Desperately Inn Love with the Duchess
A Historical Regency Romance Novel
Patricia Haverton
Edited by
Robin Spencer
Contents
A Sweet Gift For You
Before You Start Reading…
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: Through the Eyes of a Blind Duchess
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Also by Patricia Haverton
About the Author
A Sweet Gift For You
Thank you for supporting my efforts. Having you beside me on this wonderful journey means everything to me.
As a Thank You gift I have one of my full-length novels here for you. The Last Lady of Thornhill Manor is only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by clicking this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
Patricia Haverton
Before You Start Reading…
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About the Book
She didn’t need him to save her, only to love her…
After losing her husband in the Napoleonic wars, Melody Balfour is left alone to run the Gentle Rose Inn. In a world built for men, she fights tooth and nail to stay afloat and love is the last thing on her mind. Until the day a dashing Duke strolls in...
A Duke that believes in women’s rights is rare, even more so one that advocates for them. Tired of the vapid girls he meets in high society, Zachariah Livingston, the Duke of Sandorne, is looking for more. And he finds her in the form of a strong-willed innkeeper.
When Zachariah goes missing, a ransom note is the only thing that maintains Melody’s hope of finding him. A hope, however, that seems futile when his family find themselves unable to pay. Desperate, Melody employs help that comes with strings attached. Strings that come in the form of the chain of a broken locket...
Prologue
Night had already fallen on London when Zachariah, the young Duke of Sandorne, emerged from the House of Lords. He was in mixed spirits but the clouded state of his mind soon cleared when he saw his steward, Caleb Ridlington, already standing by the carriage.
“I certainly hope you had enough brandy for the both of us, in your time spent waiting,” the Duke smirked to his friend as he climbed into the carriage.
“No, my good friend. Had you not been sequestered away all evening in the House of Lords, you would not have found me lazing about the fine streets of London with a snifter of brandy,” Caleb stated in his most aristocratic voice, lifting his chin as if to snub away the very notion.
He then peeked at his friend from the corner of his eye, his face faltering into a bit of a smirk. “A delicious imported cognac, on the other hand...”
They both chuckled as they settled in, the driver lurching the carriage forward. It was just a couple hour’s ride back to the dukedom of Sandorne in nearby Kent, but Zachariah almost would have preferred horseback just to arrive home that much sooner. How unseemly it would have been, for a Duke to barrel down the streets of London on horseback.
I am sure London has seen stranger sights.
“Do not keep an old man in suspense,” Caleb called from the other side of the carriage, interrupting Zachariah’s fantasy.
His eyes sliced through his dear friend, a smirk beholding his lips.
“Do not be so daft! We are of the same age. We might not be the spring chickens we once were, but I think we could still bring all of England to its knees if we chose to do so.”
The men shared light laughter before a pause fell over them, Caleb still waiting for Zachariah to speak. He let out a long and heavy sigh, rubbing his face. Caleb wanted the details of what transpired in the House of Lords.
“Oh, it was a run of the mill affair, Caleb. I don’t know why you hold such a burning interest. They went round and round about property dealings, attempting to sweeten the proposed pots with offering up their daughters for marriage to other’s sons. Quite an insulting world to live in for a woman, is it not? A room filled with gray-haired men, well passed their vitality, treating them less than the family jewels. More like a family cow! It’s truly quite dreadful to witness.”
“Zachariah Livingston,” Caleb stated, motioning his hand as if reading the Duke’s name on a sign, “A Lady’s Man: but not in the way one would think.”
They shared another chuckle, but Zachariah’s was a bit bemused. He had never understood how it was a scandalous idea to think women should be equal to man. It was not as though they were cave women, where the men took on all the danger to hunt down food, and the women stayed home, doing nothing more than cradling suckling babes. To think of women as lesser in modern society was to think them mentally inept.
His thoughts couldn’t help but return to witnessing his mother and father playing chess, his mother holding a certain smile to her lips that always made it known she could have easily beaten his father. She always let him win, making a bit of a show to make her loss convincing.
His father never seemed to notice, but Zachariah always saw through it.
Who was the coy, inept one then? The woman who protected her husband’s pride and manipulated him into believing he had bested her, or the man who had a daft grin on his face and patted his wife’s hand to comfort her supposed loss?
“I suppose there was one thing of note,” Zachariah stated, breaking himself away from his thoughts. Caleb’s brow arched and he leaned in, giving Zachariah his ear. “I announced my intention to open a university. One in which women may study in its halls, welcoming them just as much as the men to the world of academia.”
“I do not have to question whether or not they called you a charlatan,” Caleb chuckled, his hand going to his cheek in secondhand embarrassment of his dear friend’s actions.
“How absolutely devilish of I to want to educate their daughters,” Zachariah grinned. “What a vile world we live in, where
a man would rather have me, a thirty-two-year-old man, marry his debuted daughter than for me to teach her the theories of Aristotle.”
“Perhaps shelve your revolution for the night, old chap,” Caleb chuckled. “It has been quite the day. Would you like a night cap? Perhaps some of that marvelous brandy of yours and a game of chess before we both retire.”
“I cannot, for the life of me, think of a better way to end the evening.”
They shared a smile before the carriage was suddenly rocking back and forth violently.
“Bloody hell!” Caleb gasped as it suddenly stopped. There were frantic footsteps just outside the coach and hushed voices. Zachariah’s heart pounded in his chest, not understanding what was going on.
Why is the footman not sounding off assurances or apologies?
He soon got his answer. The carriage door was swung open and masked men overcame the Duke and his steward with speed and precision. The men each cried out, commanding the strangers to halt their attack at once. Of course, criminals were not inclined to adhere to the commands of the noble. Zachariah did his best to stay calm as his hands and feet were tied, and a blindfold placed over his eyes.
It is quite all right. They must be thieves. I will be down my rings and pocket-watch but will be no worse for wear. Just keep calm and do not agitate them.
There was rustling and rummaging around before the two men were dragged from the carriage.
Are they going to take the bloody carriage, too? Surely, they know that it would be recognizable as a Duke’s. It would doom their fates to be caught and tried for this crime.
There was more noise, a bit of a struggle—and then an unsettling silence. The sound of ripping fabric signaled the release of their hands. Caleb was the first to remove his blindfold and was first struck by the sight of his own rings, still on his hands. Patting his pockets would prove that not a single thing was missing from his possession. His eyes fell to the footman, who sat next to him. They exchanged confused, surprised looks.
“Perhaps they were hooligans, seeking out a thrill in scaring the noble,” he hypothesized.
When he turned to confer with the Duke, Caleb was struck by his absence. His head whizzed all around as he scrambled to his feet. “They have taken the Duke!” he exclaimed into the night air, that was then, far too still.
Chapter 1
Six Weeks Earlier…
Not a day went by that the Gentle Rose Inn was not brimming with life. For Melody Balfour, the innkeeper, it was enough to keep her head spinning.
That day was no exception. The dining room of the inn was filled with its typical patrons who feasted on the roasted poultry, mashed potatoes, and freshly baked bread that flew out of the kitchen from opening until close each day.
She sauntered around the tables with expertise, not bumping a single elbow or chair as she passed by.
“Oh, George, you’re missing your extra gravy! I’ll be sure to call back for Betsy to get that for you,” she spoke to a patron as she wafted by.
“Thanks, lovely,” he shouted back, holding up a mug of tea as a sign of gratitude.
Melody was familiar with every face in her lovely town and knew them each well enough to know the specifications of their orders.
George Blackwell was a man that took no spoon to his mouth of any dish unless it was absolutely smothered in brown gravy. Betsy, her best friend and cook, swore she had once seen him put it on a slice of dessert pie.
It was this personable nature she had with them that had gained her the respect of the town. After her dear Frank had passed away at war, the town had grown leery of the inn and Melody’s ability to keep the doors open. She had set out to prove them wrong, no matter how mundane and tedious running an inn tended to be.
“Mellie, dovey pie,” an all too familiar voice cooed to her as she passed by. “Would you be such a dear as to fetch me another sherry?”
It took all of Melody to not roll her eyes and slap the man upside the head. “Obadiah, I believe you have had a fair amount to drink. Would you not agree?”
He lazily brought a finger to his chin as he thought over her sentiment. “Have I been away for some time? Did I miss a notice in the papers that the currency has changed? Since when is my money no good here?”
She sighed and eyed him challengingly, “Tell you what, Obadiah, you finish a meal for me, and I’ll pour you that lovely sherry myself.”
He gave her a grotesque grin, flashing her his rotted teeth as if it were somehow charming. “You have yourself a deal, dovey pie.”
Melody returned the smile in kind but as soon as her back was to him, she muttered to herself, “Call me dovey pie once more and I’ll be sure your dinner is crow, you old drunkard.”
She found relief, at least, that he was willing to have a meal. The hope was that a hearty portion of bread and chicken would soak up some of the liquor and wine already surging through his veins, so that he would continue to be a well-behaved customer.
Her eyes were then set on Julia Middleton, one of her favorite regulars who despite being of the working class, carried herself like a Duke’s daughter. She ate with a knife and fork, patting her mouth with a napkin between each bite, and sipped white wine in the inn every night.
Melody often wondered if the woman knew how to cook. She was nearing forty, had never married, and was such a character that Melody saw her conversations with Julia as her break in her mundane day.
Before she could reach her, however, Melody was met by Susan, one of the maids. “Miss Balfour,” she began, her voice as faint as a mouse, “We have new guests waiting in the lobby.”
“Thank you, Susan,” she nodded, offering the girl a kind smile in hopes of calming her anxious spirit. “Would you be a dear and tell Betsy to send out George some extra gravy? And that Obadiah is in need of a meal—heavy on the bread.”
Heavy on the bread had nearly become code between the women that someone in there was too drunk, and it was in their best interest to sober them up as much as they could, and send them on their way.
The maid looked as though she wanted to say something more, but decided against it, scurrying away to the kitchen as fast as she could. Melody fixed her face into her professional expression, flat and polite, before she exited the dining room and into the lobby. Almost immediately, Melody was brought to a halt by the sight of two noblemen standing before her. They were both tall and well groomed, wearing flashy colors of royal blue and emerald green tailcoats and matching breeches.
The one in green spoke first, “Are you the innkeeper?”
“That I am,” she spoke confidently, though her face was still marveled at the sight of nobility in her modest inn.
“This is Zachariah Livingston, Duke of Sandorne, and I am Caleb Ridlington, his steward,” he informed her. Melody’s gaze shifted back to the supposed Duke, his expression then seeming strained, as if embarrassed by the formal introduction.
It took a moment for her manners to catch up to her, providing them a small curtsey in her simple and plain muslin and spencer jacket. “Your Grace,” she muttered before straightening her posture. “Forgive me. We are not used to nobility coming around.”
The Duke offered her a kind, warm smile, “There is nothing to forgive…” his voice trailed off, searching for her name.
“Melody Balfour,” she filled in the blank for him.
Before anything else could be said, Betsy’s distressed and dramatic voice sounded from behind her as she bounded into the lobby. “We must start charging George more, Melody! I cannot keep up with all this incessant gravy he shovels down his gullet! Day in and day out, gravy, gravy, gravy with that man. I’ve about had it, I swear this to you. I am out of bones to make my broth. Without broth, there is no brown gravy. What am I meant to do, Melody? I say we demand him to be our supplier. After all, I know that he neighbors a cattle farmer. It is the least—”
It was only then, after her emotional outburst, spurred by a lack of beef bones in the kitchen, that Betsy appeare
d aware of the men standing with them. Any other woman would have been embarrassed about the flour smudged on their face, or messy apron hanging about their waist in the presence of nobility—but not her Betsy.
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