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

by Patricia Haverton

  “Because of Caleb’s poor humor?” Melody joked.

  He had a sheepish smile then that quickly faded. Sucking in a breath, he came out with it, not seeing a point to avoid it. “He believed Caleb to be beneath me. Caleb is a well-to-do fellow. His father is a great and well-respected merchant. In fact, we only became such good friends because his father worked closely with my own. Because of that, my father allowed it but always tried to encourage me to befriend the sons of the other Dukes and Lords. I never took to them, though. Merely tolerated.”

  Melody was laughing lightly then, shaking her head. Zachariah arched a brow at her, the corners of his lips stretching upward. He quite liked the sound of her laugh. Finally, she included him in what was so funny. “Forgive me. It’s just—if he didn’t like you being friends with a well-respected merchant’s son, I cannot imagine what would be his reaction if he were to walk into the kitchen right now.”

  He, too, began to laugh. “I can imagine. Though, he would have never been seen in a kitchen. But, if he were to see us now, his face would first turn as white as this flour—and then a fiery red. He would adjust his cravat, clear his throat and go, ‘I say dear boy, whatever are you doing in here? You must escort me back to my table, posthaste. I say, posthaste now. Hup to. Is that flour on you? My God!’”

  His father’s voice had a slight lisp to it and was even posher sounding than his own. Melody was in stitches at the impersonation, her face going into the crook of her arm and bending over in laughter. Zachariah’s eyes sparkled in amazement. Oh, he loved the sound of it.

  “You can be such a comic, can’t you?” she asked when she regained her composure. He chuckled. “I suppose it goes without saying that he would not be fond of our friendship.”

  “He certainly would not,” Zachariah sighed.

  “How did he die—if I might ask? You’re so young to be a Duke.”

  Zachariah’s heart felt muddled then. His relationship with his father had been turbulent at times, but he still loved the man. Losing him had been the tragedy of his life, which felt little in comparison to all Melody had gone through. He was having tea with major political figures with polished silverware and exotic spices, while she scrubbed floorboards just to have a roof over her head.

  “He had a heart ailment. My mother claims it was from all of the meat he ate. The man was nearly a carnivore. I suppose it made him feel more like his idea of what a man should be. A provider, a hunter, and a bloodthirsty individual who still had enough class to tell a salad fork from an entrée fork. In a way, I think it did him in. He was always too stubborn to see a physician until it was too late.”

  “I’m sorry,” Melody breathed. Her hand found his, setting on top of it lightly. “I suppose we both know what it’s like to lose someone and then have a mountain of responsibility placed on us.”

  “That we do,” he nodded. His hand rotated to clasp hers. He found himself smiling at the feeling of the stickiness of their hands from the dough and slight coarseness from the flour. What he felt in that moment was unlike anything he had felt before. While he and Caleb were close, he had never experienced it, even with him. Melody was a kindred spirit.

  Once all of the loaves were prepared and left to rise, Melody put on a kettle and began preparing them a small breakfast of egg and toast. He watched in fascination as the clear, gooey part of the egg turned white and the edges crisped from the heat and butter.

  They moved into the dining room and sat down by the window. As he loaded down his tea with his usual servings of cream and sugar, he asked, “What else is on the agenda for your morning?”

  “The usual bookkeeping and managing tasks. Ensuring my maids are tending to the rooms. Things of that nature.”

  “Might I sit with you while you do the bookkeeping? If you are comfortable with that. I am interested in how you do business. Perhaps we could compare notes.”

  Melody smiled from behind her teacup. “Yes, until Caleb fetches you to return you to your castle.”

  “A castle it is not,” he chuckled. Zachariah was in no hurry to return to Sandorne, knowing good and well what would be waiting for him when they returned. His mother and Agatha.

  Chapter 15

  Melody opened the ledgers and cleared her throat, mentally preparing herself to be so open with her business with someone else. She vented to Betsy often about things but had never sat down in the way she and Zachariah were then. She wasn’t quite sure why she was willing to, other than he seemed sincere and had asked.

  “So, I inventory various areas of the inn every day. Linens, soaps, liquors, stationery supplies, and such. Betsy is in charge of all the groceries, since she knows best what is needed. She makes sure they are always on hand and lets me know when we are low.”

  He nodded, his eyes glancing over the inventory sheet she had the ledger open to. “What are the most expensive goods?”

  “Ink, paper, butter, sugar especially, and the alcohol, of course.”

  The Duke then smiled a bit. “I am actually embarking on a deal to get into the sugar trade. Perhaps, once it is finalized, I can begin supplying your sugar. At a discount, naturally.”

  “That would be wonderful,” she replied, looking at him with a bit of shock. “I would pay a fair price, of course. Having a steady and reasonable supplier would be great, however.”

  Shaking his head, he put up a hand to stop her. “We will discuss the matter further once it is set in stone.”

  She shifted in her seat and flipped the pages. “I place orders with the locals different days of the week for various supplies.”

  “Do you have good relationships with them or is it like the glazier?”

  Her head tilted side to side. “At first, it was difficult to get them to do business with me. Now that business is going well, things are all right. Most of them are kind.”

  The Duke scratched his chin, leaning over to eye the ledgers. “Are they giving you fair prices?”

  “I don’t really know. I found the records of when my husband’s family ran the business. It doesn’t seem like they were paying as much as I am. I have tried to talk to some of them about it and they say it is merely inflation.”

  He was quiet, his eyes studying the paper. “Do you by chance know where those old ledgers are?”

  “Of course.”

  Melody stood and moved to a bookshelf to the side of the desk. With ease, she plucked the notebook from the shelf, the year dated on the side. Sitting back down, she flipped to the month before her husband went to war and then placed it in front of Zachariah.

  He studied it pensively, occasionally flipping the pages and positioning the current ledger next to it. He made a tutting noise. “I am not too familiar with the pricing of these particular goods. However, I do know that inflation has not risen so much. It is no wonder you are struggling, even when so busy, when everyone is taking advantage of you. How awful this is. You are essentially paying a tax just for being a woman, because they know you need their business.”

  “I never thought of it that way, but I suppose you’re right,” Melody sighed.

  “How do you feel about this?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his hand returning to his chin.

  Melody brushed a loose hair behind her ear, her eyes falling down to the paperwork. She was amazed to find that she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She often was agitated and angry about it. How did she truly feel about it? Her mind cast back to all of the business transactions and the emotions she had at the time.

  “I suppose at first, I was honestly only grateful that they were willing to do business with me. I get frustrated about the treatment and all, but there’s nothing that can be done. How angry can I get with my butcher for overcharging when he was taught that women can’t think for themselves? If he thinks I can’t run an inn and will be serving his meat, and has been brought up to think I am incapable, why would he put his reputation at risk and potentially sell to me for the product to be wasted?”

  “That is
a mature stance to have. One that I must admit I wouldn’t have myself,” Zachariah replied. His hands folded in his lap and his eyes found hers. “I must be honest with you—I’m enraged on your behalf. I may seem calm but it’s because I have been taught to remain composed even when volatile. What I will say is that you make a valid point, but I disagree with you on one point.”

  “What point is that?”

  “That there is nothing that can be done about it.”

  She replicated his posture, studying him with curiosity. “And what, Your Grace, can be done about it?”

  His face twitched at her calling him by his title, but he eased as he witnessed the humor gleaming in her eyes. “For women’s rights to be advocated for, of course.”

  Melody’s head cocked to the side a bit. “What is your fascination with women’s rights? You’ve said before that you believe we are equal and of course I agree… But what gave birth to these thoughts?”

  He replied without hesitation. “I suppose my mother did. She would never be caught voicing the opinion that women are equal to men, but in her heart I know she believes it, too. And I’ve always felt this way. I’ve never seen any evidence that women should be thought of as the lesser. I’ve met a handful of daft women, of course. I’ve met just as many, if not more, men that have lacked common sense.”

  Melody smiled, appreciating that his motives were so sincere. He was not championing for any one woman, or doing so to grant him favor—he did so out of his own beliefs and his own morals. Just as women couldn’t think for themselves in society, neither could men due to the fact that they were privy to the same cultural influence that told them women were to be viewed as such.

  “You make a fair point, Your Grace.”

  In a surprising display, the Duke briefly stuck his tongue out at her. She covered her mouth and laughed, not expecting such an unseemly gesture from a man of his status. Though, she supposed that was the point—he wanted to be treated like any other man. “You shouldn’t cover your mouth to laugh,” he commented. “You have a lovely laugh and smile. No need to be embarrassed of it.”

  She hadn’t thought of herself as embarrassed, but him pointing it out was enough to bring a heat to her cheeks. Had Melody always covered her mouth to laugh? Such a curious thing, she had never given it any thought at all. “Perhaps I am just trying to remain quiet, as we have guests still sleeping soundly and they do not need to be disturbed.”

  “I suppose we do,” he grinned.

  Her eyes narrowed at him, ready to defend her wording and that it was nothing for him to tease her over. Yet, she could feel her lips mirroring his in a smile. Why did she entertain him so much? Why did she find him so amusing? There was something about him that was almost charming… Melody watched as his eyes moved about her face and found herself yearning to know what was going on in that mind of his.

  A knock came at the inn’s door and she looked at it in confusion. The door to the inn was only ever locked when Melody was asleep. Standing up, she moved over to the door. Opening it, her bewilderment deepened that there was no one there. Just as she began to close the door, she noticed a piece of paper on the doorstep.

  To the Trollop of Gentle Rose,

  I see your inn is still standing. What a shame that is. I might have to see to it myself that it is nothing more than a pile of bricks here soon. You’ve left me no choice in the matter. For it is your fault that I cannot walk the streets of our town openly. Folks stare at me like I am a creature of the night! I am not the pervert, dovey pie. It is you and your perversion of justice.

  Have no worries. I shall seek true justice.

  Die! Rot in Hell!

  X

  Zachariah watched as Melody read a letter that was on her doorstep, watching her casual expression turn a bit ill. “Is everything all right?”

  She blinked and folded the paper back up. “Yes, everything is fine.”

  Walking back over to the desk, she tucked the letter into a drawer. The air about her was different. Stress was pinching her eyes and her entire demeanor was flustered. “Might I ask what the letter was about?”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “It is nothing. We should go put the loaves in the oven. They ought to have risen by now.”

  While he wasn’t convinced that the letter was nothing as she suggested, Zachariah didn’t press the matter. After all, he had no right to know the personal details of her life and business. He was only grateful that she shared as much as she did. He followed her into the kitchen, watching as she fed the woodstoves their timber. Once the fires were low and steady, they slid the pans into the ovens.

  “How long will it take for them to bake?”

  “Oh, about a half hour or so. The cooks will get them out, I’m sure,” Melody muttered, wiping the flour from her hands. “If you will excuse me, I think I am going to go lay down for a bit.”

  Zachariah frowned and carefully placed a hand on her forearm. Her eyes went from his hold, up to his eyes. “Melody, are you sure you’re feeling well? You seem quite irregular since you—”

  “I’m fine,” she interrupted. “I’m only tired.”

  He deflated a bit, but she gave him a friendly smile and he eased. Perhaps she was—Melody did work herself awfully hard. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with that letter. He longed to get his hands on it and see what could have made her so ill.

  “Very well. Would you join me for lunch before I depart?”

  “Surely,” she nodded.

  They walked upstairs together in complete silence, not wanting to wake any of the other guests. When they reached his floor, he caught her hand before she could move away from him. He noticed that her hand was soft and without callous, despite all of the hard work she did day in and day out. Her olive irises locked onto his and he gave her an easy smile. Lifting her arm above her head, Zachariah gave her a little twirl before he bowed with flourish and kissed the back of her hand with a little peck.

  Standing back up straight, he indulged in the bright but puzzled look on her face. That was what he wanted to see, not the long and ill expression the letter had given her. For the first time, Zachariah noticed just how young she appeared. Surely she was only a few years younger than him, but the stress of life hadn’t blemished her face one bit. Once more, he thought how pretty she was in a simple but elegant way.

  “The proper way to end a waltz,” he mouthed to her.

  Chapter 16

  Departing from Melody, Zachariah tiptoed into his suite. To his dismay, Caleb was already awake and appeared to be packing. “Where have you been off to?” he called over without peering up at the Duke.

  “I had breakfast once again with Melody,” he informed him breezily. The Duke walked over to the old wooden desk, his favorite spot in the entire suite. “I have intentions of staying to have lunch with her.”

  “We cannot,” Caleb stated, shaking his head.

  Zachariah closed his eyes in premature agitation. “I do not wish to hear of how ill my poor mother will be. I am two-and-thirty years old, Caleb. I shall not dictate my daily schedule to soothe her every woe.”

  “While the Dowager Duchess is a concern of mine, I am meaning we must go send off the paperwork for India!”

  “Ah,” the Duke frowned. Such a pity that it was genuine business that was calling him away. His fingers traced the wood grain. “I say, old chap, why don’t you go see to it yourself? I am not feeling so well.”

  Caleb rolled his eyes and shot him a doubtful look. “All of a sudden you aren’t feeling well? Pray tell, what is the matter? You were well enough a moment ago to plan lunch. A sudden ailment, I declare!”

  He shrugged and peered out the window. “Miss Lovell and Melody are under the weather this morning, too. Perhaps something is going around.”

  “Betsy is ill?” Caleb gasped. The Duke’s gaze slowly drifted over to his friend to see him fussing over the details of his outfit. “Perhaps I shall go to town myself. I’ll pick her up a
gift and return posthaste.”

  “That would be splendid. I am going to retire to bed once more.”

  As the Duke stood, Caleb questioned him again. “Do you need anything?”

  “Only for the paperwork to be properly sent off. I wish to be the Gentle Rose’s sugar supplier by the end of autumn.”

  Caleb nodded once before hurrying out the door. Just as soon as the door clicked closed behind him, Zachariah sank back down into the desk chair. Perhaps he was a bit of a scoundrel for lying to Caleb, but he had no desire to leave that little town. He had the most fantastic morning with Melody, and he wasn’t willing to return to his own reality so quickly.

  He was stalling, which was childish, but the Duke didn’t care.