"I think that you might be just the slightest bit misinformed." That was a good start and it really created the illusion that the Duke knew what else he had to say. Thankfully, he would not actually have to say anything else or elaborate any more on what he had just said, as another knock came to the door.
From this point onwards, the knocking at the manor door came louder and at shorter intervals. The guests continued arriving and soon the carriages that carried those invited to the home of the Duke and Duchess were taking over all roads that lead their way. The manor was quickly packed with guests and it was difficult to think of any influential figure in London who was not present at the celebration that evening. The Duchess, raised to be a socialite, made sure to interact with everyone; the more powerful you were, the longer the woman of the manor would talk to you. The Duke, meanwhile, spent the majority of the night catching up with Ali. He slightly regretted arranging their reunion to take place during his anniversary party as it left the two with practically no time to laugh and joke the way they laughed and joked when it was just the two of them. They got to enjoy a brief moment of comfort with Michael early on in the night, but as soon as Henry Rhodes arrived all comfort was evaporated. Nevertheless, the two brothers were happy to see each other and continued to catch up in the far corner of the dining room, where they could almost be themselves.
''When were you given this manor?" Ali asked his brother, still finding it hard to believe his brother could own such a house, despite the fact he had always been scheduled to become a Duke.
"Father gave it to me in the last year of his life. I suspect he knew something was wrong with him and that he would not be around much longer."
"I hadn't realised he had this manor in his possession."
"He had houses all over England, something I only discovered after his death."
Ali was still in awe of the home and turned his head as he spoke, trying to take it all in but failing each time. Not only was the manor itself incredible, but it was filled with the most expensive furnishings and the most notable guests. The Duke had also been provided with a number of butlers and maids, who were all busy cleaning up after the aforementioned notables.
"Do the butlers and maids work here year round?" he asked, he eyes fixed on one maid in particular.
"Indeed they do. They are provided with two weeks off a year and one day off a week." It took Ali a moment to reply as he was still transfixed by that same maid. Seemingly unaware of the eyes upon her, she went about her business of refilling glasses, cleaning up spills and rearranging any ornament that had been misplaced. The maid was beautiful, but it was a subtle beauty. She was clearly a modest young women and probably did her best to dress in as plain a manner as possible, for the streets of London were no place for an unescorted pretty woman in pretty clothes. In her black uniform, she could blend into the night and make it home safely.
"How about this maid here?"
"What about her?"
"She's very beautiful."
The Duke chuckled a little before telling his brother "I thought an honest Muslim man such as you was supposed to be unconcerned with temptations of the flesh."
"Well, I may be a Muslim man,” replied Ali, "but I'm also a man."
"I'm afraid she's married, dear brother, to a fellow who owns and operates a cleaning service. He provides the manor with maids. He's quite a nice man."
Upon hearing that the young maid was married, Ali gave up all the thoughts that he had been having about her. As an honourable man, he had not just been fantasising about engaging in intercourse with the woman, but also about everything they would do together after sex. He imagined himself making the maid his wife, raising a family of nice Muslim children with her and, when she felt ready, moving her and the kids to Arabia, where they would spend the rest of their days living by the Qur'an and worshiping Allah. Alas, none of that was going to happen and so Ali turned his gaze from the maid to the rest of the partygoers and began to survey the single-looking women among them.
"I would quite like to find a wife when I'm back here in England" he told his brother. Jacob, however, did not hear what Ali had said as it was now he who was fixated on the maid. He watched as she carried seven empty glassed into the kitchen, somehow not dropping a single one. Ali turned to his brother upon not receiving a reply. He could see the Duke was focusing on something other than him, but by now the maid had disappeared into the kitchen and so it was not clear to him what his brother was so infatuated by.
"I said, I would rather like to find myself a wife while I'm back home in England" repeated Ali, this time loud enough to snap Jacob out of his maid-induced trance.
"Yes brother" he said without turning to face him, "I think that a nice English woman would be good for you."
"Rather than waste any time chasing after married women, I would appreciate it if you could point me in the direction of a good woman who does not have a ring on her finger."
"All good women have rings on their fingers. As soon as a man finds a good woman who does not have a ring on her finger, he puts a ring on her finger."
"You could be a great deal more helpful, brother." The Duke did not reply to Ali's comment. Instead, he left his brother standing in the corner without excusing himself and ventured across the room and exited through the door that led into the kitchen.
The kitchen was busy. It was always busy, but on this night it was particularly busy. As soon as the Duke entered, he was assaulted by the odours of at least a dozen different kinds of food; some of the foods were foreign, others were from England but smelled foreign. The odd and interesting smells were accompanied by the loud crashing of pots and pans, the combined whistling of three kettles and the old chef yelling obscenities at the young chef.
"Bobby" the Duke called at a high volume, barely able to hear himself over the noise and barely able to see Bobby through the steam.
"Yes, sir?" replied the older of the two chefs.
"What are you cooking? It smells disgusting."
"Don't worry, sir. I know it smells a tad tripe but it's going to taste delicious. If I'm honest, a lot of the stink is coming from a dish young Fry here made a mess of. These young chefs are so careless, you know. But never fear, I'll make an expert out of him one of these days!"
"That's good to know, Bobby; but can you keep the sound down a little? The last thing we want is for the guests to think we are all running a slaughter house back here."
"Yes, sir. Indeed we don't, sir."
"Now tell me," began Jacob, laughing slightly at the absurdness of the question he was about to ask, "can you lead me through the steam and out to the pantry."
"Certainly, sir."
Bobby reached out his wrinkled hand (age and steam were a dangerous combination) and prodded the Duke's chest to make sure the lord of the manor knew he was there. Jacob took hold of Bobby's hand and allowed himself to be guided through the kitchen. The elderly chef had spent so much of his life in kitchens that his eyesight was essentially unaffected by things such as steam or smoke; in fact, his eyes seemed to work better under those conditions than they did in fresh air. Jacob tried not to focus on the feeling of Bobby's hand, which was covered in some kind of slimy substance the Duke could only assume to be a mixture of sweat and steam. On top of that, his fingernails were long and sharp and dug deep into the back of Jacob's hand. There was one fingernail, however, which did not come into contact with the skin of the Duke. This was a fingernail that was not present, as it had no finger on which it could grow; the old chef had lost his index finger in a kitchen accident nearly three decades earlier, which he did not like to talk about, as he couldn't bear to admit he had made a single mistake in his career. The Duke shut his eyes tightly and did all he could to separate himself from the nerves in his hand. The chef's hand was certainly odd to touch and disconcerting to hold, but he needed to get to that pantry.
"Now, here we are, sir,” declared Bobby once he had successfully led the Duke from the kitchen to the ou
tdoors, where the pantry was located. It really was not necessary for him to announce to Jacob that they had arrived as the Duke had been aware of the path from the moment they made it out of the steam which had engulfed the kitchen. He had tried to wriggle free from the clutches of his chef, but the loyal employee wouldn't allow it; he was determined to see his duty to the Duke through to the very end.
"Thank you, Bobby" replied Jacob before tugging his hand away from the man, "I appreciate your services."
"If you need anything else, sir, just call my name. I mean anything at all, you just call "Bobby!" and I'll drop everything I'm doing and attend."
"Thank you Bobby, but that won't be necessary." Jacob gave Bobby the command to return to the kitchen, which he gleefully obeyed. The old chef had been raised in a time when the royal family were believed to be the rulers of all things throughout the world; even the seasons obeyed the commands of England's kings and queens. They were like gods, except more important. This warped view of reality had persisted throughout Bobby's life and had resulted in the unwavering willingness to serve royalty to which we just bore witness.
The Duke stood still in the garden, watching Bobby as he returned to the kitchen. It seemed to be a struggle for him to squeeze his small, round frame through the kitchen door.
"He's as plump as the puddings he creates" Jacob thought, laughing to himself but being sure not too laugh too loud, for fear somebody would hear him. If anybody were to find him out there, especially the Duchess, he would be subjected to intent questioning as to what he was doing outside, particularly in an area designated for the help, when there was a party being thrown in his honour inside the manor. It didn't matter that Bobby knew he was out there, he would never betray the trust of his royal master. Once he was certain there was nobody present to observe his actions, the Duke moved across the small patch of grass - the help only had a couple of feet of green grass to lunch upon outdoors during the Summer months - and pushed open the door of the pantry, his desire to see the young woman inside overpowering his desire to be discrete.
"Master" yelped the maid upon the Duke's entrance. She had been just inches away from the door when it had suddenly flung open, causing her to drop the tray of clean cutlery which she had ventured outside to retrieve.
"You don't need to talk like that,” he said as he shut the door behind him, "not a soul is with me."
"You said we can not interact tonight. You said we cannot let this happen when you have so many people in the manor."
"I know, but I can't help myself. You know how I get when I’m near you." The Duke playfully took the maid in his arms and began to nibble at her ear, but she squirmed from his grip and turned away, not amused.
"But you were right." she said, "If anybody were to find us together tonight, on the eve of your anniversary, it would bring disgrace upon both of us."
"Please Deirdre, I assure you nobody will ever find out. Please grant me one kiss, just one kiss." Deirdre was indeed tempted to give-in to the desires of the Duke (and herself, for the matter) right at that moment. With his fine clothes and his meticulously groomed hair and face, her master looked more attractive than ever. The increased threat of being caught in the act of adultery also added a strange degree of eroticism, which the young lady could not quite explain. Losing control of herself for just a moment, she turned to face the Duke once again and moved her lips closer to his, only to quickly pull away before their lips had a chance to meet.
"No, no, no!" she stammered, "We simply cannot do this tonight Jacob. The risk is too great." The maid attempted to convert her sexual desires into productivity, stooping to gather up the knifes and forks and spoons (which all existed in far too many variations), while continuing to declare a sexual encounter between the Duke and herself was totally and absolutely out of the question on that night.
The pantry was filled with the sound of jingling metal as the maid returned to her feet, her hands shaking as she held the tray tightly against her abdomen.
"I really should be returning to the manor,” she told the Duke. The married man stepped to the side, giving Deirdre a clear path to the door. The young woman was a little taken aback by her employer seemingly accepting defeat. Of course, he was not accepting defeat; he was calling her bluff. Jacob did not want to go the rest of the evening without feeling Deirdre's body pressed against his and he knew she felt the same. Deirdre also knew that she felt the same, but was not yet willing to admit it. With the tray of knifes and forks and spoons still clanging like some sort of unappealing percussion instrument, the maid began to make her slow and unsteady getaway. It was no more than six steps from where she was standing to the door, but she somehow managed to turn it into a walk of a dozen steps, growing more and more conscious of her need to stay with each raise of each foot. A smirk of satisfaction formed on the face of the Duke when the maid hesitated once she reached the door. Her fingers were firmly wrapped around the icy-cold iron knob, but she couldn't bring herself to turn it. Such an action would lead her out of the company of her lover and back into the real world; a world which was full of smug members of the royal family who considered her to be nothing more than a member of the help. They treated her like she was a second-class citizen. At times they seemed to genuinely believe her to be a member of some whole other species who existed only to serve the wealthy. The only exception was the Duke. He was, and always had been, the only member of the royal family who had ever been nice to her. Since she began work as a maid, she had worked for a number of royals (and those who were not royals but had as much money as royals), and not a single one of them had said a kind word to her. That was until she entered the home of Jacob and Geraldine. While the Duchess was generally a nice woman, it was the Duke who really made the somewhat disillusioned maid enjoy coming to work each day. He had been kind and complimentary towards her since the first day she came into his employment and not a single day had passed without her receiving a boost of confidence from the man.
As Deirdre stood at the door, with the Duke watching her in silence, every pleasant thing that her lover had ever said to or done for her began to run through her mind. It was quite a list, full of genuine and heartfelt sentiments and deeds which made her feel as special on that evening in the pantry as they had done when they first occurred. As handsome and as sexual as the Duke was, it was such noble tasks that attracted the maid to him.
"Dee" said Jacob, beginning to wonder why so much time had passed without her speaking. "Deirdre, is everything okay?" Deirdre continued to stare into nothing, allowing herself to be carried further and further back through time as she remembered all that had transpired between her and the Duke until, finally, there was nothing left to remember. The maid listlessly dropped her hand from the doorknob and turned to her right, where the Duke stood, still calling out to her. Though she had not yet abandoned all common sense, she found herself moving closer and closer to Jacob until there was no air left between their bodies. Her breasts pressed firmly against the Duke's chest as she slid her arms around his back, placing her hands on his rear and endeavouring to pull herself even closer to him. She could feel the blood rushing to his penis as it grew against her, causing her to toss aside logic and reason and all reservations she had previously had about embarking on another sexual encounter with the Duke. Standing on her toes, the maid raised her face to Jacob's and kissed him.
Chapter Three
Back in the manor, the celebrations were in full swing. Ali and Michael joked about the arrogance of the majority of the guests, the Duchess rushed back to, and from her chamber to make sure she looked as beautiful as she had at the beginning of the night, and those in the know discussed the legitimacy of the Prince Regent's reign. It had not occurred to anybody, not even the man's wife, that the Duke had not been present in the room for close to sixty minutes. While some people would be upset to learn they were of such little importance to their friends and family, Jacob was not at all offended by the fact nobody had come looking for him. The longer
he could remain unthought-of of, the longer he could stay in the pantry with Deirdre and fulfil all of his desires (not to mention the desires of the maid).
With her lips still tightly pressed to the lips of Jacob, Deirdre opened her mouth ever so slightly and slid her tongue into the mouth of her lover. He reciprocated the action and soon they were both engulfed by a passion which had been festering for days, unsatisfied since their last night together and made all the more powerful by their feeble attempts to deny their feelings. The Duke removed his lips from the lips of the maid and turned her so as her back was to him. Her neck was thin and the bones beneath were clearly visible, though covered by her soft, white skin. Jacob ran his tongue down the tiny bumps of her neck before allowing his mouth to come to rest on her right shoulder, which was shyly protruding from her mandatory uniform. Deirdre shivered as the Duke took the flesh of her shoulder between his teeth and used his tongue to cover it in saliva.
"I've missed you,” she whispered as her body twitch in a way only he could make it twitch.
"I have missed you too" replied the Duke before dragging his teeth from the shoulder of his maid back to the bottom of her neck. The young woman felt his royal and expert hands reach around her body and venture downwards until they were both placed between her legs, massaging her as he continued to bite and suck on the skin of her neck.
Deirdre moaned, as anybody would, while the hands of her lover pressed against her entrance and moved slowly in a circular motion. His teeth sank deeper into the back of her neck and it became increasingly moist with his saliva, as the space between her legs became increasingly moist with her juices. Gently, as if he did not want to part with her neck, Jacob raised his head and removed his mouth from body of his lady, though the action of his hands did not cease. He lowered his head once again and busied his mouth, however, this time he did not place his teeth against the skin of the maid; this time he used his teeth to undo the three buttons which decorated the back of her uniform. He had done this numerous times in the past and had become quite efficient in undoing the buttons of that uniform with his mouth, though he was never able to get the job done as quickly as he would like. As Jacob occupied himself with the unfastening of her uniform, Deirdre used her hands to push his hands closer to her body; they were already pressed tight against her, but now she wanted to feel his fingers entering her through the cloth of her uniform.
The Duke's Dilemma: Regency Romance Menage Short Stories Page 83
