Desperately Inn Love with the Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Patricia Haverton

  All the woman did was straighten her back and square her shoulders, “I suppose the likes of you did not need to overhear my rambling.” She did not curtsey or show any acknowledgement of their class. For a moment, Melody worried that the Duke or steward would chastise her for her abrasiveness.

  “That is quite all right,” Caleb stated, grinning ear to ear.

  Melody must have been wrong, but she swore she saw a sincere affection growing in his eyes as he took in the sight of Melody’s round-faced, excitable cook. Clearing her own throat, Melody retrieved a coin purse from her pocket and placed a few pence in Betsy’s hand.

  “Send one of the maids to the butcher to get more of what you need. Do not let the likes of George Blackwell unsettle your mind.”

  Betsy, although still visibly flustered, nodded her head and turned to leave. Melody looked back at the men, shooting the Duke an apologetic smile before stating, “Would you follow me?”

  The two men nodded and followed in Melody’s haste. She guided them up to the third floor of the inn, giving them the best room she had available. It would still pale in comparison to their usual accommodations, Melody was sure, but it was the best she could do.

  She unlocked the door for them and stood to the side, bowing her head in respect. Even if her cook apparently had the privilege of disregarding the aristocracy, Melody knew that she did not. “It is a double suite. Inside you will find doors to two joining bedrooms. There is a lovely, hearty dinner being served in the dining room this evening. However, if you would prefer it, I could have it sent directly to your room. Allow myself, or any of the staff, to know what you prefer.”

  “You are the most gracious host,” the Duke stated. He looked as if he started to bow, but caught himself. With that, Melody bid them a farewell, knowing she still had the kitchen to sort out.

  What is actually on menu for dinner? It needs to be something marvelous…

  She needed to catch Betsy before she sent out for the butcher!

  As soon as the door to the room closed, Caleb collapsed onto the chaise in the sitting room area of their suite. “Did you see that cook?” he absolutely oozed.

  The Duke settled in at the small desk nestled in the corner of the room. His eyes admired the craftsmanship of the desk. It had been chipped and scratched with time and usage, but it somehow gave the quaint desk character. Much like the Gentle Rose Inn itself.

  “The one which looked primed for the oven?” he teased, making a joke of the cook’s floured face. “How could I miss her?”

  “Did she not remind you of a cream bun?” Caleb queried, his voice dreamy and distant. “Powdered and ready for tasting.”

  Zachariah howled in laughter, “Control yourself, man!”

  The cook had been rather adorable, he would give Caleb that. She was petite in height but with a full figure. His mother had always told him not to trust a thin chef, and so he was certain that the girl could cook.

  “If she is a cream bun, I fear that she would bite you back.”

  “All the better,” Caleb grinned. He then perked up, once more on his feet. His hands clasped together in front of him, as if to restore his posh exterior. “I think it best that we dine downstairs this evening.”

  “Do you, old chap?” he quizzed, unable to wipe the amused look from his face. “And pray tell, why that is?”

  Caleb wracked his brain for a suitable answer, a smirk lingering on his lips. “As you stated to the innkeeper, she is a gracious host. I think it would be in good spirit for us to grace the dining room with our presence.”

  “And this notion of yours would have nothing to do with your cream bun?”

  His smirk grew devilish, “If I were to happen to become acquainted with that fiery cook, it would not be a wasted evening.”

  “Leave it to Caleb Ridlington to become smitten with a commoner,” Zachariah teased, his fingers tracing the wood grain of the desk. “I cannot wait to read all about your bastard children in the tabloids.”

  It would not be a scandal for Caleb to marry a cook, but he was the son of a very well-known merchant. If he were to marry, Zachariah imagined his family would want their son to marry someone of a like status.

  “Just as I cannot wait to read more of your interminable bachelor life.”

  The Duke chuckled and looked out the small window at the sunset settling over the small town. “You are well aware of how I feel about dining in open settings.”

  “What is the matter, Your Grace? Afraid the common folk will breathe your air?” his steward poked, seeming unable to resist the urge to joke and play.

  He could only roll his eyes, no longer entertaining the likes of Caleb’s humor if he was going to make it an issue of social status.

  However, there was something intriguing about the innkeeper. “When have you ever heard of a woman innkeeper?” Zachariah pondered aloud.

  “I think I never have,” Caleb answered.

  “Nor have I,” he nodded. “And you, too, overheard the bustling of the business? How is it that a woman has found success on her own?”

  “Why don’t you suggest she sit with us at dinner, and ask her?”

  He took a moment to consider it, though his mind was already made up. Zachariah had a strange love affair with the subject of women’s rights, and conversing with a successful woman, a commoner no less, was too tempting to pass up.

  “Very well. Let us prepare to go to dinner.”

  Chapter 2

  Melody was once again in the throes of running the inn when she departed from the Duke and his steward. She and Betsy decided on a change of menu for the important night, serving braised lamb, roasted carrots and potatoes, stewed greens, and Betsy’s delicious Yorkshire pudding. It would all be finished with a proper English trifle for dessert. Never had the Gentle Rose Inn have such an esteemed meal. After seeing the bill from the grocer, Melody had no intention of making a habit of it, either.

  She knew, however, making a good impression with a Duke could be nothing but good for business. Perhaps he would pass along the word of her inn in his circles and bring her more business, and even if not, she was certain all the locals, even the ones who rarely visited, would make their rounds to soak in the stories of what the Duke of Sandorne had been like during his stay in her modest inn.

  She was in the midst of the dining room, explaining the menu to one of the patrons, when she noticed all of the heads at the table turn. Her eyes followed theirs to see the Duke and his steward standing in the doorway to the dining room. Pardoning herself from the table, Melody found her way over to them.

  “Your Grace,” she smiled, bowing her head. “Are you dining in, or would you care for your dinner to be sent up?”

  “We shall be dining here tonight, thank you,” he stated.

  Just as she began to lead them to her best table, which she had reserved just in case they had decided to dine in, his next words caught her.

  “We would be most appreciative if you would join us for a meal.”

  She anxiously soothed her skirt.

  Dine with a Duke?

  The idea felt so foreign that her mind had trouble processing it. Instead, her mouth spoke for her, “I would be delighted to join you, Your Grace. It will be but a moment before I can.”

  He nodded and had an easy smile. Once she sat them at the table, Melody ducked behind the bar to fetch a fine bottle of wine. There was a small reserve of bottles she had been squirreling away, just in case of a scenario just as this arose. Her late husband, Frank, had considered it silly, never thinking nobility would come to their inn.

  You would be such a fool if you could see me now.

  The thought put a smile on her face, wishing to tease her beloved with how right she had been to age wine.

  “The Duke is dining in?” a maid called to her as she dusted off one of the bottles and collected glasses.

  “He is. Send word to Betsy that they have asked me to join. Make sure Susan and the others are tending to the dining room. The
linen and such can wait until morning,” she instructed Ingrid in a hushed tone.

  “And tell Betsy I said to mind her manners if she comes into the dining room.”

  The maid’s eyes were round at hearing Melody would be joining the Duke for dinner, but she did not stand around to make small talk.

  Melody sauntered back over to the table, making sure that her stride was confident and natural; she feared she would fumble and make a fool of herself. As she approached, Melody realized why she was so anxious. It was not because she was a commoner dining with a Duke, it was because she was a businesswoman dining with a Duke. She was certain in situations as that, it was customary for the Duke to dine with the innkeeper. It was strange because Melody was a woman. She had to be more composed and confident than any other innkeeper graced with the presence of a Duke.

  “Jove! Red wine! That is absolutely marvelous,” the steward commented as Melody poured.

  She smiled meekly, “It is a special bottle I had set aside for an occasion such as this.”

  “It is as though you knew we would one day come,” the steward nodded, but then his fingers drummed against the table.

  An anxious gesture? What does he have to be nervous about?

  “I say, would it be too imposing of me to ask that your cook dine with us? I always love to thank the chef,” the steward continued anxiously.

  “Oh,” she muttered, caught rather off-guard by the request. Melody was certain that after Betsy’s outburst upon their arrival, she was the last person that the Duke and steward would want to keep company with.

  Well, other than perhaps Obadiah.

  It would be rather a chore for the kitchen to relinquish the head cook, but she was sure that they had spent enough time preparing for the dinner service that the others could handle it on their own.

  “Certainly.”

  Melody flagged down Susan and asked her to get Betsy to join them.

  In unison, the three sat at the table, and sampled the wine.

  “Absolutely delightful,” the steward commented. “Is this a cabernet? In light of the recent wars, I know we are meant to hate the French, but I cannot help but be delighted in their food and drink.”

  Melody gave him a smile and sipped nervously.

  He’s an anxious chatterer, isn’t he?

  “Forgive me if this is too forward,” the Duke stated, breaking the uneasy silence. “But how have you come to find yourself in possession of an inn such as this?”

  Her eyes caught his emerald greens and she studied them closely. He did not appear to have contempt that she was a woman in possession of her own business, but was curious—almost lightheartedly so.

  After another sip of the wine to calm her nerves, Melody gave a humble shrug. “It was my husband’s and he died at war shortly after our marriage began. I’ve been running it ever since.”

  Caleb, the steward, shuffled uncomfortably after his offhanded comments of the war. Melody took no offense, however.

  “One would have to be without taste buds to deny the deliciousness of French cuisine,” she added on, wanting to put the poor steward out of his discomfort.

  The Duke did not waste a moment to get back to the topic at hand. “And there were no others in his family to run the establishment?”

  “You mean, why weren’t there any men to step up to run the business?” she fired back, her tone challenging his line of questioning.

  “His father had also died at war, and Frank, my husband, was an only child. His mother died of a broken heart. It left the business in my hands alone.”

  “My condolences,” the Duke breathed.

  She nodded in acceptance of his kind words. It was then that Betsy was at the table. She gave a half-hearted curtsey before settling down next to Melody, who motioned for a maid to fetch Betsy a glass for wine.

  “And pray tell, miss, what is your name?” the steward asked, almost as soon as Betsy’s bottom hit her chair.

  “Miss Betsy Lovell,” she confirmed, dipping her head cordially. “Charmed.”

  “Betsy. I love that name. I have always made note of how adorable that name is. Haven’t I, Your Grace?”

  The Duke’s lips curled upward as he raised his wine to his lips, “Not that I can recall.”

  The Duke and Melody locked eyes once more and his smile proved to be infectious. He wasn’t willing to play along with his steward’s flirtatious antics. The two men were bound to be good friends, it being unlikely that a steward would be so bold in the presence of a Duke if they were not.

  “And what shall I call you, good sir?” Betsy cooed. Melody was flabbergasted by the hints of flirtation in her own friend’s voice.

  “I am but an honorable steward,” he grinned. “I think it all right if you were to call me Caleb. Mr. Ridlington is my father, is it not?”

  Then, with ease, Betsy and Caleb were encapsulated in their own conversation, filled with flirtation and wit—the wit coming from Betsy’s fiery personality alone.

  Melody sank in her seat a bit, having hoped that Betsy’s presence would have been one to relieve the pressure from herself.

  “So, Miss Balfour, was it?” the Duke began again. She nodded to confirm her name. “Would you mind telling me about yourself? I do not mean to be so forward, but I am absolutely fascinated by you and your inn.”

  A dark blush came over her cheeks. No one had ever stated they were fascinated by her or the Gentle Rose Inn.

  Alarmed, perhaps, but never fascinated.

  “What would you like to know? I fear there is not much to tell.”

  “On the contrary,” the Duke stated, a gentleness in his tone. “There must be much to tell. I have no doubts of your knowledge or ability to run a business. I would simply like to know more. Was the town welcoming of you?”

  She tilted her head side to side, weighing the question.

  “At first, when my husband was alive, yes. If you were to see it then, and today, it would not look much different. However, after his passing when the Gentle Rose became solely mine, attitudes shifted. It took quite some time for the locals to take me seriously as Miss Balfour, rather than a wife to Frank Addams.”

  He nodded, his hand grazing his chin as he thought it over. “How did you win their favor? Was there a campaign of sorts?”

  “Not at all,” Melody shook her head. “I simply continued to run the inn. There were a few locals who still came, if for nothing but their own habits. Word finally spread that the inn was as it had always been. Good service and food proved enough to gain their respect.”

  Their conversation was halted by maids bringing their plates. The aromas of herbs and butter filled Melody’s senses and for the first time, she realized she had not eaten since breakfast. Before her fork could prod her lamb, the Duke questioned her again, “And are there any men in your employ?”

  “Not one,” Melody answered, her expression flushed with pride.

  “I’ve taken it upon myself to give the employment opportunities to the women of the town, those who need work to support themselves and their families.”

  “Remarkable,” the Duke breathed, truly sounding pleased by her answer.

  “Just like this lamb,” Caleb commented. Melody’s gaze shifted to Betsy and the steward.

  “Your own hands crafted this meal? What a talent you are.”

  Melody had never witnessed someone eat flirtatiously, but she was certain that was what she was witnessing as Betsy and Caleb remained locked in eye contact as they took ample bites of their meal.

  “Your wife must cook better than this,” Betsy replied, an edge of distrust to her voice, despite just how taken she appeared to be with the steward. Melody understood that Betsy was not shy about flirting, but was not so quick to become smitten as the steward was inclined to be.

  “I, dear Miss Lovell, am not wed. I would be blessed to have one that could cook as well as this.”

  “You would be fatter than an Earl,” the Duke teased, but his gaze was still on Melody, wh
ich made her want to squirm.

  “This is perhaps a sensitive question, so forgive me and understand you do not have to satisfy my every curiosity, but who does your bookkeeping?”

  For a moment, Melody did not wish to answer. That was, in fact, a sensitive question. It was unbecoming to speak of one’s finances, particularly in an open setting such as this. However, Melody wanted to be confident and proud of her own accomplishments.

  “As the innkeeper, it is my duty to uphold the ledgers,” she informed him. “Forgive my own curiosity, Your Grace, but why are you so curious about me and my inn?”