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

by Patricia Haverton

  I was unfair to her. She cannot help she was born into nobility. She cannot help who she is any more than I can.

  “I apologize Lady Lavinia, I am out of sorts. The truth is, I have no desire to wed, and I challenged my mother to find me a very specific kind of woman and she has tried her hardest. Alas, I fear she does not understand what I truly seek in a future wife.”

  “And I am not it,” she said. Her tone was surprisingly nonchalant. He raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m sorry to say, you are not.” She smiled then and her shoulder dropped in relief.

  “That is wonderful to hear.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Lady Lavinia smiled brightly at him. “I do not wish to wed, either. At least not a nobleman. Since we are being honest, my heart belongs to another and I will be his wife come this time tomorrow.”

  Zachariah was entirely taken aback by this sudden revelation. “I do not know what you mean.”

  She glanced back at Miss Bagwell and then leaned in a little closer. “I beg you to keep my confidence, for if you do not my life will surely be ruined.”

  “Of course. I’ve already told you my secret. Thus, I am obliged to keep yours.”

  She smiled then. “I have never wished to wed a noble for I have lost my heart to Mr. Brandon Jones, son of the jeweler on the King’s Road. My father would never approve of the match and thus we are eloping, to Gretna Green.”

  Zachariah’s eyes widened. “Is that so? But will you not be cast out?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps. However, I am my family’s only daughter, so I hope there will be some lenience. If not, then Mr. Jones and I will settle happily into a life of our own, assisted by his father. He has our whole life planned out for us. I will be his wife and raise his children, doing all the things a wife should do, but with the man I truly love.”

  He found himself admiring her gumption. So there were independent women in his class. He hadn’t thought any such woman existed. However, Lady Lavinia’s independence was quite different from that of Melody Balfour. For Lady Lavinia did not seek to stand on her own, govern herself, and be in charge of her own future. She simply wanted the option to choose the man who would make those decisions for her.

  I wonder what Miss Balfour will think of this when I tell her.

  “It seems you have a plan ahead of you. But how will you get to Gretna Green?”

  She smiled again. “I will not reveal my method of escape, but rest assured Your Grace, I will be well protected.” She raised up her hand to show him a bracelet on her wrist. He leaned forward, although not too close as not to alarm their chaperone.

  The bracelet was made of gold and a small medallion of St. Christopher was affixed in the middle. “The patron saint of travelers,” she said, as if he did not already know. “Mr. Jones got it for me from his father’s jewelry shop. To protect me on my journey.”

  “Divine protection,” he muttered as she smiled and pressed on.

  “Indeed.”

  They carried on until they reached Kensington Gardens and they bade each other a polite farewell. He wished her well and meant it. Even though she was not the kind of independent woman he was looking for, she impressed him with her will to make her own happiness. Even if it was only a slight variation of the life most women lived, under guardianship of a man.

  Without bothering to converse with Miss Bagwell, as he had developed a curt attitude with her, he walked away with a grin on his face. For his conversation with the young woman had given him an idea, and he needed to attend to it at once before it was too late.

  Chapter 22

  Lady Adelaide Parsons exited the barouche she and her mother had been traveling in and stretched her legs. She’d sat in an awkward position in the vehicle and her right leg tingled as it came back to life. Fleet Street was busy as usual and she found herself taken in by the many fabulous gowns and walking costumes the other ladies were wearing.

  She herself was dressed in a fine white gown of the best muslin, covered by a rich blue redingote that allowed the lovely embroidery on the hem of her gown to still show through. She’d argued against wearing the redingote at all, so enamored was she with her gown, but her mother would not allow it.

  I suppose she was right. It is chilly out here. I will have opportunity to show off my gown once we are at the milliner’s.

  “Come, now Adelaide. No time to dilly-dally. We have an appointment.” Her mother clapped her hands and pointed forward where the shop front could be seen.

  She hurried beside her mother down Fleet Street when the chime of a shop door opening caused her mother to look around. At once, she grabbed her daughter by the arm.

  “There is the Duchess of Porter, please be on your best behavior. Her husband is not well, which means very soon her oldest son, the Marquess of Oliver, will be Duke and he is in desperate need for a wife. Now—smile” Her mother flashed a wide grin and Adelaide follow suit, even though she wanted to roll her eyes.

  “Your Grace,” she curtsied deeply. Adelaide made sure she curtsied both deeper and more gracefully than her mother and succeeded.

  “Lady Bellsover, what a pleasure. And Lady Adelaide, charming redingote, I must say.”

  Her mother winked at her for it had, of course, been her idea for Adelaide to wear it.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” She made sure to keep from staring directly at the older lady. It was well known the Duchess disliked uninvited eye contact.

  “We are just on our way to Hudson’s, to have a new hat made for Almack’s next week,” Adelaide’s mother said. At once, the Duchess’ eyes lit up.

  “It is darling, Almack’s, isn’t it?” She turned and rested her gaze on Adelaide. “My son, Lord Oliver, will be there. Perhaps you might like to dance with him. I know he is in desperate need of a lovely young lady to teach him.”

  “She would love to,” her mother answered for her. “Would you not?” A gentle jab in the elbow promoted her to nod in agreement. In reality, she had no interest in dancing with Lord Oliver nor any other lord. Except one. She found herself drifting into a daydream where she spent the entire night dancing with none other than the Duke of Sandorne. Handsome, witty, and wise—he was all she wanted in a man. And she knew one day he would be her husband. She’d make sure of it.

  Her mother engaged the Duchess in conversation, arranging a dinner with both their families once the Duke of Porter was well again, before excusing herself.

  “We are running late, I am afraid.”

  “You had better hurry then. Harry Hudson does not like to be kept waiting. He’s prone to give your hat away to some other lucky lady.” With that, the party separated and Adelaide pressed on beside her mother. They had already reached the front door of the millinery shop when her mother turned to her and hissed.

  “Next time, be a little more engaging. The woman is mother to one of London’s most eligible bachelors. They have seventy thousand a year! Seventy!”

  Adelaide frowned. “We have much more than that. Father is the richest peer in the entire realm.”

  Her mother huffed at this. “Yes, and almost all of it in entailment so when your father passes it will all go to your uncle and then what? Do you think he will keep you for the rest of your life? Me, surely. It is expected. But you? Adelaide, if you wish to maintain the kind of standard you are used to, you must wed. And well.”

  She sighed then and indicated with her head toward the door. “Yes, Mother. I know. And I shall. But I will never catch a husband if I do not get a new hat made. And a gown.”

  Without further ado, the two entered the shop, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of Fleet street. Soon, her mother was entirely captivated by the many offerings in the shop, leaving Adelaide to glance outside the window where she caught sight of something, or rather someone, that made her heart jump with joy.

  “A lovely selection, Your Grace. You have impeccable taste as always,” Philip Rundell said with a smile. Well aware that this flattery was surely bestowed upon
all of his clients, Zachariah only gave a small shrug in reply.

  “I hope the recipient will think so.” He smiled to himself, pleased with his purchase. If anything, it might be considered too much by the woman set to receive the gift. I can hardly wait to return to the Gentle Rose tonight. I hope Miss Balfour will…

  “I almost guarantee that she will. Now, is there anything else you would like to see today? I have a pair of rather poorly made, old cufflinks that were offered me as a trade in, for the value of the gold.”

  This comment caused Zachariah to genuinely laugh.

  “Rundell, you are my kind of man. I need not see the cuff links. If they are as hideous as you say, I will gladly take them off your hands. What is the cost?”

  The tall, slim owner of Rundell and Bridge shrugged. “A small donation to the foundlings’ hospital will do.” He turned then to retrieve the cuff links which he wrapped in paper and added to Zachariah’s other purchases.

  “Perhaps one day you might tell me why it is you ask me to keep an eye out for poorly made and unpleasant looking cuff links.”

  Zachariah winked at him. “One day, perhaps. Until then, keep on looking, good man.”

  He departed the store then and was about to rush back to his carriage, which awaited him at Farrington Road, when—

  “Your Grace!” A familiar but altogether unwelcome voice called out from up ahead and he looked up, torn from his thoughts. As he spotted the owner of voice and his worse suspicions were confirmed, he let out a groan before forcing his most pleasant smile upon his face.

  “Lady Adelaide.” He bowed slightly to the young girl and then turned to the regal looking woman beside her. “And Lady Bellsover, what a pleasure.” The Marchioness extended her hand for a kiss which he grudgingly felt obliged to do. He did not care for the woman, nor her daughter. Alas, it was too late. He’d been seen and had to put up with the unwelcome chit-chat.

  “Always a pleasure, Your Grace.” The older woman pinched her lips together and then threw her daughter an almost undetectable glance. At once, the girl beamed up at him while she unbuttoned her redingote and swayed her hips, drawing attention to her fine gown.

  He frowned at this obvious plot at showing off her finery. Just another vain girl whose head was filled with nothing but which gowns to wear, which ball to attend, and the latest on-dit.

  “Did I see you come out of Rundell and Bridge a moment ago, Your Grace? It is my most favorite goldsmith. I always say, what’s fit for the Regent and the Queen will do for me,” she giggled at the joke but he found no humor in it at all. He stood, stony-faced, but she didn’t seem to notice at all.

  “You must have bought a gift for your dear Lady Mother. What a good son you are. I wish I had the pleasure of having a son, it so relieves worries for the future when there is an heir in the picture.”

  He thought of the almost immeasurable wealth the Marquess of Bellsover possessed. Surely, his wife and daughter had nothing to worry about once the Marquess passed. His brother would keep the family well, it was all but expected.

  It wasn’t as if noble women truly had to worry about the lack of an heir. There was always someone: a brother, an uncle, a cousin thrice removed, who could be counted upon. Of course, a noblewoman such as Lady Bellsover or Lady Adelaide likely thought it a nightmare to have to move from their grand mansion into a slightly smaller mansion, should the worst happen and the master of the house pass away without a male heir.

  I wonder what it is like for commoners. Miss Balfour was lucky enough to have the inn to keep her safe, but what if she had not? I must ask her what she knows of the fate of common women who are left in such positions.

  ‘Your Grace?” the squeaky voice of Lady Adelaide sent a shudder down his spine. He looked at her and realized she’d been talking to him.

  “I am sorry. I was in my thoughts.”

  “That is quite all right, Your Grace. I heard all about your upcoming partnership with the sugar merchant in India. You must be so excited.”

  “I am. I will be departing for India relatively soon.” At this, she paled and for a moment and the smile which had been stuck on her face faded.

  “You are?”

  “Indeed. We are to leave within the month, unless something out of the ordinary prevents us.”

  A silence passed between the group until Lady Bellsover spoke up again.

  “Well, if that is the case, I hope you will join us this coming week at Almack’s before you set off. I know your mother will be there and she expressed her deepest desire that you will be as well.”

  He wanted to grunt at this but knew it to be true. His mother did not approve of his plan to go to India, although he had mentioned it only in passing.

  In any case, the trip was not set in stone at all. He was not even sure that he really wanted to go to India anymore. There was so much to consider. He had begun to make strides with some of the peers who weren’t entirely opposed to his idea of women receiving a proper education and rights akin to a man’s. If he left now, they would lose interest. And then there was the matter of the Gentle Rose Inn.

  I wish to get away from the marriage mart, but it will also mean abandoning my promise of protection to Miss Balfour and Miss Lovell, and that I could not do to them.

  “Yes, Your Grace, you must join us at Almack’s. If I am not to see you for such a terribly long time, I want to take my chance at a last dance,” the young girl blinked at him. He felt nothing but repulsion at her eagerness. Ever since becoming Duke he’d encountered this behavior of young girls throwing themselves at him. He despised it, as he knew it was for his title, not for him.

  “I suppose my mother will insist on my being there, anyhow.” The girl’s face lit up at once and she clapped her hands together.

  “What a delight, Your Grace.”

  “And who knows, something might happen yet between your departure and today,” the Marchioness said with a grin. “I know it would be ever such a loss for the ton were you gone the rest of the Season.”

  He forced a hint of a smile but felt himself growing hot under his cravat. He wanted to leave. This street, these people, this conversation—all of it was so boring, so vexing. So not what he wanted his life to be. No, he didn’t want to be here at all. This was not real life for much of the country, anyhow.

  “I should hope there would be no delay, lest my new sugar business should suffer. In any case, I must depart your delightful company.” He bowed without giving further explanation, and before the Marchioness or her daughter could push their hands into his face again to be kissed, he turned and rushed away.

  There was, indeed, somewhere he had to be. And not only that, it was a place he felt he wanted to be. A smile rushed over his face as he flagged down his coachman and entered the carriage, making his way toward his eagerly-anticipated destination.

  Chapter 23

  The sun was already setting on the horizon and there was no sign of the Duke or his steward. Melody didn’t like to admit it, but she stepped to the new window much more often than usual to peek outside. Betsy also had taken to coming out of the kitchen to receive a report on their imminent arrival.

  Each time she was met with a shake of the head from Melody, she returned to the kitchen a little sadder. The inn was beginning to fill with revelers; regulars and visitors alike, for the dinner service. When the door opened, the small bell she had installed above the door the previous day chimed and she looked up, her heart beating.

  “Mel, old girl. Has Betsy got any of those clangers left? My tummy has never been so happy than when I bit into that delicious blueberry filling.” Morris Thurnbull stepped into the inn and Melody found herself deflated at once.

  You daft girl. Getting your hopes up every time the bell chimes that it might be Zachariah… She chided herself but then beamed at Thurnbull.

  “I’ll see what I can do, Morris.”

  The man grinned at her and licked his lips. He was a nice, older fellow who owned a farm outside of town and
was among her most valued customers. She stepped toward the kitchen door and peeked inside.

  Betsy was busy preparing the vegetables, and an array of strudels were sitting at the ready and the smell of gravy wafted through the air.

  “Morris Thurnbull would like a clanger,” she called out, just to have Betsy storm her way, her eyes wide. She was a lot more put out by the late arrival of the Duke—or more likely Mr. Ridlington—than Melody had expected.

  “A clanger? For dinner? Doesn’t the old fool know Bedfordshire clangers are for eating in the field? Not to put on a dinner plate.”