He put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t fret any further. We will get to the bottom of this. Come with me.”
Unable to help himself, Zachariah kept her close to his side as they moved throughout the inn. He mentally cursed Caleb for getting so drunk. As they moved to his suite, he spotted a maid. “Miss, would you mind retrieving my footman? Posthaste, please. Send him to my suite. And get Betsy. Tell her to bring some brandy.”
The maid ogled at the broken and crying Melody before running down the stairs. Stepping into the room, he settled into the chaise lounge with her. His instincts were heightened, wanting to hold her as tight as he could while also longing to turn the little town upside down until he found that wretched drunk. How dare he threaten her virtue and her life!
Soon, Michael, the footman, and Betsy appeared in the doorway. He was relieved when the cook swarmed over Melody, able to hold her in the way she needed to be. Standing, he showed the letter to Michael. “I need you to send for the constable. Tell him there needs to be a manhunt for Obadiah…”
“Caney,” Betsy added.
“Yes, Obadiah Caney. Have the maids lock the doors. No one leaves or enters until the constable is here.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Then he poured Melody a drink of brandy and kneeled in front of her, extending it to her. “I do not wish to drink right now,” she croaked.
“It will help calm your nerves,” he urged. Taking her hands softly, he held the glass for her, his hands clasped over hers. “You are shaking like a leaf.”
With some soft encouragements from Betsy, Melody slowly drank down the liquor and he set the glass on the table. Staying positioned in front of her, he said, “I need you to tell me all that has transpired. Don’t spare any detail.”
She sniffled and still struggled to compose herself. The Duke poured her another drink. Slowly but surely, she calmed enough to speak, though her head rested in her hand, propped against the arm of the chaise lounge. “Send for Kathy, ask her to retrieve the letters. She knows where they are.”
Betsy eyed Zachariah who nodded to assure her that he would care for her friend. The cook slipped away and Zachariah once more sat by Melody’s side. “I am so sorry you are being tormented like this, Melody. You have done nothing to deserve this.”
“I underestimated him. I knew he was a slubberdegullion, but I never thought he would threaten me in such a way as this,” she whispered. “I made a cake of myself.”
“You have not made a cake of yourself because you tried to see good in even the vilest of men.”
“You say that, but here we are.”
In the moment of privacy, Zachariah squeezed her hand. “I assure you, I will not rest until that man is caught and tried for this crime.”
“That makes two of us,” she sighed.
The cook and the maid soon returned. When he took the letters, he peered up to Kathy. “Would it be too much trouble to ask for you to fetch something for me? A wooden box, it should be on Miss Balfour’s bed.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
The maid scurried away and he scooted over to give Betsy room to comfort Melody. Zachariah read the notes from Obadiah dutifully, his dread deepening with every passing sentence.
“He threw a stone through the kitchen this evening,” Melody commented as he reached the final page. “It said ‘dovey pie’.”
“I wish you would have told me this was occurring,” Zachariah frowned.
She looked down at her lap with shame. “I thought I could handle it.”
“I fear you are too brave for your own good, pet,” Betsy cooed. “The constable will be here soon. Let me fix your hair.”
“Faith,” Melody muttered, realizing only then that it was still down. She perched on the edge of the chaise lounge and Betsy combed her fingers through the silky, blonde locks before making a long, loose braid. Zachariah wasn’t sure if it was proper for him to watch, but he couldn’t seem to look away.
The constable and a few of his men soon flooded the room. Melody stayed on the chaise longue, pressed to Betsy’s side, as Zachariah explained everything to them. The cook hummed softly, and Melody knew it was in hopes of drowning out the words for her. She was grateful for it. Never had she felt so weak, frail, and sensitive.
The constable cleared his throat, beckoning her attention. “Don’t worry, Miss Balfour. We will search the inn and then the town. We will be around constantly to be sure he does not return to your inn.”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” she called over, though her eyes never lifted from her lap.
The men soon left to conduct their search, taking the letters with them. “I want this nightmare to end,” she groaned.
“It will, soon,” Betsy assured her.
A door creaked and Melody flinched. Eyes fell on Caleb, who stood in his bedroom door, rubbing his red eyes. “What is going on?”
“You bloody fool,” Zachariah hissed.
“Do not be harsh on him. There was no way for him to know what was going on,” Betsy defended, standing from the chaise longue.
“He may not have, but he should know better than to get so drunk when away from home.”
“What? What is it?” Caleb asked, stepping further into the room.
Before anyone could explain, Melody raised a hand for pause. “Please, no more. I cannot bear to hear anymore tonight.”
Caleb’s face was pleading then, guilt riddling his expression. Betsy’s gaze flicked from Melody to Caleb and back to Melody. She waved her on. “Come with me down to the kitchen. I’ll explain on the way.”
When the two left, Melody gave Zachariah a weak smile. “Might I have another brandy?”
“You read my mind,” he murmured. Pouring them each a glass, he handed hers over and clinked them together before he sat.
“I fear I’ll never sleep again,” Melody breathed. “I have been through many things in my life, but never have I felt unsafe in my own home.”
“Caleb and I will be here just as much as we can,” he said in hopes of assuring her. “I’ll be sure to speak with the constable before I leave. I’ll pay for a few of his men to have rooms here until the drunk is captured.”
“Thank you,” she squeaked. “I know you are tired of expressions of gratitude, but I don’t think I could mean it more.”
“Easy now,” Zachariah smiled softly. “This one I will take.”
Her eyes then fell to the wooden box on the table. She recalled him asking Kathy to get it from her room. Had he brought it up there? “What is that?” she asked, pointing with drink in hand.
His entire face lit up. “I was waiting for a perfect moment to give this to you. There may not be a better time than now.” Moving the box over to position in front of her, he gestured for her to open it.
Sitting up straight, Melody unlatched the metal hooks and opened the case. A breath escaped her. Inside was a carved and painted chess set! It was made of the most gorgeous stained and glossy wood. “Zachariah, it’s beautiful.”
“Every chess player needs a set.”
Their eyes locked and her heart squeezed in a wonderful way. The paper, ink, and liquors had been a godsend for her business—but this was for her. “I will spare you the appreciation,” she grinned.
“Please do.”
Nibbling on her lip in hopes to deflate her own expression, she then asked, “Might we play?”
“Now?” he asked, his eyes squinting. She nodded. “Of course. Come now.”
They sat on the floor to be on opposing sides of the table and together, they set up each of the pieces on their assigned squares. That was just what she needed to ease her troubled mind. And she had Zachariah to thank. While it wouldn’t undo all that had transpired, it was a welcome distraction. The two of them reached for the final piece, the rook, at the same time, and their fingertips brushed against one another. There was a slight tingling spark to it. Their eyes locked and she wondered if he felt it, too.
Chapter 21
&nb
sp; Melody passed by Mr. Floyd, one of the constables paid to stay at the inn by Zachariah, and gave him a curt nod which the man responded to with a tip of his hat.
Who would have thought I would need protection in my own home and business from the likes of Obadiah?
Two weeks had passed since the threatening note appeared in her bedroom and thus far, there had been neither more notes nor rocks thrown though her window. It would have been brazen and stupid of him to attempt such a thing, given there were presently three constables staying at the Gentle Rose.
“All quiet, Miss Balfour,” the man reported as she passed and she smiled in reply.
“Thank you, I appreciate you keeping watch.”
He shrugged then.
“It is what the Duke pays us for. It is a pleasure to work in an establishment surrounded by such fair ladies, I will admit.” He chuckled at his own joke. Melody forced another smile even though she did not care for comments such as this. It made her feel as though she and her employees were there only for their viewing pleasure.
She walked past her reception desk and into the kitchen where Betsy rushed hither and fro, preparing the bread loaves for the day. She noticed at once the difference in her friend’s demeanor and then remember just why she was so cheerful.
“I see a certain steward’s imminent arrival has you all but singing this morning.”
“I beg your pardon, Melody Balfour. I do not know what it is you are implying.” However, the smile on her face gave it away. It was indeed the expected return of Mr. Ridlington that made her feel giddy.
“She did sing this morning, miss,” Kathy reported from her station in the back of the kitchen.
“Hush, or I’ll have you shovel out the barn later on!”
“We haven’t got a b….” Kathy was about to protest when Betsy cut her off with a wave of the arm.
“I’ll find a barn for you to shovel. Old MacMillen will be wanting help, I’m sure!”
Melody giggled at the exchange. While the days following the discovery of the threat had been downright terrifying, now that they had the constables staying things returned to normal and she was in good spirits. And lastly, because Mr. Ridlington would, of course, be accompanied by the Duke himself.
“Looking forward to playing some more chess later?” Betsy asked in order to take the heat off herself and re-direct it at her friend. “Must be a pleasure to play again.”
“That it is,” Melody agreed as she tied her apron on to help. Zachariah was a wonderful player and yet she found she could beat him at the game with ease. She just didn’t let him know that, to keep the game going for longer. He was true to his word and over the past fortnight either he or his steward had stayed with them several days a week which added a sense of security. However, it also annoyed her to some degree that they needed this protection.
“What is with the face?” Betsy demanded as she kneaded the dough for the buns.
“Nothing, just that I feel a bit upset at us needing the assistance of men, and their protection against the likes of Obadiah Caney. This would never happen to a male innkeeper.”
“Well, it might. Although not for the same reason,” Betsy said.
“Not to this extent, I assure you. Threatening notes, rocks thrown through windows, and calling me and all of my staff horrible names. Tell me again how this would happen if I were a man.”
Betsy raised her flour covered hands in defeat. “You’re right, you’re right. I wish it weren’t as it is, alas…” she shrugged and handed Melody the dough. “Here, put your anger to use and take it out in the dough. It needs it.” She nodded with her chin toward the work bench and motioned for Melody to throw the dough onto it. She did so gingerly, the way she always made bread, only to find her best friend and head cook scoffing at her.
“Not like it’s a babe needing a bath. Toss it. Imagine it’s Obadiah. Like so.” She picked up another pile of dough and threw it down onto the work bench with such force nearby pots clanged together.
“Faith, Betsy! You scared me.” Kathy complained from the back where she was readying the dishes for breakfast.
“What has this dough done to you?” Melody asked with her green eyes wide.
“Nothing, you silly goose. I am making Viennese apple strudel. Traditionally you throw the dough down 100 times, but I haven’t got that kind of time on my hands, so I just throw it harder for half the time.”
Melody frowned. “Strudel?” It was not the kind of dish they usually offered at the inn. They usually stuck with easy to prepare dishes their patrons were familiar with. Apple strudel seemed the kind of food one might find at a ball or served at the homes of the nob…
Of course. I should have known.
“Mr. Ridlington put you up to this, didn’t he?”
At once Betsy blushed and turned away, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, which left a streak of flour on her face.
“He might have mentioned that he likes the dish. So does His Grace, by the way. Something about the Vienna Treaty they attended or some such thing.”
Melody nodded, her thoughts suddenly elsewhere entirely. She glanced at the clock. It was early still. The two men didn’t make a habit of arriving quite so early. It would be some hours before she would see them. Or him. While she cared for the steward, it was the Duke she really wished to see. She owed him much gratitude for all he’d done and continued to do for her.
Though I do not like having to ask for help, he never makes me. He gives his help freely and only asks for a lady’s perspective on life.
“Melody!” Betsy’s sharp voice sounded. She turned and saw her friend blinking at her with some curiosity. “The dough doesn’t throw itself, you know.”
Melody gave her a sharp nod of the head and then set forth to throw the dough, imagining it to be the face of none other than her tormentor, Obadiah Caney.
“Of course, I do believe a woman ought to have an education,” the young lady beside him nodded eagerly as they made their way down the wide foot-path that lead from Hyde Park Corner to Kensington Gardens. Miss Bagwell was a respectable distance behind them, acting as chaperone once more.
He had to admit, the woman was nothing if not determined. This was the third match she’d attempted to make for him in as many weeks. None had gone well and yet here she was—at it once more. She’d branched out into London and he now found himself presented with possible matches both at Sandorne estate and when in London. To say he was permanently vexed was an understatement.
I cannot wait to be done with this tedious walk and finish my business so I may stay at the Gentle Rose again.
However, it would be some time before he could. He was not meeting with his business partners until noon and it was morning yet.
“You do? Believe a woman has a right to an education the same as any man ought to?” The young woman, Lady Lavinia Roseberry, daughter of the Earl of Wexfort, glanced up at him, her dark-brown eyes wide.
“But of course, Your Grace. Any girl should know how to sew, read music, play it, and recite a poem. Just as any man should learn his duties.”
He suppressed the need to sigh. It was as he’d expected. Another young woman with nothing on her mind but the prescribed pastimes of their society. Just to pass the time he decided to challenge her.
“But what of women’s right to learn globes, geography, and history? Haven’t you got the desire?”
She shook her head, her pale skin blushing. “I have not. I do not care for numbers as they confuse me, and history is for my future husband to know. My role is to ensure the future as his wife and mother…”
He could no longer hold in the sigh. “But Lady Lavinia, don’t you want more? Don’t you want to learn and be able to be independent? Read the newspapers and be able to know what you are reading? Do you even know why we were at war with France? With Spain? Our long running feud with Scotland that lasted centuries? Do you not care at all about any of it?”
She gasped at his outburst and stopped
walking.
“Your Grace is very upset. I am sorry if I have caused this surge of anger. I…”
“Is everything all right?” Miss Bagwell rushed toward them, her face at once alarmed and irritated. He raised one arm up.
“All is well. We were just stopping to rest.”
Beside him, the young woman started walking again. “Please, Your Grace, can we just carry on?”
He gave her a nod but no longer attempted to hide his irritation. These walks, balls, and social engagements were so hollow and empty that he could not bear it. Especially not after having experienced the real world, catching glimpses into the lives of those who did not have the privilege he did. His eyes fell on the young lady who looked straight ahead.
Desperately Inn Love with the Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 14
