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

by Patricia Haverton

  “Very well, Melody.”

  Their dinners were soon served, and they were once more spoiled by the delicious cuisine of Betsy’s kitchen. The duck and plums paired so wonderfully with the red wine that Zachariah was certain it had been quite some time since he had tasted anything so exquisite. It was his turn to praise Betsy, giving Caleb a break from his stumbling attempt to win her favor back.

  “You have truly outdone yourself, Miss Lovell,” Zachariah smiled. “Any chef in London pales in comparison.”

  “You are far too kind,” she blushed.

  “He is not,” Caleb stated, shaking his head. “He is not kind enough. I would dare say, even Paris would be brought to her knees at the delight of your cooking. Duck confit? Never. Give me duck con-Lovell any day.”

  The Duke plastered a hand over his face, experiencing a great deal of secondhand embarrassment for Caleb. He could not believe the audacity of the steward, unable to believe that any woman would be charmed by the work of puns. Yet, as he peeled back his hand, he noticed a smitten grin lingering in the expression of Betsy.

  A match made in Heaven, one might think.

  Clearing his throat and turning his attention back to Melody, who was apparently just as embarrassed by Caleb’s actions as he was, Zachariah reached inside his mind and pulled out any question at will, “Where do you see your business heading?”

  She was caught off-guard by the sudden question, but did not appear offended as she had a time or two last time they spoke. “I only wish to keep the doors open and my employees paid.”

  “That is all?” he pestered. Her gaze faltered, her hands smoothing the folds of her gown. “Come now, Melody, you are in friendly company. Speak openly; there shall be no judgement.”

  “Well, I am not so naïve as to think that the inn is without its problems. I hope to save enough money to gradually restore her to her original beauty and luster.”

  “Restore how?”

  Melody drank her wine deeply. Zachariah noticed she hardly ever touched her wine unless covering up her discomfort. “Routine things. Redo the wallpaper, get the floorboards fixed, items of that nature. Perhaps consider getting a few new pieces of furniture, but that is not a priority. More of a want.”

  He rubbed his chin, “Why don’t you go to the bank?”

  “Do you think that the bank gives out loans to women, and even worse still, an unmarried woman?”

  Zachariah recognized her point but couldn’t hide his mystified look. “Traditionally, banks do not give loans to women because there is no guarantee of repayment. You have verifiable income.”

  “Tell that to the banker,” she mumbled, taking another gulp of wine.

  “I think I might have to,” he nodded. Melody gave him a polite smile but he could see the skepticism lingering in the green of her eyes. “I have made it no secret that I am quite fond of your inn, Melody. I am interested not only in frequenting your establishment, but to understand it and lend a hand anywhere I can. You are quite the find.”

  Her face didn’t falter from a mildly cryptic display of polite skepticism. Zachariah found himself wondering if he was the first man to come along and say such things to her. Why else would she doubt him?

  “Melody,” a maid called as she approached the table, timid hands folding behind her back.

  “Yes, Odette?”

  “Obadiah has been spotted—”

  At that moment, the sound of shattering glass rang out near the front of the dining room.

  Chapter 7

  The group rushed out of the inn in hopes of catching Obadiah in the act, but there was no one in the street. Melody’s eyes agonized over the sight of her smashed window. He had thrown a stone through it!

  “This is horrible,” Melody moaned. The glass he had smashed was in a window with many panes and getting just one pane repaired would likely be an expensive and vexing undertaking. Her eyes once again turned to the street, but there was no sight of the slippery, vile Obadiah.

  Moving back inside, Melody found a couple of maids making quick work of sweeping up the glass on the floor. “Fetch me paper and paste, please,” she asked of Betsy.

  The cook quickly walked back to her desk to get the material. As Melody patched the hole in the window, Zachariah lingered nearby. “Has that man ever done something such as this before?”

  “He’s broken drinking glasses and plates in his stupor, but never this. He’s often a trifle disguised but he’s normally harmless. I should have stopped serving him sherry much sooner,” Melody sighed.

  “You cannot blame yourself for the actions of drunken man.”

  “You make it sound poetic,” she murmured, closing the paste and moving back toward her desk to put it away. “It is action and reaction. A man, who is known to drink until he is cut off, was poured one too many glasses of sherry. I know him well enough. I should have barred him from any more drinks for the night, but I was caught up in business.”

  “While a man addicted to drink may be ruled by it, he still has the responsibility of himself.”

  “Excellent theory, Your Grace, but I still hold myself accountable.”

  “He could have had such a rage with you cutting him off,” he continued to protest.

  “Perhaps. But I find it useful to always learn from mistakes when you play a hand, even if it is a minor one,” she explained, as she jotted herself a note to make a trip to the glazier in the morning. She would beg and plead with the man to come fit the repair the same day, not wanting to go through an excess of wood to keep the inn warm at night for it to escape through the broken glass.

  When she looked up, she witnessed the Duke studying her closer than ever before. “Forgive me for staring,” he murmured. “You simply fascinate me.”

  She wanted to ask what was so interesting, but the excitement of the evening left her exhausted. “I will have to fascinate you another day. I think it best to call it a night.”

  “Of course,” he nodded.

  They headed back into the dining room, Zachariah to collect Caleb and Melody to finish up the dinner service so she could retire. They both witnessed Caleb hovering closely to Betsy, murmuring sweet nothings as Betsy giggled and batted her long lashes. Melody rolled her eyes and began clearing the dishes from tables. The two noblemen eventually made their exit and Betsy made her way over to Melody to assist in the task.

  With the absence of the men and the diners beginning to filter out of the inn, Melody was moved by her own emotions, allowing herself to become overwhelmed in the presence of only her dear friend.

  “I do not know what I will do, Betsy,” she whispered as tears collected in her eyes. “You know the glazier is an ill-tempered man. He’s going to charge me a small fortune! Repairing that window is sure to take up the little bit of money I have saved.”

  “Curse that terrible Obadiah,” Betsy huffed. “If he ever returns, we will charge him thrice as much for each drink until he makes up the debt.”

  “I never want that man back in my inn,” Melody shook her head. “He has finally caused me too much pain. First, he dares touch me as if he has the right, then he damages my property? Never would even a drunk treat an innkeeper in such a way. It’s only because I am a woman and I am sick of it.”

  Betsy dropped the dishes into the bin and caught Melody’s hands as she did the same. Her friend’s bright blue eyes looked earnestly into her own. “You are a strong woman, Melody. You may feel violated right now, and you have every right. We will recover and we will continue.”

  Melody sucked in a sharp breath, “Thank you, Betsy. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  A playful grin twitched on her lips, “You would utterly fall apart and serve slop.”

  They laughed.

  “Help me finish up. I would like to go to bed.”

  Zachariah hardly slept that night, his mind tormented by the events of the evening. He, too, was aware that the drunkard was only brave in his actions because Melody was a woman. If she were the t
ypical, burley male innkeeper, Obadiah might have begun to make a scene, but he certainly would not have finished one.

  Then there was the pure wisdom that flowed so easily from Melody’s lips. She had said it so casually he wondered if she even registered the depths of her own words. He longed to talk to her more, to see what more the working-class woman had to offer not only him, but the world.

  The sun was just starting to lighten the sky when he could put off the desire no longer. Zachariah dressed himself quickly before tiptoeing from his bedroom and into the private parlor of the suite. He was grateful to see that Caleb had not yet roused, likely still consumed by dreams of a life with his sweet cream bun. He kept his steps light as he moved through the inn, not wanting to stir the other guests with heavy footing or a loud squeak of a floorboard.

  Zachariah wasn’t sure why he had been so certain that Melody would already be awake and well at work, other than he had only ever seen the inn with her bustling about. As he reached the foyer of the inn, he was not disappointed at the sight of her hunched over her desk.

  “Good day,” he greeted softly as he approached.

  “Your Grace,” she muttered, looking shocked to see him, or perhaps anyone, up at such an hour. “Are you checking out so soon?”

  “Not quite,” he replied with an easy smile. “And remember, call me Zachariah.”

  “That’s right,” she nodded. “What can I help you with?”

  “I was wondering if you would join me for tea.”

  She blinked and looked about the foyer. “Alone?”

  He gave a confident nod, “If that is all right.”

  Putting down her quill, she eyed him and thought it over. Had they been of the same class and a younger age, it would be rather scandalous for them to be alone without a chaperone. Considering their circumstances, as well as the public setting, Zachariah did not see the harm.

  “I’ll fetch the tea. Go take a seat,” she instructed before moving to the kitchen.

  While he longed to sit by the window, to witness a sunrise like he had often done in his youth, he knew the morning draft pouring through the paper patch would prove to be too much. Instead, he resorted to their usual table. It was only minutes before Melody emerged from the kitchen, a tray in hand with a teapot, cups, and a plate of biscuits.

  There was quiet as they busied themselves with fixing their teas and small plates. Zachariah couldn’t help but notice that she did not take sugar nor cream in her tea. He wondered if it were a habit of quickness, not finding the time to fuss over ratios in her busy mornings.

  “So, why have you requested tea with me this morning?” she asked as she blew a cooling breath onto the still steaming cup of tea.

  Zachariah stirred his own beverage, having added several lumps of sugar and only a touch of cream. “I thought it would be nice to talk one-on-one. I want to get to know you.”

  “What is with your burning curiosity of me and my business?” she questioned him, more curious than accusing.

  “As I have stated, I have a keen interest in women’s rights, and the lack thereof. You inspire me to explore my own thoughts on the subject further.”

  There was a pause and Zachariah admired the silence. It meant that she was thinking over not only his words, but the meaning behind them—perhaps even his intentions. If only she were the norm in his own world. He would love to find a woman of nobility that was so inclined to independent action and thought.

  “Very well, what would you like to discuss?”

  He himself, thought deeply. There was no telling how much time they had together before a task would pull her away. Zachariah wanted to make the most of his time in her presence. “How much tutoring did you attend?”

  “Tutoring?” she echoed, a soft snicker passing her lips. “I am afraid that my parents did not have the money for such a thing. I learned to read and write a bit by my mother, growing up. However, it was my late husband who really taught me. He said he needed someone to discuss literature with.”

  Zachariah smiled, “What a fond memory to have. Sounds like your husband also was a champion of women’s rights.”

  “I am not sure I would go so far as to say that. He still believed in the traditional roles of marriage and gender. However, he did not see why I should not be able to read more than street signs and the prices at the butcher.”

  “So are you a well-read woman?”

  “Well enough,” she nodded. “I have actually taught most of my staff to read as well.”

  “Pardon me, do you mind if I take notes?”

  Melody eyed him strangely, “I don’t see why not.”

  Zachariah pulled out a small notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket and jotted down the details of their conversation in sloppy shorthand, not wanting to spend too much time on the task. “Why was it important for you that they read and write?”

  “To be independent, of course,” she explained slowly. “I don’t think I truly started having my own thoughts until I could take pleasure in reading a novel or paper. I had to rely on the men in my life to fill in my gaps of understanding. Now I seek out answers for myself.”

  “Riveting,” he commented, continuing to notate her words. “How were your staffs’ responses to this tutoring you provided?”

  Melody held a biscuit in her tea, waiting for it to soften as she replied, “Most were eager and excited. There were a few who were fearful.”

  His brow creased, “Why fearful?”

  “Some still live with their fathers and worried about the punishment they could face if caught reading the paper or a book. Others…” her voice drifted off and she folded her hands. Once she gathered her words, their eyes met, “I think they were afraid of how large the world would feel. When you depend on a man for money, house, and knowledge, you exist only within his world. Reading gives you access to the rest of it.”

  He was stunned into silence, his hands even stilled. Zachariah could only ogle at her as he soaked in her words. When his shock began to wear off, he uttered, “You have more profound wisdom than most of the Lords I rub elbows with.”

  She did not grow bashful at such a compliment. Instead, her eyes lightened, and her smile grew as she leaned in. “Perhaps you can answer me this.”

  Zachariah leaned in, hanging on her every word.

  “This is not anything new. Men centuries ago lamented the same point about knowledge and its power I have made to you just now. Now this is my question: why are men reluctant to give women the same access to the world?”

  He swallowed, “From what I have grown to understand from the perspectives of the men I socialize with, they fear women are too sensitive to handle such big ideas.”

  “I think that is what men tell themselves to protect their own pride.”

  “How do you mean?” he asked, once more jotting down their conversation.

  “They are afraid,” she stated plainly, as though it should be obvious.

  When she did not expand, he was forced to ask, “Afraid of what?”

  A smile that appeared devilish in nature dominated her face then, “What will happen to the state of the world if they can no longer control womankind.”

  Before he could digest her thoughts, the kitchen door swung open and the two tore away from their hunched positions

  Chapter 8

  Melody’s cheeks were flushed and her hands were becoming anxious, not knowing what to do with them, when the two were suddenly interrupted.

  Why are you so flustered? You are not doing anything wrong.

  Yet, that didn’t feel totally true to her. They were only talking, but it was an intimate and passionate conversation, unlike any she ever had with anyone else. Her eyes finally found the courage to turn to the source of the interruption. It was Betsy, of course, with flour covering her hands and arms.

  “Faith!” Betsy muttered. “I did not mean to—”

  “It is all right, Betsy. Is there a problem?” she asked.

  The cook nodded. “I fear
that we will not have enough eggs to prepare dinner. I have enough for lunch, however.”

  “I will go by the grocer on my way back from the glazier,” Melody informed her. Her eyes fell to the window and she was shocked to find that the sun was already above the buildings. She jumped to her feet, “I have to depart. Who knows how long it will take me to barter with that bastard?” she mumbled under her breath.

  It was not low enough to escape Zachariah’s hearing. He stood as well, “Why would it take such an extensive amount of time?” he questioned.