The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

by Vicktor Alexander

  As a woman, Chester had been told horror stories of how men were brutes and animals in bed. His mother had attempted to disavow all of her daughters of this myth. However, they were still a family of servants and many of them would either marry extremely young to someone who could support them completely, and how they felt about sex wouldn’t necessarily be of vital importance, or they would be servants until they retired and married when they were older and had discovered the truth about sex for themselves.

  Chester had been surprised the first time he’d lain with Orley and experienced pleasure in his body’s entrance, thinking that the very hole from which he monthly experienced his turnting could not also bring him such delight. He was very happy his lover had disavowed him of that way of thinking. However, it was Orley’s hands, mouth, tongue, and even his teeth upon Chester’s shaft and bollocks that had brought him the most shock and rocked his world.

  His perception of his world, and indeed his very ideas of his identity had been shattered when he, as a feminine male woman had experienced the same wondrous pleasure from Orley’s touch upon his groin as he had being filled. He had felt a bit like a strumpet, and had been sorely tempted to go to the church to speak with the vicar and confess all or to make a trip to the doctor in order to see if he had been stricken with some terrible malady. But in lieu of doing either of those things, Chester noticed that rather than be concerned by his heightened state of arousal or his enjoyment of their coupling, Orley seemed to enjoy it even more.

  And so Chester expressed it vocally.

  Loudly.

  And quite emphatically.

  Every. Single. Time.

  And right now, as they sat atop the horse, with Orley’s fingers rubbing back and forth along the crease of Chester’s arse and back up to his bollocks, all Chester could think of was that he wished they’d thought to bring the oil.

  “O-oil,” he stammered.

  “I have it,” Orley reassured him.

  Chester would have teased his husband about planning a seduction out in the fields when they were only to be going out for a ride, but his mind was swirling with lust. The heat of the sun bearing down on him intertwined with the warmth he could feel from Orley’s groin pressed so close to his bottom. He could feel Orley shifting behind him and knew the duke was reaching for the oil, which most likely was packed in one of his saddlebags. Chester shivered when Orley touched a few slick fingers against the crease of his rectum.

  “Relax, love,” Orley encouraged him and Chester breathed out. He reveled in the burn of Orley’s fingers penetrating his hole, the horse swaying beneath them. Orley’s digits twisted and turned deep within Chester’s body, and Chester moaned softly. This was one of his favorite parts of making love with Orley. The preparation. Feeling Orley’s gentle handling of his body. The way he played Chester’s derrière, his hole. Orley’s whispers of how tight and sweet Chester’s arse looked and felt wrapped around his fingers. It enflamed Chester’s ardor and only served to make him want his husband even more.

  “N-now, Orley,” Chester pleaded.

  “Are you certain you are ready?” Orley teased.

  Chester let out his own growl—Orley was not the only one who could let out the animalistic noise in their family—and Orley laughed. “Do not tease me so, Your Grace. I have need of you now,” he stated.

  “Then I must see that I take care of you, do I not? Is that not in our vows?”

  Chester wondered at the ache that settled in his chest at Orley’s casual words and pushed them away. He would examine them at another time. Instead he focused on the movement behind him as Orley first pulled his fingers free of Chester’s body, then unsheathed his member from his riding trousers and stroked his cock up and down Chester’s crease. Chester pushed his bottom back, anxious to feel Orley filling him.

  “Patience,” Orley cautioned him.

  “No,” Chester panted. He groaned as Orley gripped the globes of his arse firmly, spreading the cheeks apart before pushing the head of his dick inside.

  Chester gasped at the brief bite of pain, then sighed as pleasure replaced the sensation. Orley pressed deeper, not stopping until he was seated completely inside Chester’s hole. Chester whimpered Orley’s name and heard Orley’s answering growl. The sound of his name in Orley’s deep, rumbling voice sent a tumble of shivers down Chester’s spine.

  As Orley began thrusting in and out of Chester’s body, he increased Gideon’s pace, the horse settling into a loping gait across the field. Chester was aware of having one hand gripping the horse’s mane and the other reaching back to grasp Orley’s thigh. On and on they rode. Orley’s strokes in and out of Chester’s body, hard and fast, in tune with Gideon’s faster gait.

  All at once, a fire boiled deep inside of Chester, causing his fingers and toes to go numb. His head swam with a litany of Orley’s name, extolling his prowess, his strength, his care. Chester did not speak any of them, though his heart screamed them all. Instead, he shouted out Orley’s name as his spend shot from the top of his shaft, wetting the fabric of his petticoat and his drawers. He could feel Orley’s cock expanding inside his channel before he too let out a yell and flooded Chester’s body with his seed.

  Orley pulled Chester back against his chest and Chester sighed, wanting to sleep more than anything in that moment.

  He closed his eyes as Orley pressed a kiss against the side of his head. He opened his eyes again when he felt Gideon being brought to a halt. He looked around. They were at the edge of the property, far away from the stables.

  Chester glanced at Orley over his shoulders and grinned.

  “You have thoroughly debauched me, Your Grace. I should be completely scandalized and have a fit of the vapors.”

  Orley laughed and hugged Chester tightly to him. “You cannot be, my dear sweet duchess, for you ran off to Gretna Green to elope with me.”

  “This is very true, Your Grace,” Chester said with a chuckle.

  Chester sat atop Gideon, Orley’s arms wrapped around him, and he relished the intimacy of the moment. He had not been expecting Orley’s declaration, but he was certainly glad Orley had made it, even if it had not been stated verbally. Chester knew Orley loved him. His husband, his duke, cared about him and that was all that mattered. Chester could handle anything as long as he had Orley by his side.

  Henby Place

  Hunting & Musicale Party

  Orley was still trying to determine what had possessed him to encourage Chester to accept the invitation of Lord and Lady Breckenridge, the Earl and Countess of Henby. Perhaps it was the contents of the invitation, more than the actual names, but whatever the reason, he was now forced to endure an interminable tea with the most insufferable members of the realm before he would be allowed to mount Gideon and hunt. He looked around the room and saw the other men pulling out their fob watches discreetly and checking the time. He could understand their anxiousness to be away. He too felt the pressing desire. How he longed to escape; however, he could not. Not only was he trapped by social niceties, but Chester was in attendance, having tea with the ladies in the other room, and while the men would be hunting, the women would be enjoying a musicale, performed by a visiting Tfrench singer.

  Orley was sorely tempted to go and sit with the women.

  “This piece,” Lord Henby’s voice droned on, cutting into Orley’s plans to escape his narrative of every piece of art he and his wife had collected over the years, “is from Tafrica. The Tafrican people are complete savages, having no ability to truly learn or grasp the cultured or sophisticated ways of the Anglish, but their art is exceptional.”

  The room grew still with tension as every man except Lord Henby turned to look at Orley. He could feel his hands curl into fists. He opened his mouth to speak… and then the footman cleared his throat. “The women have arrived, my lord.”

  Bloody hell. Orley could only hope Chester had not overheard the vitriol that had spewed forth from Lord Henby’s mouth. When Orley turned toward the doorway, acid
settled deep in his gut at the looks of dismay on some of the women’s faces, superiority and agreement on two of the others, but it was the expression of devastation, defeat, and then resignation that settled on Chester’s that tore apart Orley’s soul.

  “Please forgive me, Lady Henby. I find that I am suddenly feeling unwell. I think I shall rest for a bit and meet you all at the musicale later?” Chester nodded, and without waiting for a response, turned and walked away.

  Orley rose to his feet to follow him but stopped short. He had to defend not only his husband’s exit, but his honor, his family, and his people. Chester was constantly trying to make himself feel worthy of Orley, but it was Orley who needed to show he was deserving of the former maid.

  “Lady Henby, I would first like to say thank you for extending an invitation to the duchess to your home. I know he has been looking forward to attending. Unfortunately, expecting the heir to two dukedoms is quite stressful.” Orley smiled softly when the other ladies all offered small sounds of agreement and consolation. He narrowed his eyes and swung around to glare at his hostess’s husband.

  “As for you, Lord Henby. It distresses me that we can reach the year of our Lord, 1814, and still have people such as you walking around spouting off such antiquated and unenlightened views on people of different cultures. You cannot base the Tafricans’ scope of intelligence and sophistication by Anglish standards,” he said, his cane making a dull thud on the carpeted floor as he stepped closer to the earl. Orley felt a bit of sick satisfaction watching the churl rise shakily to his feet, eyes wide as he stared at Orley as if afraid of what he might do.

  “Hear, hear, Your Grace!” Lord Titus Joyes, Marquess of Hawarden, responded, raising his glass in Orley’s direction.

  “That you would have the gall to say such a thing about an entire race of people, knowing that my husband, the duchess, was in attendance at your home is completely unspeakable and makes me seriously question not only your manners as a gentleman but your capacity to hold a Parliamentary seat. For a man who would speak ill of an entire race of people, thinking them unable to learn, when he had one of those very members in his home proving him wrong, would not be able to vote appropriately on matters of great import, dealing with people or things he thinks are quite too beneath him, too foolish, or too wasteful to spend time on.”

  Orley could see the moment Lord Henby understood his threat, because his face became completely devoid of all color. Orley could hear a few gasps in the room, but he ignored them all. He did not often throw his weight as the Duke of Whitcomb around, but for Chester he would.

  For Chester he would do anything.

  “Your Grace, I meant no offense…,” Lord Henby spluttered, and Orley held up a hand.

  “I am not the one to whom you owe an apology, Lord Henby. The one to whom you should be groveling has retired somewhere, no doubt to remind himself that not all members of the nobility are as pompous as you seem to be. Now”—Orley straightened his cuffs and turned toward the doorway—“I think it would be best if I fetch the duchess so we might leave. I suddenly find myself growing quite ill as well.”

  He bowed to the ladies and walked out, going in search of Chester. He heard Lord Henby calling after him but did not turn to acknowledge the man, giving him the cut direct. Orley was quite sure all of Tlondon would be abuzz with the slight given to the earl and felt only a twinge of discomfort for the way the man and his wife would be treated in polite society. However, Chester’s distraught face rose to his mind, and Orley knew he had made the right decision. He would do whatever he had to do to protect the woman he was falling in love with.

  Chester walked quickly from the Henby home toward the gardens, his mind filled with the earl’s words. His gut clenched with anger, shame, and embarrassment, none of which Chester knew how to sort through. So he let them wash over him, muttering beneath his breath as he stepped over the grass of the noble’s garden. He wanted to yell obscenities. The kind he had often heard shouted down at the docks or in the bars and clubs frequented by blacksmiths, footmen, and men of ill repute. Wilhelmina and Imogen would have been horrified if they had known that Chester had gone to those places with his elder siblings, but it was a tightly held secret among the Boland children, one which they would all take to their graves.

  “Blooming glocky,” he hissed, kicking at an errant rock in front of him. “I’m quite certain your mother was a judy or maybe a toffer since you are an earl, and your father was a haymarket hector.”

  The sound of a horrified gasp made Chester glance up and spin around. He realized he was standing in front of the stables—how the hell did I end up here?—and had been overheard by their new groom, Birtie. Chester felt the need to apologize but refrained from doing so. He merely nodded, stepped into the stables, and tilted his head to the side at the sight of Orley’s horse, Gideon, in the middle of the aisle.

  “Birtie? What is His Grace’s horse doing tied up in the middle of the aisle?” Chester asked. There was no response, and Chester turned to look for the young man but did not find her there. Whispers of a conversation at Southerby Manor between Ben and Dwight came back to Chester’s mind as he stepped toward the stallion.

  “The Tarabian is head shy. So His Grace should be sure to hire a groom who understands that. Tying the animal will rile him and not even His Grace will be able to calm him. He will throw off anyone who tries to ride him after being restrained in such a manner.”

  Fear curled deep in Chester’s belly as he watched Gideon stomp his hooves, his rump moving from side to side. The animal was becoming agitated, and Chester had a sneaking suspicion that the two ropes attached to his halter were causing him to react in such a way. Chester did not want to think Birtie had done such a thing on purpose, but where was the young lad? Why would she tie Gideon up and leave him in such a manner?

  He will throw off anyone who tries to ride him….

  Oh God… Orley.

  “Ssshhh,” Chester tried to soothe the horse, tamping down his own fright as he eased closer to the large animal. He held his hands out in front of him, placing one foot in front of the other as he stepped closer. “Gideon, it’s me. Chester? Orley’s… uh… His Grace’s… um… bloody hell… your master’s husband? I’m not here to hurt you, hmm? I just want to get those awful ropes from you so you can be free and you won’t try to hurt His Grace. I know you don’t want to do that.”

  Chester tried to keep his voice low and comforting as he slid around the side of Gideon’s thrashing body. He placed a hand on his protruding belly, easing the child who had chosen this particular moment to move within him. Kicking and stretching. He wanted to share it with Orley.

  The fluttering sensation in his stomach, the press of a foot or a hand that was all at once weird and strangely exhilarating. Perhaps it was the moment of inattention that did it, but when his steps hesitated, Gideon’s overlarge side slammed him into one of the walls.

  The breath was knocked from his body, then pain. Oh, heavens above, the pain that overwhelmed him. Shards of agony stabbed through his abdomen, and Chester opened his mouth and let out a scream. He wasn’t entirely sure what words came from his lips; all he knew was that his entire body was being torn apart.

  He heard the sounds of footsteps running toward him, shouts melding with the grunting and stomping of an agitated Gideon.

  “Chester?” Orley’s voice, filled with concern and fear came from above him, and Chester opened his eyes to stare up into his husband’s dark blue ones. He reached a hand up to touch his duke’s precious face when another wave of pain ripped through him.

  “T-the babe,” Chester cried. He looked down toward his legs, Orley’s gaze following his, and he heard the cry of those around him.

  Blood.

  Chester’s fingers trembled, and he gripped Orley’s hand as his back arched. He screamed as his body began to twist and turn within him. It felt a bit like his turnting but worse. So much worse.

  It was too soon. The baby was coming now.
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  Orley was not a praying man, but as they rushed Chester through the streets of Tlondon and back to Coventry Estates, two footmen having been dispatched to find a midwife and a doctor, Orley talked to God in a way he never had before.

  Please do not take them from me.

  His requests were simple. He did not need a miracle, he just wanted his husband and his child to survive, and though it might make him a selfish, coldhearted bastard, if he had to choose between the two, he would choose Chester. He would always choose Chester. They could have more children. There would always be more babes, but there would never be another Chester. Orley would never have another duchess. He would never have another husband.

  He would never love again.

  Which meant Chester had to survive.

  Please don’t let Chester die. I beg of you. I have not asked you for much. I did not plead for my life when I was captured, nor did I cry for you to stop my father’s beatings when I was a child. But this? I’m asking you for this. I’m demanding this of you. Don’t. You. Dare. Take him from me. I know the vicar says that you are in Heaven and we will see you when we die, but if you snatch him from my arms, rip him from my life, I will find you and I will make you pay.

  Orley knew he was being ridiculous. One did not threaten the Almighty, but neither did he care. He would threaten the King himself if he had to. Chester lay in his arms, sobbing, his back arching every so often as a new wave of pain wracked his body, blood soaking the linens beneath him, and the sight of it made Orley want to vomit.