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

by Patricia Haverton

  “Yes, Melody,” Kathy stated as she scurried off to the kitchen.

  Only a minute or two passed before both Kathy and Betsy were at her desk. “Melody, what are we doing for tonight’s menu? Considering the guests.”

  She peered through the entryway to find Caleb absolutely ogling Betsy and while Zachariah’s back was to them, Melody had a feeling he was smirking at Caleb’s behavior. “Make the menu as planned,” she decided.

  “Are you sure? It’s shepherd’s pie.”

  “Sounds delicious,” Melody nodded, continuing her paperwork. When she could feel both of them staring down at her, she sighed. “As you can likely observe, I believe that the Duke and his steward are going to be regulars. We do not have the funding to always put on a big meal for them, nor do I think they really expect it. Just do what you have planned and ensure it is done well. That is what really matters.”

  She could see Betsy wringing her apron out of the corner of her eye. “Would it be all right for me to put on a dessert? I would love to make flummery.”

  Melody hid her smirk. This exchange was not about ensuring the menu was appropriate for their visitors—Betsy longed to impress the steward. “A little fancy, but yes, that would be fine.”

  Betsy clapped her hands excitedly and listed off a handful of ingredients to Kathy before sending her along to the grocer. “It’s going to be a divine dessert!” she exclaimed before hurrying back to the kitchen.

  Melody rolled her eyes and turned her attention once more to the ledgers in front of her. When Kathy immediately emerged from the door once more, Melody found herself ready to groan in frustration. “I think you best see this, Melody,” Kathy whispered. “It was on the doorstep.”

  Her brow creased as Kathy extended a piece of paper. It was a letter.

  To the Disgraceful and Distasteful Balfour,

  I will not tolerate being barred from an establishment I have given so much of my hard-earned money to. You will regret embarrassing me in such a manner! It will not be the death of me for a noddy strumpet to attempt to have the bullocks of a man.

  I hope your inn burns to the ground! Perhaps I will see to it myself that it is nothing more than ash and rubble.

  Trumpery!

  X

  Melody was dizzied with shock and anger. The nerve of Obadiah to sign the letter with an “X”, as if she wouldn’t know it was him.

  To call me a noddy strumpet! A trumpery!

  Her corset suddenly felt too tight as she struggled to take a breath from the flurry of emotions stirring up inside her. Spots grew in her vision as she felt faint, her balance was off-center; her hands desperately reached out in hopes of catching herself.

  Chapter 12

  Zachariah and Caleb were mid-conversation about their entry into the sugar trade when the sight of a figure wobbling in the distance caught the corner of the Duke’s eye. He peered over to see Melody standing in front of her desk, an ill look on her face as she struggled to regain her balance. He wasted no time to make his way over to her, dashing to her side as if it were his duty. Just as she caught herself on the spindles of the stairs, Zachariah’s hand cautiously placed itself on her waist.

  “Melody, are you all right?”

  “What?” she muttered, looking at him with hazy eyes. He stared at her intently, trying to make sense of her sudden condition. Slowly, she came out of the clouds of confusion, blinking rapidly as a hand went to her forehead. “Oh, yes, I—”

  Zachariah noticed a letter in her hand and wondered if it had anything to do with it. Melody glanced at it, shaking her head and stepped to her desk, putting it in a drawer.

  “I must have forgotten to eat lunch. Got a little lightheaded is all,” she murmured.

  “Why don’t you come sit with me for a while? Until you feel better.”

  Melody nodded and Zachariah carefully guided her into the dining room. He moved over to a booth, not wanting her sitting on a stool and spilling onto the floor. Caleb tasked himself with bringing over the tea tray and his wine, settling in across from the pair.

  He flagged down a maid, “Would you fetch Miss Balfour some tea and bread? Perhaps some broth as well.”

  “Just tea is fine, really,” Melody muttered, nodding to her employee and sending her on her way.

  “You really must eat something if you are faint,” Zachariah frowned.

  She shook her head defiantly, “I’ll just put some sugar in my tea. I’ll be all right.”

  He thought about arguing with her, but found himself smiling as he realized that he would surely lose. After all, it would be him trying to tell her how to care for her own body.

  I have no authority on such a matter.

  The maid soon returned with a teacup and a fresh teapot for the both of them, taking the other one away.

  As she stirred a measly spoonful of sugar into her tea, Zachariah thought it best to make small talk. “Have we missed anything exciting since we were last here?”

  The pale look returned to her face, giving him some concern, but she then lifted her cup to her lips and took a small sip.

  “I must say you have. A chicken got into the kitchen the day you left.”

  The two men chuckled and crinkled their noses in amusement. “A chicken in the kitchen?”

  She nodded and set her tea back down. “I was in here, tending to the customers when screams sounded from the kitchen. I went to see what the matter was, and there are feathers flying about, the cooks all screaming. Betsy, being the bossy thing that she is, had her hands on her hips and was yelling at the fowl like it understood her demands but it was defiantly not obeying. It was such a sight to see, really.”

  “How did such a thing occur?” Zachariah snickered.

  “Apparently it had escaped from one of our neighbor’s gardens. A maid opened the door to let some fresh air in, as all the ovens were going, and it was getting quite stuffy in there. The bird merely sauntered in. The screams startled it and, well, chaos ensued.”

  “I certainly hope it was on the menu that evening,” Caleb laughed.

  “It was rightfully returned to its garden,” Melody informed him.

  The conversation flowed easily between the three of them and Zachariah could not help but remark at his own ease when at the inn. Even at his own home, there was a tension that hung about him, keeping his shoulders lifted and his jaw set in place. At the inn, he felt as though he could breathe and enjoy himself. Though he would be quite the devilish fool if he was not honest and admit, even to himself, that he would enjoy more alone time with Melody.

  “I must get back to work now,” Melody stated, looking up at him. Once more, he was given pause at how pretty she really was. He often forgot, paying more attention to the words than the plush rosy lips they spilled from.

  “If you were not such a talented innkeeper, I would have to hire you to keep me company,” he grinned at her. “Your conversation leaves nothing to be desired.”

  “Good save, Your Grace. You nearly called me a strumpet,” she mused as she stood from the booth.

  His cheeks darkened as she walked away. He had no intention at all to refer to her in such a way!

  I had only meant it to be a compliment.

  Caleb was howling with laughter, earning glares from Zachariah. “Quiet, you.”

  “Forgive me, old chap. It’s just been quite some time since I last saw you blush. It is too much to bear.”

  Zachariah stared away from his friend, horribly embarrassed. When his eyes caught Melody at the bar, however, she gave him a kind smile and he eased.

  At least I haven’t truly offended her.

  Perhaps he was fonder of her than he originally thought, but he thought it was possibly in the way that he would be fond of a little sister or a childhood friend.

  Melody’s mind could not stop reeling over Obadiah’s letter. She soon fetched it from her desk and made her way into the kitchen, wanting to share it with Betsy. She felt awful for lying to Zachariah over it, however, it was som
ething she could see to herself. The Duke would surely to take the matter too seriously, as he hadn’t been exactly as understanding as she had been the night of the incident.

  “Betsy?” she called, peering around. Of course, she found the head cook hunched over a pot, with milk, water, and sugar for the flummery she was oh-so dying to make for the steward. Her round face peered up to her with a big smile, but it faltered when she took notice of the grave expression on Melody’s face.

  She handed the cook the letter, explaining it was left on the doorstep. Betsy poured over the letter, her jaw dropping as she read. “What a vile man!” she breathed. “Where does that sorry man find the gusto to call you such awful things? And to threaten the inn! Did you share this with the Duke?”

  Melody took the letter back and shook her head. “I can sort this myself. Obadiah was likely already bosky when he wrote that. See how sloppy his writing is? I swear I can almost smell the sherry on the page,” she snorted.

  “Threats are nothing to take lightly, Melody…”

  “Hot air, that is all that Obadiah is,” she stated, shaking her head. “I am not as much concerned as I am offended.”

  “Rightfully so! The town drunk, trying to paint the modest inn owner as a harlot! If I were to see him on the street, Melody, I would,” Betsy grabbed her rolling pin and waved it in the air, “give him a proper beating. I would! One that his mother clearly never dished out to him to set the drunk straight! He would be so straight after I was done with him that he could never be a crooked old man again!”

  Melody did her best to stifle her laughter as she admired the seriousness carved into Betsy’s face—but how adorable her plump cook was with such determination and violence sparkling in her big blue eyes. Betsy didn’t look as though she could hurt a fly, but she would certainly try.

  “How thoughtful of you, Betsy,” Melody smiled at her, slowly lowering the arm which Betsy had thrust in the air with her pin in hand. “I don’t think that will be necessary but if I see him—”

  “You best send for me and my pin,” Betsy narrowed her eyes at Melody, trying to exhibit just how serious she was.

  “I will,” Melody nodded, still holding in a burst of laughter. “Once dinner is served, why don’t you come join the gentleman and I for dessert and drinks? I think you can leave the rolling pin behind.”

  Betsy’s face immediately altered into a brilliant, grinning expression. “Wonderful idea, Melody. I definitely will.”

  On the evening went. Melody fluttered about the inn, pouring drinks, collecting dishes, checking in the infrequent traveler. Every time she peered over to the Duke and steward, they were talking and laughing, an assortment of newspapers, ledgers, and quills splayed about the table. Occasionally, she would feel a pair of eyes on her, but when she peered about, she wouldn’t notice anyone watching her.

  Dinner was soon served and Melody was grateful once again for a slow evening, as it caused the day to wind down smoothly and quickly. It also helped that the dinner itself was simple, shepherd’s pie with dinner rolls. It was one of Melody’s childhood favorites, actually. She had a plate of her own, but only managed to take bites between helping each customer.

  As she collected dishes from the Duke’s table, she asked, “How was your meal?”

  “Delicious,” he responded, patting his stomach.

  “The most decadent shepherd’s pie I’ve ever had,” the steward cooed.

  “Hopefully you left room for dessert. Betsy has been slaving away over some very delectable flummery all afternoon.”

  Caleb gasped, “How did she know that was my favorite?”

  “You can ask her yourself,” Melody smiled as she watched her friend approach with a platter of desserts. She quickly headed into the kitchen to put down the bin of dirty dishes before she moved out into the dining area once more, only stopping at the bar for four glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

  As she settled in next to Zachariah, seeing as how Betsy had slid in next to Caleb, Melody began pouring them each a stiff glass of whiskey. “You two are having whiskey?” Caleb gaped.

  “Why shouldn’t we? It pairs the best, out of any drink, with the toffee,” Melody replied, actually a bit confused by his shock.

  “Can’t say I’ve ever seen a woman have whiskey,” Caleb muttered.

  Melody let out a single laugh, “Perhaps in your aristocratic circles, Mr. Ridlington, would you find it rare for a woman to sip anything but fine wines and champagnes. It would be the same chance of rarity for you to appear behind my bar and find a drink that Miss Lovell and I have not shared after a long day’s work. From the cheapest ale to some of the finest wines and spirits in stock.”

  As Caleb looked away in embarrassment, Zachariah raised his whiskey with a smirk on his face, “To camaraderie and flummery.”

  “Here, here!” Betsy giggled, clinking glasses with the Duke.

  “How has the week been treating you, Betsy?” Zachariah asked of the cook.

  Melody couldn’t recall if the two had ever spoken directly to one another. Betsy smiled and ducked her head respectfully at the Duke, surprising the entire table. “Quite well, thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Zachariah,” he clarified.

  “Betsy,” Caleb moaned, “You have truly outdone yourself with this dessert. I mean, truthfully, it is so divine that I could weep. How did you know to make my favorite?”

  “Any man with good taste would consider a well-made flummery to be among his favorites,” Betsy beamed, absorbing all of the attention that was on her. “Isn’t that right, Melody?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I am quite fond of a trifle.”

  Betsy rolled her eyes but Melody was at a loss, not understanding what her friend was wanting from her.

  Did she want me to join in on her dessert-themed flirting?

  Melody chuckled to herself and sank her spoon into her own dessert. She had to admit, it was rather delicious.

  “Melody,” Zachariah began again, “I have been giving quite a bit of thought to our previous conversations.”

  “Have you?” she questioned, hiding her own delight. She, too, had thought over their time together. It had been a rare event for her that she had such a deep and engaging conversation with someone.

  He nodded earnestly. “I have some more questions for you—if I could trouble you for your time some more.”

  Before Melody could happily oblige, Caleb groaned. “Dear friend, must we talk about such gloomy subjects? I know you; you are about to let off a litany of questions about working conditions and civil rights issues. However, would it not be more suitable to keep things light? We are in such wondrous company that it seems only fitting.”

  She witnessed Zachariah’s shoulders deflate and he gave a sad, solemn nod. “I suppose you are right. I do not wish to bore everyone.”

  “So Betsy,” Caleb began again, “You must tell me all about you growing up.”

  Melody and Zachariah exchanged a private, bemused look.

  She lifted her glass of whiskey and knocked back a delicious swallow of the amber liquid, realizing that it would, in fact, be a long evening.

  Chapter 13

  There was something about dinners with Melody and Betsy that left Zachariah satisfied—but craving more. After a long night in bed, where he did not sleep much at all, he came to the conclusion it was because as delightful as the conversation was, it was not nearly as riveting as when it was only he and Melody. Conversation while Caleb and Betsy were around tended to stay with light, playful banter.

  He could approach the subject of women’s rights, but it did not have the same punch to it as it did when it was only him and Melody. That was what he had come to the inn craving.

  It wasn’t until the following morning that he was able to fulfill his desire for further conversation. Once more rising just as the sun greeted the horizon beyond the trees, Zachariah dressed himself before tiptoeing through the inn as he had once before. During his descent, however, he was stopped short wh
en he noticed an open door.

  Peering inside, he witnessed Melody, barely kissed by the first light of dawn, removing the blankets and sheets in a double-bedded room. The occupants had departed that morning, or so he assumed. “Are you always this hard at work so early in the morning?” he asked as soft as the morning light as he stepped into the room.

  Her eyes didn’t even flinch from her task. “Are you always this curious at such an hour?”

  “Touché, mademoiselle,” he grinned.

  The Duke sauntered across the room, taking note of the aged but still delicate floral wallpaper and extraordinary crown molding. He noticed that the common rooms had candlelight instead of the gas-powered fixtures in his and Caleb’s suite. Zachariah wondered if Melody, too, had gas fixtures in her room, but found himself drawing the conclusion that she would not bother with such luxuries. He smiled.