We stopped for the night to rest.”

  It was half true. The pair had plenty of time to return to Sandorne, but Zachariah had been tired of the inside of the carriage for the day. He and Caleb had been making rounds, organizing and attending business meetings all day. Even the half of an hour remaining in the trip to return home had felt too much for the Duke.

  “Well, I am glad you are safe,” the Duchess sighed, rubbing his arms comfortingly. “Won’t you join me for breakfast?”

  “Certainly,” he nodded, though he wasn’t hungry. If he stated he wasn’t hungry, Zachariah knew that a fuss would be made. Even in his thirties, he could not escape his own mother’s doting. Though he supposed for a couple years in the midst of his twenties, he had. It had returned upon the death of his father.

  His own heart dropped as he followed her into the dining hall, forcing himself not to be so agitated with the Duchess. While her days could be filled with the company of other Duchesses and Ladies, at the end of the day, his mother was alone. The love and attention she had for his father all fell onto Zachariah.

  They feasted on the usual delicacies of breakfast, coffee, fruit, eggs, and a variety of porridges and meat. As a lad, he had enjoyed mixing everything on his plate together, for nothing more than to watch his mother’s guttural response as he ladled it into his mouth. The memory caused him to chuckle under his breath, something in the back of his mind telling him to do it once more, just to get a rise out of the Duchess, but he batted away the childish notion.

  “Are you looking forward to the ball this evening?”

  He resisted his reaction to sigh, knowing the slight infraction could spark an argument. If there was one topic he knew that his mother had no patience for in his attitude, it was the prospect of him marrying. That was the only reason she cared whether or not he attended social functions.

  “I’m not sure I share your enthusiasm for the event. However, be assured I will be attending,” he answered plainly.

  “Will you wear your maroon tailcoat? You look the most dashing in it.”

  “If you wish me to, I shall.”

  The Duchess nodded and toyed with the food on her plate before rising her eyes to the clock, blotting her mouth with a napkin. “If you would excuse me dear, I must run to town. Your cousin Henrietta is preparing for her wedding. She asked me to be in attendance for her dress appointment.”

  Without waiting for a response from her son, she exited.

  That is surely fanning the flames of her recent determination to see me wed.

  The rest of the Duke’s day was spent in his study, which had once been his father’s, sorting through papers while his mind wandered. As much as he tried to immerse himself with the tasks at hand, he could not help but find himself back at the Gentle Rose Inn mentally. He poured over the details of the night before, the delicious dinner prepared by the boisterous Miss Lovell, and the engaging conversation with Miss Balfour.

  Never had he spoken to such an intriguing woman. His thoughts returned to the pending ball and he outwardly groaned in the privacy of his study. He was sure to be subjected to the usual conversation of the high-class.

  What businesses do you deal in, are you married, why not, did you have a wife and she has passed on, do you want to marry, do you have a favorite holiday destination, could I go with you, what is your horse’s name?

  As far as he could tell, balls were like cattle auctions and the women the cows.

  Only in this scenario, the cows excitably picked out their branding and ribbon, and batted their eyelashes at the onlooking farmers.

  It was a sickening thought to have. Much to his bemusement, the Duke gave the clock a glance to find that the day had slipped away. As if on cue, his valet appeared in the doorway. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but it may be best for us to dress you for this evening’s festivities.”

  Not even I can dress myself in this society.

  “Very well, James. Let us go prepare for the ball,” he nodded, standing up from the desk chair. They entered his bedchamber and began the process of layering him with all of the elements of proper dress clothes.

  Not just a proper outfit, but what the Duchess urged him to wear.

  He inspected himself in the mirror, witnessing the contrasting maroons and whites of his shirt, waistcoat, tailcoat, breeches, and cravat; all tied together by fine gold stitching.

  “You, my good man, know the proper folds of a cravat,” he complimented the valet. As much as Zachariah did not want to admit it, his own hands would be useless at an attempt to fold the garment himself. He truly could not dress alone.

  “My cane?” he requested politely.

  James handed him his usual black cane, topped with a jeweled handle. It could be seen as a fla
shy accessory to broadcast his wealth and status, but Zachariah used it only as a prop. It was something to occupy his hands and he had noted, in his fifteen years of attending balls, that men who carried objects were less likely to be approached.

  “You will certainly be a favorite of the Ladies tonight,” James complimented him.

  He gave a weary smile to his valet, “I certainly hope not.”

  Chapter 4

  As usual, introductions and greetings were a dizzying way to start the evening. However, Zachariah soon found himself nestled into a table along the perimeter of the ball room with a brandy in hand, listening to the idle chatter of the Earls and Dukes, and Countesses and Duchesses which accompanied them. Zachariah’s eyes lazily scanned the room from time to time, and he felt at ease. Despite his reluctance to be there, Zachariah knew his presence would satisfy his mother, and he wasn’t too terribly bothered in the company he was then in.