The Duke's Dilemma: Regency Romance Menage Short Stories

by Lacoste, G. G.

  "Whom shall it be today?" the Duchess said to herself as she flipped through page after page in her notebook, as if she were surveying a dinner menu. There was an abundance of young men for her to choose from, all of whom provided a different experience of delight. There was Jasper, who was the son of a wealthy woman who had been left with a great sum of money following the mysterious death of both her first and second husband. He was twenty years of age and possessed a body which looked as though it had been sculpted by the finest of craftsmen. He was as strong as an ox and had the sexual drive to boot. That being said, the Duchess was in no hurry to find out if Jasper had inherited his mother's penchant for sending her lovers to an early grave.

  There was also Raj, who was the first born child of the wealthiest (albeit by default) Muslim couple in the country. Raj and his parents had arrived in the United Kingdom eight years earlier, after fleeing some far off land in fear of their lives. The Duchess had never quite gathered why they had been forced to leave their own country, but from what she could understand, it had something to do with a revolution which saw the wealthy come out on the losing side. Raj was engaged to be married - or, more accurately, arranged to be married - and so had spent the past year endeavouring to engage in sexual intercourse as many women as he could before his bride was hauled over from his home country. He was a generous man and would almost always bring the Duchess a bottle of red wine, which they would share before embarking on their adventure together. Unfortunately, it was this politeness that made it near impossible for Raj to give the Duchess what she wanted. He was too gentle and treated her as if she were a delicate flower, which could be broken in half by the slightest gust of wind.

  Though it was impossible for the Duchess to name one lover as her favourite, Marcus Wilson was certainly among the most called names in her notebook. At twenty-two years of age, he was heir to the fortune his father had earned through a publishing company which specialised in erotic novellas, novels and poetry. This was, at the time, a rather unconventional and controversial career for one to pursue, but it was one in which any hard working man could turn a profit. The constant editorials and stories and generally negative publicity received by the elder Wilson served only to raise the public's curiosity in his work and drove many a "conservative" to purchase one of his publishings purely in order to investigate the matter further. Of course, once they had read one book, they were hooked. The erotic writings invoked in all readers new and exhilarating feelings of a sexual nature which would leave them feeling confused but longing for more. Though Marcus had no interest in writing or reading anything beyond single act plays, which were as far from provocative as one could get, he had inherited his father's ability to excite women sexually simply by using his words. When he whispered in the ear of the Duchess, describing in detail what he was planning to do to her, she would be brought to life by his words and the feeling of his tongue brushing softly against her ear. Not only was he skilled with his words, but the young man was also a master with his hands. A painter by trade, he moved his hands and fingers inside her with the same precision and dedication with which he moved them while standing before a blank canvass. He would sometimes spend close to an hour stimulating the Duchess with his hands alone. By the time Marcus would remove the last of her clothing and begin to enter her, the Duchess would already be on the verge of orgasm.

  Having made her decision, the Duchess shut her notebook and called for Charles, the chief of the manor staff to come to her bedroom.

  "Yes, madam?" he asked as he entered the room not one minute after being summoned. Charles inhaled and exhaled heavily as he spoke, sweat dripped from his grey hair onto his white shirt and he was forced to lean against the chamber door for his old knees could no longer support him following too strenuous an activity. The old man's unpleasant state was due to his sheer devotion to the Duke and the Duchess and his belief that, as the most senior member of manor staff, it was his duty to put the comfort of his masters above his own wellbeing. Although he was only sitting down to his breakfast of tea and a slice of dry toast when he heard the Duchess call his name, he immediately vacated the kitchen and ascended the three flights of stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

  "Charles, tell the driver to venture into the city and fetch Marcus Wilson."

  "Yes, madam."

  "And tell him to hurry as it is quite an urgent matter."

  "Yes, madam." replied Charles again, doing all he could to pretend the "urgent matter" did not concern the sex.

  "And Charles," called the Duchess just as the old man was leaving the chamber.

  "Yes, madam?"

  "Please fix your appearance. You look as though you have spent the morning swimming."

  "I will, madam."

  "See to it that you do."

  Charles apologised for allowing his shirt to become untucked and his brow to be covered in sweat and exited the chamber, shutting the door behind him and leaving the Duchess alone. Already she was beginning to become excited by the thought of seeing Marcus Wilson again. It had been a month or so since their last encounter and the woman could not wait to feel his well-formed body on top of her own. She longed to feel his breath on her neck as he thrust his member in and out of her body. She longed for the feeling of his hands on her shoulders, pushing down on her and ensuring that she stayed in place. She even longed for the incredibly annoying annoyance that was his long hair hanging down into her eyes, nearly blinding her as he made love to her. Yes, Marcus Wilson was worth waiting for.

  Chapter Three

  "Charles! Charles!" His calls receiving no answer, the Duke rose from his seat by the living room fire and walked to the door. "Charles!" he called a third time, sticking his head into the hallway and raising his voice to ensure he would be heard. "Charles!"

  There came the sound of the back door of the manor being opened followed by the commotion made by the old man as he clamoured to meet his master.

  "Yes, sir? Yes, sir?" he said as he burst into the hallway.

  "Charles, where have you been?"

  "I do apologise, sir. I was delivering a message to the driver on behalf of the Duchess."

  "The driver?"

  "Yes, sir. The Duchess asked for him to collect young Marcus Wilson and bring him to the manor. She said it was urgent."

  "Oh, Marcus Wilson? Yes, I am quite sure he has some very urgent business with my wife." Geoff laughed at the thought of the young man attempting to satisfy his wife. He imagined the helpless look on his face as he desperately searched for his wife's pleasure spot, looking like a man lost at sea. Obviously, the Duke and Duchess had extremely different opinions of Marcus Wilson.

  "May I ask why you summoned me, sir?" said Charles as the Duke laughed softly to himself.

  "Oh yes, yes of course" replied his master, a little frazzled after being dragged away from the farce created by his imagination. "Do you know where Penny is at this moment? I have searched the manor for her but she is nowhere to be found.

  "Oh yes, I sent her to the stable."

  "The stable?"

  "Yes, sir. I thought it could do with a clean before the rain begins again."

  "Charles! Are you out of your mind?"

  "Pardon me, sir?"

  "You cannot send such a delicate creature out to the stable!" The Duke was no longer in a humorous mood. He was quite shocked, if not appalled, by the idea of his young love standing in a stable cleaning up after the behemoth horses who made the place their home. Charles, however, could not understand why his employer had been thrown into such a frenzy by the thought (though he was well aware of his romantic relationship with the young woman).

  "But sir, it is her duty as a maid to tend to the manor both inside and out."

  "Do not talk back to me, Charles. I am your superior."

  "Yes, sir. I apologise, sir."

  "I demand you relieve her of that most unpleasant job this very moment."

  "She is the only maid on duty, sir. Whom shall I assign the tas
k to?"

  "Well since you seem to think of it as some simple task, you can do it yourself!"

  "But it is my job to organise these tasks. I do not even have a change of clothes."

  "Then either do the job in your suit or do it in the nude. Whichever you choose, it is in your best interest to ensure the stable is spotless when I next choose to ride."

  The Duke refused to hear another word of protest that fell from the mouth of his butler. After commanding him one final time to save Penny from the hell that was cleaning the stable, he shut the living room door, which came within inches of the old man's nose.

  "The idiocy of that man has reached an almost unfathomable level,” the Duke muttered as he returned to his place by the fire. "Why I have kept him at this manor for so long is a wonder even to myself." Outside the living room, in the hallway of the manor, Charles was also muttering to himself.

  "I have done so much for both the Duke and the Duchess and they treat me as though I am some uneducated peasant riddled with disease. If I chose to do so, I could make quite an agreeable sum of money by revealing their private lives to the press and yet I have remained loyal, perhaps too loyal for my own good."

  By the time the jaded butler had finished venting his anger, he had just about reached the stable and could see Penny performing the task to which she had been assigned with no signs of difficulty.

  "Penny," he called as he approached her, "you are to return to the manor at once." The young maid was surprised to hear the voice of Charles, as he was usually sensible enough to leave the maids to work at their own pace rather than interrupting them and preventing them from making any progress.

  "Mr. Murr" she said as she turned around, holding a filth covered shovel in one hand and a sack in the other. "Whatever are you doing out here?"

  "I have come to relieve you of your duties."

  "Relieve me of my duties? But I simply cannot afford to lose this job."

  "There, there, girl. I am not here to relieve you of your duties here at the manor, I am here to relieve you of your duties in the stable." This clarification served to ease the maid's anxiety but also left her slightly confused.

  "But I have not yet completed the task you have assigned to me" she told Charles, her dedication to her job as evident as ever.

  "Be that as it may" he told her, "the Duke does not want you cleaning the stables."

  "What? Why not?"

  "It seems that he believes you to be somewhat of a frail little girl who cannot survive in the mud and the cold."

  "But Charles, you have given me this task and I want to complete it. I must earn my keep like anybody else."

  "I understand that, but it is the Duke's decision and his decision is final."

  Penny let out a loud grunt and rolled her eyes to the stable ceiling before throwing her shovel and sack to the ground.

  "I know you are eager to work, child, but it would make my life a great deal easier if you would return to the manor." As she respected Charles more than she respected any other living being, Penny put up no further fight and left the stable as he requested. He had been something of a father figure to her since her arrival at the manor and she did not wish to place any unnecessary hardships upon him. Of course, Charles would now be forced to face the hardships brought on by cleaning a rather filthy horse's stable in quite expensive and rigid clothing. After watching Penny fade out of sight and disappear into the manor, the house manager reached to the ground to retrieve the shovel and sack. Though it took only a couple of seconds for him to grab the items and return to an upright position, his hands became covered in the mud and straw and other dirt that engulfed the stable floor.

  "Good lord," he exclaimed as he examined his hands, "this is not going to be a pleasant job." With his palms black with dirt and the once white sleeves of his shirt having been turned to brown, Charles began to reconsider his loyalty to the Duke and Duchess.

  "This is certainly not in my job description,” he said as he shovelled a mixture of straw and what was once straw. "I am the chief of staff, it is not my duty to clean stables and dirty my clothes. This is a job for a new maid or apprentice butler." He could feel rainwater beginning to seep into his shoes, which caused a slushing noise to echo throughout the stable as he attempted to drag himself from one end of the barn to the other. The old man grew more and more uncomfortable until he finally realised the absurdity of what he was doing and defiantly threw the sack and shovel to the ground.

  "This is not worth the money I am being paid,” he announced to the two horses present in the stable. "No amount of money is worth my sacrificing my dignity and self-respect. It is high time I make the Duke and the Duchess aware that they cannot treat the manor staff as if they are non-humans." With this, Charles dragged his feet through the thick waste of the stable and exited the horses' home. Rather than returning to the manor, he made his way to the front of the estate, where the carriage driver sat on a pillar, reading the newspaper.

  "Jones" Charles called to him as he drew closer to the pillar. Jones was as startled to hear Charles' voice, as Penny had been when he entered the stable. The unappealing appearance of the chief of staff only added to the driver's surprise but he knew better than to ask the old man what had left him in such a state.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Have you returned from the city or are you yet to leave?"

  "I have returned, sir. I collected Marcus Wilson as you asked. He is currently meeting with the Duchess."

  "Very good. That paper you're reading..."

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Does it give an address?"

  "An address for what, sir?"

  "For the editor's office."

  Jones closed the paper and examined the front page. There was no address to be found, only a number of sensationalist headlines concerning the Prince Reagent and his struggle to adapt to the throne. He flipped the paper on his lap and examined the back page as closely as he had examined the front page.

  "Oh, here it is, sir."

  "Very good, take me there."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Take me to their offices."

  "But sir, their offices are in Hull City. That is at least an hour's journey from this manor."

  "I do not mind that. Take me there."

  Charles made his way over to the carriage, which was sitting in front of the manor with Jones' chosen horse still attached to it. He did not want to wait a second longer to begin his journey. He was aware that his own common sense could surface at any moment and prevent him from extracting his revenge on his employers.

  "Hurry, hurry" he said to Jones, signalling for him to join him, "Time is of the essence." The driver hopped down from his place upon the pillar and tucked his newspaper under his arm. He was confused and could not understand why the old man wished to be taken to the offices of a tabloid newspaper, which were located sixty minutes away (which, in those days, was quite a distance to travel). Nevertheless, he opened the carriage door and held it for Charles as he climbed inside, dirtying the velvet seats in the process.

  "I apologise for making such a mess in your carriage, Jones" he said before the driver shut the door on him, "Be sure to have the next chief of staff clean it for you."

  Chapter Four

  "Am I an invalid?" demanded Penny as she entered the living room, her voice preceding her.

  "Pardon me?" asked the Duke, looking up from his glass of whiskey that he had been quite concentrated on stirring.

  "Am I an invalid?"

  "Why, whatever has prompted you to ask such a ridiculous question?"

  "Because you are treating me as though I am incapable of performing the tasks any maid of any manor is expected to perform."

  "My dear," began the Duke as he came to his feet, "I am simply trying to save you from unpleasant work." He attempted to take the maid in his arms but she pulled away before he could tighten his grip.

  "But I must sometimes be tasked with unpleasant work, it is as much a part of this job as du
sting your coffee table."

  "The other maids must be tasked with unpleasant work. You are an exceptional case."

  "But I wish to succeed because of my dedication to my job, not because I provide you with sexual release."

  The Duke returned to his seat and filled his mouth with whiskey before declaring "I do not understand what you want from me."

  "I want you,” replied the maid, "to treat me as though I am a woman and not a child whom you have taken under your wing."

  "Sometimes, you can be a very difficult person to read."

  "And sometimes you can be a very difficult person to love." The Duke cringed. There was that word he had so desperately been trying to avoid since the desolation of his marriage. Love had never been the intention of his relationship with the maid.