"You must go, my dear,” she told him with a clear sadness in her voice. "Neither you nor I have anything to be gained from the further pursuit of this relationship." Randall, of course, disagreed with this statement but by now he was worn out and could not argue further. Between this ghastly situation and his frequent shouting matches with his father, Randall felt as though he had no fight left in him. Furthermore, now that Berta had brought a sudden end to their relationship, Randall had nothing left to fight for anyway. The young, redheaded beauty that was the maid was now out of his life and it was time for him to dress himself in his fine party clothes, greet the guests who would spend the night pretending to care about him, and pick out the woman who would one day become his wife. That was his destiny and, deep down, he had known it all along. The young man had managed to convince himself that there was an outside chance he could make his relationship with Berta work. He believed that if he eventually came clean to his parents about his feelings for her and explained to them just how strongly he felt about her, they would be able to put their reservations aside and welcome the maid into the family. After all, they were quite fond of Berta as a person and frequently sang her praises throughout their filth-free home. However, such an event could never come to pass if Berta herself refused to become Randall's wife. Dispossessed and feeling a slight degree of anger towards the maid, Randall exited the study on the left side of the manor without saying another word to the one woman whom he loved. This moment, for the moment, brought their relationship to an end.
Chapter Three
"Why could I not be a simple butler?" Randall grumbled to himself as he fastened the buttons of his shirt. "Why did the Lord curse me and make me the son of a Duke? Had I been a common man, I would be able to take Berta for my wife and not a single person would bat an eye at our love." A knock came to his closed chamber door. A heavy knock, which told Randall that the knocker could be no other person than his father.
"Randall." came his father's voice, confirming that it was he.
"Yes, father?"
"The first guest has arrived. It is Mr Ront and he has brought with him Mrs Ront and their beautiful daughter, Sasha. It is time you come to greet them."
"I shall be down in a matter of minutes" he replied, "my outfit is not quite right."
"Very well, I shall tell them that you are tending to an important matter up here, but you must be sure to come down stairs as soon as you are dressed. Remember, my dear boy, do not slouch. It is an unattractive habit."
Randall listened to the sound of his father's footsteps thunder throughout the manor as he descended the staircase. He really was a strong and powerful man. Handsome and well read, his father truly carried himself like a duke. Randall was unsure if he would be able to do the same when his time to be the Duke of Albany came. His build was a great deal smaller than the build of his father and he was unable to grow the sort of thick moustache that dominated the lower half of the current Duke's face. Berta's dismissal of him had greatly shaken young Randall and robbed him of what little self-confidence he had possessed. Now, his birthday would be one of self-doubt, an evening which would see him turn to dozens of women whom he had never before encountered, in search of their approval. With a clear of his throat and a tug of his collar, Randall exited his chamber and descended the staircase.
"Why, here is the birthday boy!" exclaimed Mrs Ront, when Randall entered the dining room where the Duke and Duchess had been entertaining them. Randall did his best not to shudder when Mrs Ront threw her arms around his neck and planted several kisses on his innocent cheeks. It was quite well known that Misses Ront had a serious alcohol problem and the smell of stale liquor drifted into Randall's face, replacing the far more pleasurable smell of Berta's perfume.
"I remember you when you were but a little baby boy" she told him, squealing with laughter and making it quite clear to everyone that she was already more than a little intoxicated. "I sat with your mother in this very dining room, eating slices of cake and rocking you back and fourth. Oh, you were such a sweet baby! Giggling away you were!" Neither the Duke nor Duchess informed Mrs Ront that her story was not quite correct. Though she had once sat in the dining room with the Duchess and ate cake and rocked a baby, the baby in question was not the future Duke. Rather, it was the baby of the Duchess' elder sister, which she was minding for the day to allow her beloved sister a brief escape from the perils of being a new mother. For some reason (most likely alcohol), Mrs Ront's brain had inserted Randall into the story as the newborn baby, despite the fact he did not enter the world until two years later.
Mr Ront also took to his feet to greet the entering birthday boy. He gave his wife a slight and well-concealed nudge in order to let her know that her behaviour was becoming somewhat unruly and that she had been embracing Randall for far beyond an appropriate amount of time.
"Oh my!" Mrs Ront exclaimed wildly before pointing at her husband, "This one is telling me that I need to move along!" With this, she let her arms fall from Randall's neck and stumbled back to her place on the couch. The embarrassed Mr Ront loosely shook Randall's hand and uttered some words of congratulations before saying "I do not think you have met Sasha, my daughter." Sasha rose to her feet, as if she had been trained to respond to her name like a puppy, and bowed to the future Duke (which made him feel rather awkward). "Sasha has recently completed her education" Mr Ront boasted proudly, "She is quite well versed in both literature and theatre."
"Is that so?" Randall replied, somewhat sheepishly. He had already decided that Sasha was not the woman whom he would eventually take for his wife. Her pale face was covered in freckles and her chin was divided into two distinct parts with a freckle in the centre, giving it the appearance of an unwashed rear. Though he had not yet actually spoken to the girl, her face was so unappealing that it was beyond redemption by even the most terrific personality.
Before Randall was forced to make conversation with Sasha, a knock came to the door, signifying the arrival of another group of guests.
"I will tend to the knock,” Randall announced before hurrying into the hallway. He had fled from the dining room in such a rush that neither his mother nor his father had the time to remind him that there was no need for anybody in the room to answer the door. Such a task belonged to Berta, the maid. Of course, Randall soon discovered this by himself when he entered the hallway to find Berta standing at the front door, greeting a well-known merchant and his family. For just a second, Randall made eye contact with the woman who had broken his heart mere hours earlier. The two shared a moment of silence until the patriarch of the arriving family declared, "Young Randall, my you have changed!" Randall turned to face the guest and did all he could do to hide the anger that he was feeling upon being interrupted. Berta, meanwhile, used the distraction to scurry away and hide in a room where in peace, she could deny her feelings for Randall.
"My goodness, young man" continued the merchant, as Randall led him and his family to the dining room, "I simply cannot believe you are turning twenty-one years of age!"
"Nor can I," joked Randall, drawing a laugh from the man which was as false as the smile on his face.
"William Brush!" exclaimed the Duke when the merchant entered the room, along with his wife and daughter. "How have you been, my friend?" The two men shook hands before the Duke introduced Mr Brush to Mr Ront. Further introductions were made and soon all in the room were laughing and joking and swapping stories and generally being merry. Again, Randall was introduced to a young woman and again he was not fond of her. Unlike Sasha, Randall could not deny that this new arrival was an attractive young woman, but there was something about her that did not appeal to him. Yes, her eyes were pretty and her hair was perfect, but she lacked the kind of subtle beauty that had drawn him to Berta. Though Randall did not know how many women his mother and father had organised to be presented to him, he hoped that there would be at least one who would awake in him the same feelings which had been awoken in him the day he had returned
home from London to meet the new maid.
Chapter Four
The evening progressed and the guests continued to arrive and soon the festivities were well and truly underway. The laughter of the older men dominated the dining room as they drank their whiskey and compared notes about their mutual acquaintances that were not present. The women too engaged in the trading of scandalous stories and challenged the laughter of the men with shrill and sherry driven laughter of their own. Though she had long lost the ability to walk under her own accord, Mrs Ront sat on a wicker chair, sipping on a drink, which she had found on a trip to the lavatory. There were seven potential brides for Randall and he did his best to make conversation with each of them throughout the evening. However, not a single one of them piqued his interest and he was left feeing bored and quite a bit hopeless.
"I believe your father mentioned that you have an interest in art?" he asked the daughter of the final guests to arrive.
"Yes, I do enjoy art. I believe it to be the noblest and most true of all human endeavours."
"Ah, yes, yes" agreed Randall, despite the fact he had absolutely no idea what the girl was talking about.
"I, myself, find a great deal of release in my art. I feel that, with each swipe of my brush, I rid myself of unhappiness and draw closer to immortality."
The aspiring artist continued to discuss her interest in art with Randall, or rather, she continued to preach to Randall about art while he pretended to listen.
"My lord, this woman may just be the worst yet,” he thought to himself as he nodded and smiled and pretended to be interested in her absurd ideas about art. Finally, Randall was saved from the conversation by his father, who had come to introduce him to a guest who had arrived much later than all others.
"Randall, I would like you to meet my dear friend, Herbert Harris." Herbert Harris? Randall knew that name. Unlike the majority of guests at the party, Herbert Harris actually was a good friend of the Duke. Randall's father would meet Herbert Harris once a week for a drink and a game of chess at Herbert's house in the countryside. This weekly chess game had been standing for a number of years, as long as Randall could remember, and yet he had never once met Mr Harris.
"Ah, Randall. Your father has told me a great about you. I hope you know that he is ever so proud of you." Randall shook Herbert's hand and was introduced to the three others who comprised his family. Since he was a genuine friend of the Duke and Duchess, Herbert had been permitted to bring all members of his family rather than just his wife and daughter.
While his wife and eldest daughter were both extremely attractive women, it was Mister Harris' younger daughter who really caught the attention of Randall. At nineteen years of age, she was one year younger than her older sister but had a body that looked as though it had been formed by a master craftsman over three decades. She had bright blue eyes, which looked as though they belonged in a jeweller's rather than somebody's skull. Her face was thin, flawless with prominent cheekbones and powerful, pouting lips. She had a headful of the most gorgeous golden hair, which seemed to trace the curves of her face and neck perfectly. Her name was Orla and she shook hands rather than bowing, which made her all the more endearing to the young Randall. The Duke could see that his son had been struck by beauty, as could the affable Herbert Harris. However, both men assumed that the future Duke had been struck by the beauty of the eldest girl, not the youngest.
"My, I think somebody may have fallen" declared the Duke with a smile on his face, snickering and nudging Herbert Harris.
"Oh I say, that was fast" replied Harris, returning the snicker and nudge. "Perhaps we should leave these two alone." With this, Herbert and the Duke left Randall's side, as did Misses Harris and Orla.
Left alone with the older sister, whose name was Anne, Randall struggled to tear his eyes away from Orla. Now on the opposite side of the dining room, her father was showing her off to the other guests, all of whom complimented her beauty with great enthusiasm. Some of the female guests hugged her, which caused Randall to feel extremely envious of them. He so wanted to wrap his arms around the waist of Orla so could pull her closer to him. He longed to kiss her neck and her shoulders and her cherry red lips. He wanted the girl all to himself.
"I understand that there is a great deal of confidence placed in you" Anne said to Randall in an attempt to rouse some conversation from him. He snapped out of his love induced trance and did his best to recall what Mister Harris' eldest daughter had just said to him.
"Eh... yes, yes. My father has invested a great amount of time into making me the perfect person to take over his position a Duke of Albany." He glanced back to Orla, she was still being marched from guest to guest by her father, shaking hands and dealing out hugs to a select few. He began to grow nervous that the night would end without him having the chance to her properly speak to her; after enduring one heartbreak already that day, he did not think that he could withstand the loss of another potential love.
"How can I get out of this situation?" he thought to himself while Anne spoke of something void of importance. "Surely there is a means by which I can end this conversation and begin one with Orla." At this moment, as though God had sent her, the girl who liked art returned and made a feeble attempt to resume her conversation with Randall.
"As I was saying before we were interrupted, I feel like an artist's brush is the one weapon which can end all wars." Randall felt a chill run through him when he heard the sound of her voice once again and his first instinct was to tell the aspiring artist in no uncertain terms to go away, for he did not care about anything she had to say. Thankfully, the birthday boy managed to control this almost uncontrollable urge and his rage was quickly replaced by a bright idea.
"Anne," he began, excited by his ingenious escape plan, "I do not think you have met this cun... eh... this country darling." He took both women by the wrist and thrust their hands together, all but forcing them to shake hands. "Now, I have just to speak to my father for one moment and I will be back shortly. I am quite sure that you two lovely women will have a wonderful conversation."
With the speed of a hare running from a fox, Randall left the two women still shaking hands and cleared the dining room in three steps. He was so eager to reach Orla that he tripped over his own feet and bumped into her, which was fortunate as he was just going to end up pretending to bump into her anyway.
"Oh, pardon me" he said with an awkward laugh, "I must watch where I am going in the future." Without uttering a single word of complaint, Orla straightened her hair and told Randall "I am surprised so few bumps have occurred. There are so many guests here in your honour that it is almost impossible to move without fear of colliding with someone."
"I would not go as far as to say that these guests are here in my honour. Rather, I think they have come to honour my father. There are few people in the United Kingdom who would say 'no' to the Duke of Albany."
"Well, I can assure you" began Orla, "that my father has come here in your honour. He has long been excited by the prospect of meeting the future Duke, and I cannot say that I blame him." Orla smiled and placed her hand on Randall's shoulder, essentially confirming that she was interested in the young man. Immediately, Randall was struck with the same sensation of butterflies that he had experienced when he first held the hand of Berta. Perhaps the maid was right after all. Perhaps the true love of his life was the daughter of wealthy parents. Perhaps the true love of his life was one Orla Harris.
"I must say, there is so much commotion in this dining room that I can scarcely hear myself think" stated Randall, beginning the build to the big question. "I don't suppose that you would like to come outside with me?"
"Outside? But the night has fallen and the wind is blowing cold. I did not even bring a coat with me."
"Madam, today is not only my twenty-first birthday, but also the first day of spring. I am quite sure that the weather will not be as cold as it was during the winter months." Much to Randall's delight, the young woman agree
d to accompany him outdoors for a drink and a conversation, but she had one term that she insisted he meet. "If the wind should chill me," she told him, "you must take me in your arms to warm me." Of course, Randall agreed to this condition a dozen times over before taking Orla's hand in his own and leading her to the front garden of the manor.
Chapter Five
The weather was, as Randall had promised, noticeably warmer than it had been during the previous months. Thankfully, it was still far from the boiling temperatures, which the summer would bring, and so young Orla was not quite so warm that she did not need an extra source of heat. Randall wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and stood behind her as she looked out onto the garden. The grounds were illuminated by hundreds of candles, which had been set alight in order to guide the arriving guests from the manor gates to the front door. From their spot on the porch, Randall and Orla could see close to every inch of the front garden. With the stars shining brightly from their homes in the sky and the nocturnal creatures going about their business, it was truly a beautiful night and Randall was able to put all thoughts of Berta out of his mind. He rested his head on Orla's shoulder and stood in silence, enjoying the view and the feeling of her soft skin against his.
"I do not believe I have ever seen a garden this beautiful" Orla whispered, not wanting to destroy the moment by speaking at full volume. "It truly is a treat for me to be here on this evening."
The Duke's Dilemma: Regency Romance Menage Short Stories Page 26
