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

by Patricia Haverton

  Melody made her way through the marketplace, observing the hustle and bustle. Several of her fellow shoppers nodded at her kindly and with smiles. Much different than when she first took over the inn. Back then, she’d been regarded with a suspicious eye. A woman, trying to run her husband’s business? It was all but unheard of. Things did not improve much when she started taking in women from all walks of life to work for her and reside at the inn.

  As if she’d summoned up a ghost from her past, she spotted Samuel Abbott up ahead. Susan’s father swayed already despite the early hour and stumbled through the market, drawing sneers and sideways glances.

  Melody scanned the area to see where she might hide from him but found it was too late.

  “Balfour!” He man hollered and tumbled toward her. She sighed and gave him a nod.

  “Mr. Abbott. How are you this fair day?”

  “I would be better if you did not have my daughter at your little inn at all hours. We could use her at the farm. There’s much work to be done.”

  There would be far less work if you did any, you lazy, no-good drunkard.

  “I’m sure the wages I pay her help at home, am I wrong?”

  The man grunted in reply and shrugged. “A woman should not be working in an establishment such as yours.”

  “And why not? Because it is run by a woman?”

  “A business run by a woman. Balderdash! Poppycock! A scandal, I say.”

  “The Duke of Sandorne seems to disagree with you, Abbott. He frequents not just the inn but the market. Has brought plenty of money into town, he has.” Surprised, Melody turned around to see the greengrocer, Mr. Percy, standing behind his stall, arms crossed in front of him.

  “Indeed, he has,” the fishmonger, Mr. Clarkson, agreed from behind them. “Got a standing order from him for his estate in Kent. Decent fellow.”

  I understand why I received such a generous discount on his cod now. Thanks to Zachariah, again.

  “You ought to count yourself lucky your daughter works there,” Mr. Percy added. This did nothing to placate Abbott, who grunted and mumbled under his breath, maintaining his stance that a woman should not work outside of the home at all, or if she did, at least work for a respectable man.

  “Well, Mr. Abbott, we must agree that we cannot agree on this topic. In any case, I must bid you farewell as we are expecting a rather large dinner crowd. As we have most nights.” Without further paying attention, she turned away from Abbott and placed her egg order with Mr. Percy.

  Behind her, Abbott continued to ramble on while stumbling forward. “Caney was right. Right, I say.”

  The words sent a shudder down Melody’s back. Entirely unsettled now, she quickly completed her order and then rushed back to the Gentle Rose.

  “There she is!” Miss Lovell called out and pointed toward the innkeeper who was making her way toward them. Miss Lovell rushed toward her and waved an arm. “Melody, hurry!”

  The woman lugged a basket in her arms that seemed filled with something incredibly heavy as she struggled. Caleb dashed forward to assist her and found the basket to be containing eggs.

  “Mr. Ridlington? You are back so soon? I had not expected to see you again.” She looked past him and he knew at once she was keeping an eye out for Zachariah. Caleb swallowed hard.

  “His Grace is not with me. In fact, I am here to inform you that he is missing.”

  Her face paled at once and she staggered slightly backwards. “Missing? But how? Why?”

  “He’s been taken!” Miss Lovell cried out in dismay. “Bandits set upon them and kidnapped him! Heaven forwent, the poor man.”

  Caleb closed his eyes. It had been almost a day since his friend disappeared. A day without knowing what had become of him.

  “Mr. Ridlington, is this true? What has happened? Tell me at once.”

  The urgency in her voice was palpable and he led the two women inside, relaying the entire story on the way. When he had finished, the three were standing in the reception area of the inn and two of the maids had joined them. All around, faces were pale and marked with shock at the news.

  After a moment of silence had passed, the innkeeper looked up. “It was Caney. I am sure of it.”

  “Caney?” Caleb replied and frowned. “The drunkard who has been writing the threatening letters? Are you sure?” He was not quite so certain. While the man was clearly gifted with writing threatening missives and throwing rocks through windows, he did not strike him as smart enough to arrange a kidnapping of a nobleman right out of his carriage. However, Miss Balfour appeared sure.

  “Yes, I know it. Does it not strike you as strange we have not seen him in weeks now?”

  Caleb shook his head. “That could be a sign of him having given up and walked away.”

  She shook her head empathically. “No. That is what I thought as well, but I believe it’s simply what he wants us to think. He wanted us to feel safe only to then strike. Do you really think someone like Obadiah Caney doesn’t know other, equally unsavory characters, who might help him?”

  “She’s right,” Miss Lovell chimed in. At once his eyes darted to her and he found himself opening up to the idea. It was almost as if it only took this, his creampuff’s agreement, to make him consider the possibility. “You don’t know Caney like we do. He’s a shady fellow. Even when drunk. Aye, I think Melody is right. He’s the man you ought to be after.”

  He chewed his lip and scratched his chin, thinking this over. “But we have had the entire area under surveillance, men have searched for him day and night. I ought to know, as I am the one who pays them. There’s been no sign of Caney.”

  “Not here,’ Miss Balfour replied. “But he was not taken from here now, was he? He was taken from right outside of London.”

  Caleb conceded the point. She was right. All their efforts to find Caney had been centered around the village, not the road toward London. And he had reason to be angry at Zachariah. He’d been the one to eject him from the inn in the first place, after all.

  Yes, as of right now it was the best lead he could come up with. Caleb sighed. He could already imagine Her Grace’s reaction when she found out that her son had likely gotten kidnapped after involving himself in the business of commoners.

  However, that was a concern for a later time. Right now, he had to come up with a plan. And quickly.

  “Calm yourself. Calm yourself, Mellie,” Betsy said as the two of them convened in Melody’s chamber a little later on that day.

  “Calm myself? How am I to calm myself when Zachariah is likely in the hands of Obadiah Caney because of me?” She clenched her hands into fists and released them in rapid succession as she walked the room.

  “This is not your fault. You had nothing to do with it. First off, we don’t know Obadiah is the one behind it all. Secondly, even if he is, you didn’t make him kidnap the Duke. Nor did you make him get so drunk he had to be thrown out. Nor did you make him smash the windows or throw bricks with nasty messages.”

  Melody shook her head. “It would have been better for Zachariah if he never stopped at the Gentle Rose at all. If he’d ridden on that night, he might still be free and safe now instead of in the hands of a madman.”

  “Do you really believe that? Do you really think it would have been better for him? Because where I stand, it looks like he gained an awful lot from being around you.”

  Melody frowned. “What do you mean? A sample to give to his fellow lords on how to run a business as a woman? He could have gotten that from any woman who owns a business.”

  Betsy clasped her hands and raised them toward the sky. “Heaven help me. How many women do you think there are in England who run an inn? Or any business that’s usually run by men? And how many do you think would be willing to let a nobleman observe her every move, look into her books, and all but follow her around to learn?”

  Melody pressed her lips together but said nothing for a while. Instead she tried hard to chase the terrible thoughts of Zachariah tra
pped by a lunatic out of her mind.

  “He didn’t have to put himself on the line for me as he did,” she finally said, quietly. “I would have managed Caney on my own.”

  Betsy wetted her lips. “How? You would not have had the funds to hire the constables that have been here day and night. I reckon that’s what’s kept Obadiah away.”

  “It does not matter. He would not be in this position if not for me. I’ve brought danger to his door. He should have stayed away and not got himself involved with me.”

  “Now you’re talking like a crazy woman. What is the matter with you? His Grace never presumed he had a right to tell you what to do. He let you have your own mind. What in the world possessed you to think it is up to you to decide what is right for him?”

  The force in Betsy’s voice surprised her and the logic silenced her. Melody paused and stepped up to the window, gazing outside. Evening was falling now. In the distance, the sun was setting, creating a beautiful orange glow over the landscape. It would have been peaceful if not for the events at hand.

  Why am I so upset? It is terrible, yes. And it cannot be denied. However, I feel as though I am drowning with guilt. I cannot stop thinking about him and what could’ve happened to him. What are they doing to him, and why?

  She turned, fixing her gaze on Betsy. “If something should happen to him—something terrible, I will never forgive myself.”

  Betsy walked toward her and wrapped an arm around Melody’s narrow shoulders. “He will be found perfectly safe; I am sure of it. Mr. Ridlington will leave no stone unturned. You know how I know that?” Melody’s mouth was dry as she shook her head. “Because Mr. Ridlington loves His Grace with the same fierceness and has the same unshakable loyalty to him as I do you. And if it were you missing, you can bet every last guinea that I would have this whole country turned upside down.”

  Her words struck her deeply and she wrapped one arm around Betsy’s waist. “You know I’d do the same for you. You are my family. Thank you for being here for me.”

  The two women stood, their heads together as Melody’s hand traveled to the necklace. She rubbed her thumb over the locket which contained the portrait of the Archangel Michael.

  Protect him, Michael. Spread your wings over him and keep him from harm until he can be returned to my side. Unharmed.

  She prayed silently with her eyes closed and envisioned Zachariah’s face as it looked the last time that she saw him. So full of anticipation of his speech at the House of Lords, so joyful and full of life. It was then, with his imagine before her mind’s eye, that emotion overwhelmed her and tears fell down her rosy cheeks.

  She buried her face in the side of Betsy’s neck and allowed the feelings to spill out as her friend gently soothed her and caressed her back. For the feelings that had been carried in like a wave during high tide were so familiar it struck her to her core. It was the same she’d felt the day the notification arrived that Frank had been killed in the war in France. The feeling of loss. The feeling of a life that was just beginning to grow, cut short.

  At last she understood why she felt this way. She’d known it in her heart for some time, but refused to acknowledge it. But there was no denying it anymore. Zachariah had become so much more to her than a simple friend or benefactor. Slowly and over time he’d taken a place in her heart that stood vacant for so long. A place she thought would be empty forever. He had repaired the tear in her heart left there by Frank’s death. Zachariah, she now knew, was the man she loved. And now, he was gone.

  Chapter 28

  He swallowed, his throat dry and his head swimming. The dim light of the candles did not allow him to make out his surroundings very well. However, what he could see was sparse. The frame of the cot he was laying on dug into his back and the straw-filled pillow tickled his nose. The room was so small, not much else fit beside the cot. A table was leaning against the wall under the window, which was nailed shut.

  A draft came in through the boards, indicating there was no window pane on the other side of the wood. He shivered and wished his captors at least brought a blanket for him. They had not. He’d been tossed into this chamber and left for what felt like days now. He had no idea just how many days.

  What do these people want from me? They’ve not asked for money. They’ve not made demands.

  He rose with difficulty as his hands were tied in front of him, as were his legs. Once he struggled upright, he was able to lean his head against the headboard. A single tallow candle was on the nightstand beside the cot, but it was almost burnt out.

  Zachariah was about to work on loosening his restraints, an activity which had proven futile thus far. However, as there was nothing else he could do, he was determined to continue. Alas, he did not get the chance as just then, the wooden door was kicked open with such force it slammed against the wall and almost shut again. Right into the face of the short, stout man who was presently walking through with a tray.

  “Curse it!” he shouted as the door came his way. He managed to dive out of the way before it swung shut again, spilling what looked like soup in the process. He sat the tray down on the night stand next to Zachariah and glared at him. “You’d better eat it. I won’t have a noble die on my watch from lack of food.” He stood there with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The man’s face was covered with a mask, as it was each time he or one his fellow rogues entered. His accent was a very distinct Liverpool accent.

  “Why don’t you let me go so I can find a meal of my own?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you sit yourself at this here table and eat and shut your mouth?”

  “How am I to eat with my mouth shut?” He fired right back, causing the man to snicker.

  “By Jove, it seems we have a jester among us. How about I shove the bread down yer throat, jester?” He leaned forward and grabbed a hold of Zachariah’s hair, causing him to yelp. His leg shot up and hit the man’s shin.

  “Perdition! You think you’re so grand because of your title. Let me show you just…”

  “Stop!” Another voice called out just as the man was about to plant a facer in Zachariah’s visage. A taller man Zachariah had only seen on a couple of occasions entered. “What do you think you are doing? You think we’ll get paid if we bang up the Duke? Fool. Get out of here.” The man’s voice was deep and he had a distinct East London accent, unlike his friend. He slapped the younger man on the back of the head and then shoved him out of the room.

  At the door, he turned and glared at Zachariah. “You— Eat!”

  He was about to protest but found the door closing behind them. Once again, he was in the dim room alone. He sighed and remained on the bed where he had been for most of the past two days.

  He looked over at the tray. It held the same questionable meal he’d been served for the past two days. A strange looking version of pottage containing potato, vegetables, and an unidentifiable type of meat. It was thin and so salty his lips puckered at the mere thought of eating it again. Next to the bowl were several slices of dry, hard bread and a jug of ale.

  Inevitably his thoughts drifted back to the place they’d returned to many times during his captivity. To the delicious dinners at the Gentle Rose Inn. No, not just to the dinners. To the company. The meals, while mouth-watering, were secondary. For what really gave him comfort in his drab confines were his memories of the time spent with Melody. He replayed their conversations in his head over and over and imagined himself playing chess with her once more.

  Will I ever see her again? It is strange, I looked at her as a source of inspiration for my university and nothing else. Yet, over time she has become so much more. The memory of her sustains me.

  He paused, marveling at the feeling of warmth and comfort thinking of her brought him. He could not deny it. She was so much more than a case study to him and if she were a lady of the ton, he would not mind for one moment being set up with her by Miss Bagwell.

  “I won’t deliver it. You go. You’re the on
e who devised this scheme,” the Londoner’s voice drifted into the room.

  “Me? I certainly won’t. And I devised nothing. It was all set out for us. He planned it all. We’re just the muscle.”

  “Well, then use your muscle to get on the horse and deliver the note. Unless you want to babysit His Grumpiness for a few more weeks. Or would you rather our benefactor finds out that we are dilly-dallying around and endangering his plans because we can’t agree on who is to deliver the ransom note?”

  Zachariah shuddered at the thought of being kept here for another day, let alone weeks. He did not feel in imminent danger, as he had already figured out that these two were not the ones pulling the strings. From their frequent arguments on the other side of the door, he’d already discerned that a third-party person was in charge and had planned the entire kidnapping. He did not know for what purpose, but from the sounds of it, as he expected, it was for a ransom and the note being argued about was the ransom note.