He felt completely out of place.
No matter what he did, whether it was walking down the long staircase, sitting on the settee in the blue rose room, going over the household accounts, talking with the cook about the meals for the week, or even asking after the families of the servants, he felt like a fraud. He didn’t feel like a duchess. He felt like a servant duchess.
More than once he’d looked over his shoulder to see if the constable was coming to lock him up for impersonating a member of the nobility.
Though he knew it would not happen, the apprehension Chester felt that something was going to go wrong grew within him. When days went by and still nothing untoward or heinous had happened, Chester knew it was just a matter of time.
Thus the trip to Southerby.
When the manor appeared, Chester expected to feel excitement or a sense of peace and contentment. Instead he felt… familiarity. As if he were returning to a place he had been before, but no longer belonged.
“Angel? Is there aught wrong?” Orley asked.
Chester glanced over at his husband and shook his head. “Nothing is wrong, Whitcomb. I just—I thought it would feel different.”
The carriage came to a stop, and Chester waited for the footmen to open the door before disembarking. When the front door opened and he saw his maldy, the surprise and happiness he saw on his maldy’s face washed away the uncertainty that gripped him.
“Chester? Benjamin?” Imogen cried out, breaking propriety and racing down the stairs to engulf them in a tight hug. Chester wrapped his arms around his maldy’s waist, burying his face in her chest, his tears soaking her white button-down shirt. Imogen lifted Chester’s face, her hands wiping Chester’s cheeks, her own flushed red with emotion.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet, child.” She shook her head. She looked at Ben, who grinned and chuckled. Chester blushed when Imogen touched his belly. “You are with child?”
Before Chester could say anything, a loud scream tore through the air, and Chester stiffened. “W-what was that?” he gasped. “What has happened?” He felt the press of Orley’s hand upon his back and looked up at his husband’s concerned face.
Imogen laughed. “Well, you have come at the right time, it seems. The Duchess is giving birth.”
Chester’s jaw dropped, and he took a few steps back. “Perhaps we should leave if the duchess is going to be entering his lying-in period.”
Imogen shook her head. “Do not be silly. All of the women are up there with him, as is the midwife. Besides, perhaps it would be good for you to see what you are in for.” Imogen took Chester’s hand and led him inside. “You can ask His Grace for his consent.”
Chester swallowed the lump that had lodged in his throat and allowed his maldy to direct him up the stairs. As he walked, Lady Lucien’s groans and pleas grew louder. Chester trembled harder. He didn’t want to do this. Why was he allowing himself to go toward that room? It sounded as if Lady Lucien was being tortured, or worse, murdered.
He saw the Duke of Pompinshire sitting out in the hallway, his fingers buried in his black hair, and when he glanced up, his eyes looked haunted, the scar on his face stark against his pale face.
“Chester! Thank God! Will you please go inside and tell my Beauty that I will never touch him again? That I swear upon my soul that I will fall upon my sword before I ever allow myself to bring him this level of pain again?”
Chester bobbed his head. “Y-yes, Your Grace, I will.”
The duke’s eyes fell down to Chester’s stomach, and he groaned.
“Whitcomb did this to you also?”
Chester placed a hand to his stomach and nodded. “W-we—are expecting our first child, Your Grace, yes.”
The Duke of Pompinshire growled. “Whitcomb!” He raced down the steps.
Chester turned to go after the duke, but Imogen stopped him. “I shall see to His Grace. You go to Her Grace.” She nodded to the door.
Chester inclined his head and looked nervously down the stairs when he heard shouting. At another scream, he jumped and placed a hand on the doorknob. Gathering every ounce of courage he had, he twisted his wrist and stepped inside….
And straight into his own personal battlefield.
“I really must insist, Your Grace, that we cover the windows and close the drapes, as well as light the fire. I believe this is the only way to prevent a malady and protect the babe. Please allow me to put blankets over all the windows and doors, and cover every crevice. I beseech you.” A rotund woman stood beside Lady Lucien, trying to get his attention and gesturing wildly. Chester looked around the room. The windows were open and though there was a fire in the hearth, nothing about Lady Lucien’s sholfting was typical to what Chester had heard about other women’s.
“In my country, the women don’t cover themselves as they bring new life into the world. They allow the air to flow. To caress their skin. And more of them live than die,” Wilhelmina stated with a glare at the midwife.
Chester’s heart seized in his chest as his mother looked in his direction, and he smiled. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but when she returned her focus on Lady Lucien, he knew this was neither the time nor the place.
“Your country is full of savages,” the midwife said with a haughty sniff.
“You will not come into my home and speak in such a manner to my housekeeper,” Lady Lucien panted out. He gritted his teeth and looked up at Chester from where he stood in the middle of the floor. On one side of him stood Lady Kent, on the other side was his mother, Lady Yorkshire. Lady Lucien lifted a hand and waved. “Chester! You are a sight for sore eyes. Come! Tell me all about your bridal tour. Distract me
from the agony my body is going through.”
Chester shook his head. “No, Your Grace, I couldn’t. My story is such a trivial thing. You are about to bring about His Grace’s heir. It is such a blessed event. Should we not focus on that instead?”
Lady Lucien’s eyes twinkled as he chuckled. “Am I really bringing the Pompinshire heir into the world, Chester?”
Before Chester could question the cryptic remark, Lucien bent over and let out a low moan, which turned into a loud scream.
Lady Yorkshire shook her head. “Really, Lucien. Must you scream so? Women have been giving birth for centuries. You are not the first. You must be giving His Grace a fit of the vapors. You really should try for a bit of decorum.”
Lady Lucien lifted his head, his sweaty blond hair hanging around his face, and glared at his mother. “Decorum? I am sorry, Mother. Shall I bite my lip until it bleeds and merely sigh until the pain passes?”
Lady Kent snorted. “Why of course, Lucien. That is what all women do. Didn’t you know?”
Chester looked back and forth between them. “Truly?”
Lady Kent, Lady Lucien, Lady Yorkshire, Wilhelmina, and the midwife all turned to look at him as if he had taken leave of his senses, and answered simultaneously. “No.”
Chester nodded. “Oh.”
Lady Lucien wrapped his hands around the bottom of his overly large belly. “Okay. Now. It’s time. Let us begin.”
“Your Grace, I really must insist….” the midwife stated again.
“Cease tongue, you madwoman,” Lady Lucien barked, and the midwife stopped talking immediately. She bobbed her head and instead began pulling down the sheets on the bed. Wilhelmina positioned the pillows so Lady Lucien would be propped up, and then Lady Kent and Lady Yorkshire helped Lady Lucien onto the bed.
“Is there aught I can do to help?” Chester asked, feeling a bit useless.
The midwife turned to look at him and pointed to her bag. “Yes, bring me the oil and the sholfting solution,” she directed. “The passage is leaking fluids to prepare for the babe to be borne, and we must prep the outside so there is no tearing.”
Chester tried not to retch as he hurried to grab the two bottles from the midwife’s black bag and rushed them to her. Lady Lucien lay on the bed, his legs spread wide and pressed up by his sister
and mother as the midwife leaned over the footboard to spread the liquids over his rectum. They mixed with the secretions his own body was releasing, soaking the sheets beneath him. Chester wanted to turn away in disgust, and yet he was oddly fascinated.
As he continued to watch, he saw Lady Lucien’s inner hole spread wider and wider, then turn. Chester’s eyes widened as he gasped. Lady Lucien screamed as Chester watched the turn complete. A small patch of black hair appeared then vanished just as quickly.
“C-Chester, come and hold my hand. P-please. I need you to be my anchor.” Lady Lucien waggled his fingers.
Chester tore his eyes away from the miraculous sight taking place in front of him. “Y-yes, Your Grace.” He nodded. He rushed around the bed and sat beside Lady Lucien to hold his hand. He winced at the bone crushing grip Lady Lucien took.
“I can see the babe’s head, Your Grace,” the midwife said.
Chester looked over at Lady Lucien, whose face was dark red and sweaty. Chester had heard horror stories about women who had died in childbirth. As Chester watched Lady Lucien gasp for breath, he was deathly afraid he was going to have to give the Duke of Pompinshire some bad news about his husband before the day was over.
Orley ignored Stephen, who sat in an armchair next to him still chuckling hours later.
“Oh, will you hold your blasted tongue, you doddering old fool,” Orley growled.
Stephen shook his head and laughed harder. Orley turned toward Pompinshire when the man joined Stephen in his amusement.
Orley crossed his arms across his chest. “I fail to see why I still take up company with you rakehells.”
Stephen shrugged and took another sip from his glass of Tscotch, one booted foot resting atop the opposite knee. Stephen was the perfect picture of the devil-may-care, sexy rogue, but Orley knew that lurking behind his friends swarthy good looks lay the heart of a dangerous, broken man, a lion. And a spy.
“It is because we are not gentlemen,” Stephen said, with a wink in Orley’s direction.
Orley snorted.
“It’s true, Whitcomb. What would you do with gentlemen but challenge them to duels and races along Rotten Row?” Pompinshire chuckled as he took a deep inhale of his cigar.
A knock on the door cut off Orley’s response, and Pompinshire dropped his feet from the top of his desk. He jumped up from his chair and raced to the Tfrench windows and threw them open. Orley stared at the man in confusion and glanced over at Stephen who shrugged.
Another harder knock sounded, and Pompinshire finally cleared his throat.
“Yes? Enter.”
The footman opened the door, and Orley grinned at his husband who strode into the room, his lips twitching.
“Smoking cigars again I see, Your Grace.”
Chester dipped a small curtsy to Pompinshire who raced around the desk to him, and Chester held up his hand to stop him.
“Chester? How is the babe? How is Lady Lucien?” Chester looked over at Orley, and his eyes filled with tears.
Oh no.
Orley rose to his feet and came to stand beside his friend, ready to offer his support. Quincy had gone through the same thing when his wife had died and had barely made it back from the brink. What would happen to Pompinshire?
Chester sniffled and wiped his eyes. “It was amazing, Your Grace.” Wait. Amazing? What?
“Lady Lucien gave birth to two beautiful babies, a baby boy with black hair and blue eyes and a baby girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. The midwife and Lady Lucien asked for a few minutes to clean all of them up, and then you can go up.” Chester shook his head. “Lady Lucien refused to have the room closed and heated up, so it’s nice and refreshing in there. The babes seem very happy. And they’re so adorable.”
Pompinshire, his eyes wet with unshed tears, turned to look at Orley, laughed, and threw his arms around Orley’s shoulders. Orley hugged him back, reveling in his friend’s relief. He released Pompinshire so the man could hug Stephen, then smiled when Pompinshire picked up Chester and swung the young woman around the room.
“That is quite enough, Pompinshire, you may put down my husband now,” Orley said with a nod.
Pompinshire chuckled, placed Chester down, and kissed him on the back of the hand and then the forehead. He then turned and raced from the room, taking the steps two at a time as he went upstairs.
Orley looked at Chester and wagged his finger.
“You are a very devious minx,” he said, shaking his head.
Chester frowned. “How so, Your Grace?” he asked.
“You had us believing the worst.”
Chester looked back and forth between Orley and Stephen. “Why is that?”
“Because you were crying,” Stephen pointed out.
Chester chuckled. “Oh, my dear Lord Savoy, until you are expecting your own child, or you see it being born, you will never understand why His Grace and I cried.”
Chester walked out of the room laughing, and Orley just shook his head. “You know what, Stephen?”
“What’s that, old chap?”
“I wonder sometimes if my Angel is speaking in a completely different language from me and if I will die having never understood everything he said.” Orley looked at Stephen with a smirk, pausing when he saw Stephen’s baffled expression. “Is something the matter, Savoy?”
“You have never spoken of anyone the way you speak of the duchess,” Stephen pointed out.
Orley shrugged. “I have never before been married.”
Stephen shook his head. “No, I mean you speak of him in caring tones. Angel and love. Do you care for him, Whitcomb? More than just mere affection?”
Orley stared at the open doorway and swallowed. He rubbed his chest when a pain ripped through it. “There are moments, Stephen, when
I dream of him.”
“That is not odd, Whitcomb….” Orley shook his head.
“No. I dream of him being in Badajoz. On the field, and I cannot reach him in time. Or I dream of him being there and knowing that I must save him.” Orley turned to stare at Stephen with wide eyes. “What does that mean?”
Stephen grinned. “I think it means you have fallen into the same trap as Pompinshire, old chum. Or you are damn close.”
Orley gasped. “But I don’t know how to love as Pompinshire does, Stephen.”
Stephen scoffed. “You aren’t Pompinshire, Orley. You are the Duke of Whitcomb. So you love as you know how. Besides, the duchess did not marry the Duke of Pompinshire. He married you, and he turned me down, so obviously there is something about you he finds appealing. Do not allow your fears to push him away.”
Orley nodded. He turned and walked with Stephen from the room, his mind on his friend’s words.
Chester smiled at Lady Lucien as he gazed down at his two babes cradled in the Duke of Pompinshire’s large arms. Eshe pressed against Lady Lucien’s side, her dark brown face staring at the babies curiously.
“Fotmy?” she asked softly.
“Yes, Eshe?” Lady Lucien responded.
“Why are the babies still sleeping?” she questioned.
“Because they are tired.”
“Oh.” Eshe looked quite put out by that answer and fell back against the pillows, crossing her arms over her chest. As she did so, Chester noticed the mark on her hairline, and he gasped.
Lady Lucien looked over at him and glanced back at Eshe. He groaned, rolling his eyes. “I think our secret is out, Your Grace.” “Hmm?” the Duke of Pompinshire asked distractedly.
“About Eshe,” Lady Lucien said.
“Wh-what? Oh yes.” The duke nodded and looked at Chester with a grin. “Well, Chester, it looks as if you will be the first to know. Besides those who drew up the will of course.” He walked over to the bassinet for the babies and, with Chester’s help, placed them inside.
“Eshe will be named as my heir to the Dukedom of Pompinshire as soon as he comes of age. The son that I had with Lucien will be my heir to the Dukedom of Cumbria.”
&
nbsp; Chester was shocked. “Your Grace, that will cause quite the scandal. Eshe is-is Tafrican and not your blood child!”
The duke grinned and shrugged. “We cannot let you and Whitcomb enjoy all of the scandal, can we, Chester? Oh, forgive me, I mean, Lady Chester. Besides, you are part Tafrican as well, and your child shall be of Tafrican heritage, so Whitcomb’s heir shall have Tafrican blood also. It is of no consequence.”
Chester was so completely floored he didn’t know what to say. When he looked over at Lady Lucien, he just saw a smile on the woman’s face and knew he was pleased with his husband’s decision. It wasn’t that Chester disagreed, only that he had not expected it. Were there truly people in the world who behaved as these two did in this society?
“I wish you well, Your Graces,” Chester said.
“Thank you, Lady Chester.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied.
“Now,” Lady Lucien clapped his hands. “Tell me all about your bridal tour. I’m afraid I was quite denied one, so I must live vicariously through yours.”
The duke groaned and held out his arms to Eshe. “Come Eshe. That is our cue. We men must make our escape.”
“Yes, Papa.” Eshe ran across the room, his dress swirling around his legs, and it was then that Chester saw the breeches beneath them.
“Do not keep my son from me for long, Heath,” Lady Lucien warned.
“Of course not, Beauty. I love you,” the duke said with a grin.
“I love you more.” The door closed behind the Duke of Pompinshire and Eshe, and Chester sighed. He turned back to find Lady Lucien’s eyes on him. He smiled at the other woman.
“That is beautiful to see.”
“His Grace and Eshe? Yes, it is,” Lady Lucien nodded.
Chester shook his head and then bobbed his head. “Well, yes, that. But I meant you and Your Grace, declaring your love for each other. I recall the game of charades. I was quite moved when you told him. It was very bold.”
Lady Lucien blushed. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” He shook his head.
The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb Page 21