“Pray tell, what was this hint of your disinterest supposed to be?” Melody questioned as she cut into her lunch. “Was the clue in your fluttering lashes or girlish snickering?”
Betsy swatted at her with the dish cloth that hung over her arm. “You be quiet now!”
They laughed and Melody stole a glance of Betsy’s reddening cheeks. “It is quite all right if you are taken with him, Betsy. He is charming, in his own way.”
“He finds himself charming the same way Narcissus found himself beautiful!”
Melody chuckled some more, “I fear you may be right on that account.”
“Of course, I’m right. When, pray tell, am I ever wrong?”
“Find your way back to the kitchen, you burn crust,” Melody chuckled, swatting at her friend to go away. “Just as you say about Caleb being like Narcissus with his charm, so are you with your cracking on. Get back to work.”
“Right away, Your Grace!” Betsy called back as she walked to the kitchen.
Melody’s laughter and smile lingered in the wake of Betsy’s departure. As she noticed Jack walking way, the window restored, her mood lifted even more. She could not remember the last time she had such a pleasant day.
And to think I woke with a feeling of doom this morning.
Even though she was still not able to say it aloud, Melody was starting to understand inwardly that she had Zachariah to thank for such a pleasant day. Much like Betsy, Melody too wondered when the noble pair would return. Before her pleasant thoughts could continue, a customer beckoned her to bring them some more ale. As she poured the amber liquid, a collection of shrill screams sounded from the kitchen.
Chapter 10
The disdain of her and the matchmaker’s presence was written all over Zachariah’s face. He was trying to hide it with a tight-lipped expression, but his distaste could not be hidden from his mother. Rosalind had three decades of studying her son and knew all too well when he was displeased.
He cleared his throat and tried to fix his posture, “Would it be all right for us to save this for another day? I truly am quite tired.”
“Agatha has come all this way, darling,” the Dowager Duchess urged politely with a certain control to her voice that let him know not make too much of a fuss. “It would not be polite of us to send her on her way so soon.”
He may be tired, but I am tired of waiting for him to wed.
The Duke clicked his tongue and waved his hand in a proceeding gesture. “Very well, let’s get on with it.”
Rosalind put on her best smile and then motioned for the matchmaker to begin. Agatha pulled out a ledger and flipped through. “There are many young ladies who would love nothing more than the chance to dance with you, Your Grace. Many of them from high nobility such as yourself.”
“I care not for looks,” Zachariah muttered. His comment earned a curious expression from both of the women before him. “Do not get me wrong, it is not as though I would discount a woman for being beautiful, but it is not a deciding factor for me.”
Agatha blinked rapidly, flicking through the pages. “Nearly all of the candidates I have available have exquisite etiquette—”
The Duke laughed to himself, raising a hand to manually straighten his face. “Please, pardon my outburst. It is only that… I care not that the Lady knows which fork is for salad and which for entrée.”
The matchmaker looked stunned before her gaze fell back to her pages, “Are you looking for a lady with a particular hobby or interest, Your Grace? I have some who adore horseback riding—your mother has told me how much you love your time in London. I have several who admire it just as much—”
Zachariah sighed loudly and once again slouched in his chair. “I do not care what the Lady does to fill her time between balls and teatime.”
Agatha and Rosalind exchanged bewildered and concerned looks. If he did not care what his wife would look like, how she behaved, or what she did in passing, then what was it he cared about?
“What shall I look for in a candidate then, Your Grace?”
There was silence, Zachariah’s hand going to his chin as he looked up to the corner of the room as he thought about what he really wanted out of a wife. Rosalind expected him to come back with a laundry list of specifications if for nothing but to annoy her. A blonde, perhaps, with freckles but not too many, tall but not too tall, who enjoyed milk in her tea but despised ale …
“Independence,” he finally stated, his tone breezy, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
“Your Grace?” Agatha breathed.
“I want a lady that exudes independence. Independent thought and action. If I am to marry, I want to be able to hold a conversation with my wife and I simply will die if it can only be about the social life of the nobility. Find me an independent woman and I shall marry her, no matter her looks, background, or hobbies. Only that she has thoughts of her own and can care for herself. Strong-willed, witty—no, brilliant.”
Rosalind scoffed aloud, “Son, be reasonable. You are well aware of the customs of our class. I mean, really, are you expecting to find a woman to discuss the principles of Plato with? I don’t think one will exist in all of England.”
“If she does not exist, then I shall not marry.”
Rosalind stood and opened her mouth to berate her son for being so stubborn and silly with his requests but reminded herself of Agatha’s presence. It would not be appropriate for her to speak down to the Duke in front of anyone else, especially when Agatha was not of their class.
“Very well, son. We will return with the names of possible candidates.”
“I await your return with bated breath,” he called after her.
Rosalind glared at him, understanding his sarcasm even if he had not allowed it to touch his tone. Only once they were out of earshot of the Duke did Rosalind speak to Agatha, “Please forgive his behavior. The Duke has never been quite fond of the notion of marriage.”
“It is all right, Your Grace. You would be surprised how many of my male clients share the same attitude with him. Though, his criteria are most unusual…”
“That’s my Zachariah,” Rosalind sighed. “I mean, really, how does he expect us to find this independent lady he speaks of? He acts as though he wishes his wife to be a scholar and I, quite frankly, don’t know of a single one. Not one I would be willing to introduce him to,” she mused.
The only independent thinkers she knew of were the daughters of writers, all were bitterly middle-aged and seemed absolutely dreadful to know. While Rosalind wasn’t as well-read as perhaps she should have been, she had read the slanderous papers that some of those other women had circulating. All of them were defamatory to women such as her! All but declaring Ladies, Duchesses, and all of the like, to be nothing more than a flower on their husbands’ hats. Where Zachariah had gotten a taste for such women, she would never know.
Just as her thoughts grew bitterer, the Duchess had a smile come over her face. “Agatha, I have just the solution to this predicament.”
“Pray tell.”
“He said he cared not who it was, as long as she proved to be independent and smart. I say we pick the lady and simply…” she thought of the elegant way to state it, “assist her in exuding the qualities which the Duke so desires.”
Agatha grinned at her, “You are a genius, Your Grace.”
Rosalind grinned, “I suppose I am. We must hurry, however. Time is of the essence.”
It was only a few days’ time before Zachariah and Caleb found themselves once more escaping to London on the promise of business. What they actually did, however, was go to a cigar lounge, puff on imported tobacco, sip tea, and talk amongst themselves without the looming presence of the Duchess. Zachariah often felt more like a boy than a man when he thought about his own evasiveness of his mother, but it simply made life easier to avoid her judgmental gaze.
“Oh, the proper papers have been sent to secure the sugar trade,” Caleb called over from behind his newspaper. “I
saw to it this morning. It slipped my mind until I saw something about the Ganges in here…”
“Splendid, old chap,” Zachariah responded, though his voice was distant. He knew he should have been paying better attention to what Caleb was attempting to discuss, knowing the seriousness of getting into business with India. However, his eyes and his mind were on his notes of his and Melody’s conversations. It soothed his troubled mind over his mother and the matchmaker.
He heard the crinkling of paper as Caleb lowered his to eye the Duke. “Are you reading over your bloody notes again? I have to say, I am quite shocked you can even read them. I stole a glance on the carriage ride and could not make out a single word.”
“Very good,” he smirked. “For they are for my eyes only.”
“I assume it details the account of your dalliance with Miss Balfour.”
Zachariah tossed a pencil, somewhat playfully, at his friend. “I will not hear of this teasing, Caleb. I have told you once and I shan’t hear of it again.”
“So sensitive for a man who does not fancy the woman.”
“I fancy my friendship with Miss Balfour, and I do not want its image tainted with your perversions,” Zachariah glared.
“Where has your humor gone? Am I the only man left alive with a sense of humor?” Caleb crowed rather theatrically.
Zachariah rolled his eyes, “I must say, Caleb Ridlington sounds like a perfect name for a Shakespearean actor.”
Caleb laughed. “See? I can take a joke, old man.”
“Jolly good for you,” Zachariah chuckled, shaking his head.
There was silence but only for a moment, as Caleb began drumming his fingers against the tabletop. The Duke knew what would follow, but he by no means would spare himself the dramatic announcement of Caleb’s request. Heavy sighs sounded next, but Zachariah kept his attention on his notes.
It was only after Zachariah still was not entertaining Caleb’s “subtle” hints, and simultaneous sighing and finger drumming, that the steward finally used words. “I say, you know what would be a spot of good fun?”
“To smoke my cigar in peace without your incessant need for chatter?” Zachariah falsely mused, tapping the end of his cigar into an ashtray.
“Perhaps, perhaps…But we could move this little venture to the Gentle Rose Inn.”
“You are going to get us barred from its doors with your childlike enthusiasm.”
“Since when is it to be a crime to be a man in love?”
“Is that not Adam’s first sin?” he joked. “Had Adam not loved Eve, surely he would never would have followed her lead and tasted the forbidden fruit. Besides, the point is you are not a man in love, you are a man with an unhealthy obsession. It has hardly been three days since we were last at the Gentle Rose and you are already bellyaching about seeing your delightful cream bun once more.”
“You really will never allow me to live down calling her that, will you?” Caleb snorted.
Zachariah finally looked up at his friend with a devilish grin, “Afraid not, old chap.”
Caleb sniffled and toyed with the ashtray. “It’s been four days since I’ve seen Miss Lovell. You saw Miss Balfour the morning we left. I did not so much as get a glance at my crumpet.”
Zachariah could no longer hold back his laugh. He could not believe that Caleb was in such throes of infatuation that he could not recognize that Zachariah was only toying with him. He had every intention in going to the inn. “Very well, you have worn me down,” he joked, though Caleb smiled brilliantly as if it were the truth. “Let us make a quick stop first, however.”
Chapter 11
It was business as usual for the Gentle Rose Inn, though it was perhaps a bit slow. That was expected, however, for that time of the week. It was welcome to Melody, though. The couple of lulls in the week were enough for her to keep sane. It was the only time that Melody really felt as though she could catch her breath, considering the only other time she had alone was at night in bed, when she tried desperately to sleep, and early mornings when she panicked over the ledgers.
The midweek lull was her time to do all the other little things she needed to do, and to have a moment to stop and think over, well, anything at all. Sometimes Melody worried that she would get so caught up in the bustle of the business that she would wake up one day and suddenly be an old woman. Days and weeks slipped by her without much notice, and she knew it was only a matter of time before years were the same.
The only things which had set days apart as of late, were the visits of Zachariah and Caleb. Their occasional company had been something that certainly shook up the mindless routine of the inn.
As Melody did her weekly inventory of the wine and spirits, an excited Kathy all but ran through the dining room toward her. “If you run in my dining—” Melody began to scold.
“The Duke and the steward have arrived. I saw their carriage just outside,” she grinned.
Melody had to admit it was a bit strange to her that others were just as excited as she and Betsy about their arrival, but she supposed having nobility around did make things more interesting for everyone in the inn. It gave people something new to talk about and speculate over. She nodded at Kathy before waving for her to return to her duties. Just as she walked away, Zachariah and Caleb appeared in the archway of the dining room.
They walked over to the bar and took the stools just in front of her. “Good day, Melody,” the Duke began, appearing unable to wipe a grin from his lips.
“Good day,” she called back, setting down her clipboard. “What can I get you two to drink?”
“A spot of tea for me,” Zachariah answered.
“I think a glass of red wine sounds exquisite,” the steward beamed.
Melody nodded and headed to the kitchen to fetch some tea for the Duke. The kitchen was already buzzing with the news of their arrival, so there was no need for her to tell Betsy herself. Though she was certain that Betsy was in her denial stage of wanting Caleb’s affections. It wouldn’t be until halfway through dinner that Betsy gave in to the sweet talk of Caleb and was reduced to nothing more than a giggling mess, if the past attested for anything.
“Melody!”
“Not now,” she called back as she pushed through the kitchen doors with tea tray in hand. She approached the Duke and presented him with the tray. To which he replied not with words but with an ever-expanding grin and by placing a small parcel on the countertop.
“What’s this?” she asked, not yet reaching for it.
“It’s a gift, of course,” he replied, inching the package toward her. “It is nothing particularly grand.”
Melody shot him a skeptical look before finally unwrapping the gift. She was shocked to see a rather large stack of papers, along with a couple of inkwells. It would certainly be enough for a month or two.
“Your Grace—”
He wagged a finger at her. “Zachariah.”
“This is a wonderful gift, thank you,” she breathed. Melody wasn’t normally one to accept gifts, not that they were regularly offered, but this one was practical and would save Melody quite an expense.
“Nothing special. Just a token of gratitude,” Zachariah smiled.
“After you haggled with the glazier and paid for the repair, I think your gratitude was well observed,” she chuckled.
“Oh, yes,” he muttered, turning to give a glance at the window. “I see it has been repaired beautifully.”
“He did it just hours after you left,” Melody nodded.
“Wonderful. That draft was rather nasty, wasn’t it?” he chuckled. “I don’t suppose it would be too much to ask for you and Betsy to join us again for dinner? Or perhaps drinks after.”
“Being a slow day of the week, allowing some of the girls to take the day off, I think after-dinner drinks could very well be in order.”
“Lovely,” Zachariah beamed, raising his teacup to her. “We shall be here.”
“Will you two be spending the night? I can send up some ma
ids to ensure the room is in order.”
“We shall be, yes. Thank you, Melody.”
She nodded and headed to her desk with the paper and inkwells, tucking them into a drawer. When Kathy skipped down the stairs, she called over to her, “Kathy, would you be a dear and ensure the suite is ready for the Duke and his steward?”
“Just finished,” she grinned.
“Thank you,” Melody nodded, looking over at the girl. She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of the excitement of the staff over the nobility. “Could you see to it that the kitchen has everything they need for dinner service? Whatever Betsy needs, go fetch it for her, please.”
Desperately Inn Love with the Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 8
