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

by Patricia Haverton

  Zachariah would be free soon. The relief he felt could not be compared to anything he experienced in all of his two-and-thirty years on this earth. The long four-day nightmare was at last nearing its end.

  Chapter 31

  “This is outrageous! Outrageous, I declare, Ridlington.” The Dowager Duchess paced back-and-forth in the drawing room of her friend, the Countess of Westex, at her London home. She was holding the letter from the kidnappers in her hand. She could still not believe what she read. She spun around and waved the letter in the air.

  “Forty thousand. They want forty thousand pounds. I may not be the one in charge of the books, but I know that we cannot come up with that kind of money.” She stopped and stared at the steward, whose face was turning pale. His countenance confirmed what she already knew. This amount would ruin them.

  To her surprise, the steward was not quick to agree with her. When at last he spoke, it was in a slow, measured tone. “Your Grace, it would be difficult but I believe it could be managed. I could…”

  “Horse-feathers! And how? How do you propose we come up with a sum such as this? I dare say, you forgot that this irresponsible venture you and my son engaged in took almost all of our savings. The sugar business will be our ruin, as I predicted.”

  Ridlington opened his mouth and then shut it again with a snap. Clearly, he knew that she was right.

  Rosalind Livingston, the Dowager Duchess of Sandorne, did not take any pride in having been correct with her assessment that investing so much of their fortune into business with India was reckless.

  Why did my son have to invest in such a new business and so far away? As if there is not enough opportunity in this country. Now we are in ruin, or about to be.

  It was the truth, while they possessed vast lands and had reliable tenants, most of their assets had been invested in the sugar business. Still, even then they would have managed comfortably year to year until the sugar venture paid off. As long as nothing unforeseen happened.

  It was this, the unknown, that had scared her when her son first presented the idea to her. She’d been concerned over a host of issues. A fire on the estate, a sudden illness, and even a spike in taxes. What she never did consider was that her son might get himself kidnapped due to his involvement with commoners.

  She found herself pacing again, a habit picked up from her deceased husband. If only her husband was still alive, Zachariah would not be in this position at all. Her husband always managed the estate and their son with a firm but kind hand. Zachariah would have been too busy doing what a Duke was meant to, rather than travel hither and fro, involving himself with unsavory people and coming up with ridiculous schemes such as a university for women.

  “Your Grace?” Caleb Ridlington’s voice pierced through her thoughts. She turned and glanced at him. “Yes, Ridlington. What is it?”

  “The money, Your Grace. I believe we can get it together. We would have to sell lands quickly, but I know of several lords in the area who would be more than willing to pay a fair price.”

  She let him finish this time before calling him out on his nonsense. “Heaven forewent, Ridlington. We will not be selling any lands. If we sell our lands, we will not have an income and we will be ruined all the same. No. No, I cannot.”

  Suddenly she felt herself overcome with the responsibility of it all. Ever since the letter arrived, Rosalind had mulled over the options. The letter was very specific. The amount of was to be handed over at a designated location, three days from now. Upon receipt of the money, Zachariah would be released.

  But released to what? That was the question. If she did as the steward suggested, they would be ruined, and how would her son cope knowing he’d brought ruin upon the family? But if she did not pay, he would be killed. At least, that is what they threatened in the letter. Would they go that far? Perhaps they would release him if they found their threats falling on deaf ears. It was all too much for her to consider. There was no way a decision could be made now.

  “Ridlington,” she addressed the steward who stood in the corner of the room like a small child, dreading to receive his punishment for a prank gone wrong. “Double your efforts to find my son. We must find His Grace before the three days are up. As for the money, speak to a bank about a loan if it pleases you. However, make no decisions without me. I am to be consulted about every step of this operation from now on.”

  “Your Grace, I…”

  She raised a hand to stop him. “That will be all. I will take the night to think over what must be done.”

  She did not wait for a reply and turned to make her way to the guest bedroom she was currently occupying. She did not expect a restful night. Indeed, she was sure sleep would be fitful, if it came at all. But she needed to think it over for a night. Her son’s life depended on it.

  Chapter 32

  Another night passed in the small chamber Zachariah was being held in. Just like the previous few nights, sleep was fitful and he found himself plagued with nightmares. Every dream ended with him trapped in some way. In a room, in a carriage, or on a ship. He’d wake with relief only to realize he was, indeed, trapped.

  How much longer am I to stay as a prisoner in this chamber? It has been five days already. Or has it been six?

  He could not be sure. The days were running together, each passing with the same monotony as the previous one. He would wake early in the morning to the sounds of the birds; the most pleasant part of his day. Eventually, one of his captors would arrive with a bowl of tasteless porridge that was runny one day and solid the next. It would come with a cup of tea so thin it was more water than anything else. They would bring him some version of soup in the middle of the day with stale bread, and the same tasteless pottage each evening. Always served with jugs of ale. Culinary geniuses these men were not.

  Neither were they skilled at what they were doing, trying their hand at kidnapping for the very first time. Or that was what it sounded like when they argued on the other side of the door. He’d come to realize through carefully listening to their footsteps that the cabin could not consist of more than two rooms, this one and the one on the other side of the door, for the men appeared to spend all their time there. It was their bickering and idle conversation which filled the silence and Zachariah was almost grateful for it.

  His attempts to engage them in conversation had ceased some days ago as his questions and demands were always met with nothing but grunts or vile, snippy remarks.

  I have never known just how much I rely on other people to keep my mind active. To fill my day. Jove, Caleb, how I miss your chatter now. And Melody—your sweet voice. How I miss its sound.

  He’d spent the first day in terror, scared he might be killed at any moment, or tortured for information. He’d been awake, not daring to sleep for fear just where he might wake up, but now that he knew his captors would not kill him as long as they got what they wanted, he’d found that loneliness, not fear, governed his days.

  For the first few days he entertained himself with making plans for the university, coming up with lesson plans and even crafting ideas on how to get more lords onto his side.

  Figuring his adventures as a kidnapped duke would elicit goodwill, he’d planned to use it for good, just as he had always seen the good in any situation. However, it had been five days now and there was nothing left for him to plan.

  Footsteps rang out and he knew from the way they sounded that the shorter of the two men was about to open the door. It felt as though it might be time for dinner, but he did not know.

  “Well, look who is awake. If it isn’t His Grace,” the man said with a smirk as he entered. “Fancy meeting you here,” he chuckled and placed the tray on the small table. Zachariah peered at it. Pottage. This time more potato than anything else.

  “It is evening, then?”

  “Aye, it is. Why do you ask? Got somewhere to be?”

  He ignored the jib even though he was almost grateful for the exchange.

  “I just
want to find out what day it is. I am not sure. It is so dark here that I cannot tell day from night. Could you at least bring another candle?”

  The man considered him for a moment and then grinned. “You nobles. So used to your ways. Lights. You know how the rest of us get by? Just like this. One tallow candle at a time, and then when that’s out we sit in the dark if we haven’t got the money for another. But no, not you nobles. You sit in your grand townhouses in London or your country estates with the whole place lit up like a bonfire. You’ll make do with yer one candle. If your family don’t pay the ransom, it’ll be the least of yer worries.”

  “Jack!” The second man hollered from the other room. “Shut your trap, you foolhardy man. What are you telling him for? Get back out here. It’s your turn.”

  Zachariah was about to speak up again when the man turned and shut the door, leaving him behind in the semi-darkness once more.

  Is this what they think of us and our ways? I suppose they are not wrong. The amount of money it costs to light the estate for a dinner party with beeswax candles is staggering. I wonder what Melody thinks of it and how she manages the cost of lighting the dining room.

  He shook his head. As always, his thoughts went back to Melody and the Gentle Rose Inn. He longed for it and her company more so than that of his mother and his own home.

  Would he ever see Melody again? And if he did, would there ever be a way for them to be more than just friends? She was a commoner, after all. She was not even a merchant’s daughter, which would be frowned upon, but accepted. Did it matter? After all of this, all he’d been through, did it truly matter anymore what anyone thought? No. Zachariah shook his head. It did not. He would do as he pleased. If he ever got the chance to.

  Chapter 33

  Rosalind descended the stairs the following day, having slept not a wink. She had mulled over her options again and again. Neither were appealing. Paying the ransom and ruining the family, or not paying and risking the death of her only child.

  If only that was an easy solution. She was never expected to make a big decision such as this on her own. As a young woman, the only daughter of a marquess, nothing was expected of her but to be a perfect lady. Her early years were spent learning the pianoforte and the harp, perfecting her embroidery skills, and mastering the art of water coloring. All decisions were made by her father or older brother. And then as a wife, the late duke made all the decisions.

  To think that I would be tasked with deciding the fate of my son. I cannot bear the thought of losing him. But neither can I bear the thought of ruining our family.

  She had just arrived downstairs when her friend, the Countess, rushed towards her.

  “You have a caller, Rosalind,” the woman said with her eyes wide. The Countess was a widow, her husband having passed many years ago. Her son, the current Earl, was the perfect peer of the realm, and a man she hoped Zachariah might take to. He never had. Instead, he chose a steward as his best friend. Another of his many bad choices.

  “It is a young lady,” her friend informed her.

  “A young lady? Who is it? I did not expect a caller.”

  Her friend furrowed her eyebrows and then scratched her temple. “My… the butler just announced her to me and I have already forgotten. Heaven forewent, my memory gets worse and worse with every passing day.” At that, her eyes lit up and she grinned. “There it is! Passing. It is Lady Passing that has come to call on you.”

  Rosalind frowned. She knew of no Lady Passing and she was sure her friend was wrong, as was often the case. She sighed and made her way to the drawing room where she came upon the young woman in question. No, her friend had indeed been wrong. The young lady was certainly not Lady Passing at all.

  “Lady Adelaide,” She greeted the caller.

  “Your Grace,” Adelaide said as the older woman entered. She rose at once and curtsied before her as deeply as she dared without toppling over. The woman looked awful. There were bags under her eyes and her face looked drawn, as though she’d not slept in days.

  No wonder, she must be going through a terrible time with the Duke missing. I am so glad I’ve come to provide some aid.

  “Lady Adelaide, I must say I am surprised. I did not expect a caller. In fact, I did not know word of my presence in London had spread already.”

  Adelaide smiled at the woman. “It has in some circles.” Dropping her voice, she added “As has the terrible news about His Grace’s disappearance. A kidnapping, how dreadful.”

  The Duchess narrowed her eyes and studied her the way one might study a new ballgown to ensure there were no nicks or faults to it. Adelaide remained seated with her back straight, hands in her lap, and a bright smile on her face.

  “So that is also known already? What a disaster. The scandal…” She sat down across from Adelaide and picked up her white feather fan to fan herself, despite the cool temperature.

  “Do not fret, it is only a select few who know. I, for one, have come upon the news by way of your steward. Mr. Ridlington called on my father and two other lords inquiring about the possible sale of some lands.”

  The Dowager Duchesses’ face turned red at once. “I told him not to do anything of that nature. We are not selling our lands, Lady Adelaide, rest assured.”

  She nodded, remaining calm. “I did not expect you would want to. However, given the outrageous sum the captors of the Duke demand, I cannot fault the steward for asking.”

  It seemed the woman’s resolve was crumbling and her desire to keep a brave face fell away. Her shoulders slumped forward and she sighed heavily, placing the fan by her side.

  “Lady Adelaide, I will confess it has been a vexing few days. I’ve not had opportunity to discuss the matter with anyone properly, other than the Countess. Since you already know of our dilemma, I suppose I might as well be frank with you. We do not currently have the funds, this much is true. My son has made investments that might pay off well in the future, but at present they leave us in a difficult situation.”

  “Say no more, Your Grace. I understand. His Grace mentioned the sugar trade to me when last we spoke.”

  This seemed to surprise the Duchess as her head tilted to one side. “Is that so? Well, then you know that the sum that has been asked is not a realistic sum at present. At any other time, perhaps we could pay, although with some difficulty. As it stands… I am faced with an impossible option. I fear we might well be ruined by the end of all of this.”

  Adelaide wetted her lips. She thought back to her conversation with her mother and father the previous night. They were pleased with her idea, but left its execution up to her, for if her proposal was rejected by Her Grace, they wanted no part in it. If it succeeded, however, they were willing to support her.

  It is just like my parents to think of only themselves. They have nothing better to do but push me to marry and marry well. But when I ask their assistance, it is given only with conditions.

  “It does not have to be this way, Your Grace. That is why I have come to call on you. To show my support, to be sure. However, there is more.” She had the older lady’s full attention now, she could tell by the way the Duchess leaned forward in her seat, her lips pursed in concentration.

  “Is that so? And what, pray tell, have you come here to talk to me about?”

  Adelaide smiled widely and picked up her cup of tea. She took a sip, eager to build suspense, and then set it delicately down on the saucer. She leaned forward then.

  “I’ve come, Your Grace, to make you a proposal that will solve all of your problems. And mine.” She smiled then and laid out her plan, aware that all of their futures: hers, the Duchess’, and the Duke of Sandorne’s depended upon it.

  Chapter 34

  Caleb shook his head. “His Grace will be outraged; I am sure of it. He would never agree to this.”

  Across from him, the Duchess shrugged. “I am sure he would rather have this than lose everything to the hands of the kidnappers. And it solves all of our problems.” The old
woman sat with a cup of tea in hand, then lifted the cup to her mouth. She took a sip and then set it down on the saucer, looking up at him with a bright smile he had not seen in days. She seemed well-rested and contented, as opposed to the last time he saw her.

  “All of our problems? With all due respect, Your Grace, I do not know how that is the case.”

  She smiled at him as if he were the naughty school boy from Eton still. “My dear Ridlington, surely it makes sense when you think about it. We are in need of funds, and in a way that does not require us to sell off three-quarters of our land holdings. As you know, my son must wed. He is not getting any younger and he must produce an heir. With a woman of equal social standing. Miss Parsons presents the perfect solution and I’ve agreed to take her up on the offer.”