The Duke's Dilemma: Regency Romance Menage Short Stories

by Lacoste, G. G.

  "Perhaps it is best for me to simply ignore my feelings,” he thought to himself. Of course this was best. Out of all possible solutions to his problem, ignoring his feelings was the only option that would not change his life beyond all recognition. While it would almost certainly send him to an early grave, a decade of concealing a love, which was (to the best of his knowledge) unrequited, would mask death as something of a welcome release. Denial was the logical choice. However, anybody who has ever loved knows that love does not abide by logic. The Duke longed to tell the maid of his love for her, even just to have her run in fear of him or shriek in laughter. At the very least, that would tell him that she did not share feelings. But what if she did love him as he loved her? That would be the greatest of all results. Surely the possibility of such a revelation made the risk of total destruction one worth taking.

  "Very well," the Duke announced to the empty room, as if declaring his intention aloud would force him to follow through on his plans. "I shall confess my feelings to the girl this very evening. Not doing so would be unfair not only on myself, but on the maid and, of course, the Duchess."

  Chapter Three

  Later that day, once the sun had fallen and the house had been dusted from top to bottom three times minimum - per the maid's contract - the Duke and Duchess were once again sitting across from each other, enjoying an after dinner the read. The Duchess, like many higher-class women of the time, had allowed herself to become lost in a book of poetry. Unaware that the male-pseudonym using author was, in fact, a female, she fantasised that the swoon-inducing words within were directed at her.

  The Duke, however, was not quite as immersed in his reading material. Open before him was, as every evening following dinner, a newspaper, detailing the latest struggles of a country with no clear leader. As she usually did at this hour, Sandra entered the dining room, having completed her work.

  "Pardon me, your Grace, I have finished the tasks which you asked of me." As always, she was obliged to add; "If there is nothing else, I shall be on my way."

  "That will be all for today, Sandra. I will show you to the door."

  The Duchess had become too absorbed in her words to notice the Duke rise from his seat, but if she had, the maid would not have been alone in her confusion. She could not understand why the Duke believed she needed to be guided to the door of a manor in which she had worked for close to a year. She made her own way to the front door every evening and had not once lost her way despite the manor's impressive size and complex layout. Immediately, her mind drifted to the worst possible scenario. Her forehead began to sweat and her mouth became dry as she foresaw the Duke informing her that her services were no longer necessary. She knew not what would happen to her and her dear husband if their only source of income were to be suddenly taken away from them. Turning to face her at the door, the Duke noticed her moist forehead and the clear panic that covered her face and gave her the appearance of the mask of tragedy.

  "My goodness," he thought to himself, his brain poisoned by the toxic mix of naivety and narcissism. "To be sent into such a panic in my presence, surely she must love me." Excited and eager and all other barely applicable synonyms, the old fool lunged towards the woman and took her in his withering arms.

  "Your grace, what are you..." The Duke permitted her not to finish her sentence and pressed his lips to hers as he dipped her. For the first few tempestuous moments of that kiss, the maid, believing herself to be happily married, beat the Duke's back with the palms of her hands until she finally gave in and allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of her master's tongue inside her mouth. The encounter came to an all too sudden end when the Duchess left her place at the dining room table and the screeching of her chair across the floor echoed throughout the manor, causing the Duke to panic and release the maid from his embrace for fear of being discovered. Though the Duchess did not enter the hallway, the kiss had been disturbed and that moment of sheer bliss had been lost forever. Both shocked into silence, albeit for very different reasons, the Duke and the maid eyeballed each other. She examined his face. This was the first situation in which she had been allowed a prolonged look at her employer's wrinkled countenance. His skin was loose and cracked, sprinkled with those blasted, unavoidable flakes we all experience upon allowing our epidermis to become too dry. Unshaven for a day, his jaw was covered with greyish spots, which would one day sprout into a full beard if he did not get his hands on a razor. A large black pool lurked beneath each eye, the result of his recent difficulties achieving rest. Despite these somewhat avertable imperfections, the maid had to admit to herself that the Duke was an extremely handsome man. This was a realisation that she could not help but be frightened by. In her entire life, she had only been attracted to one man, and she had gone on to marry him.

  "Sandra," the Duke began, before immediately finishing as he realised he had not the faintest idea what he could say to explain himself.

  "Do not worry, sir," she replied with a voice lower than a whisper, "it is quite alright." With this, the maid turned to the door and freed herself from the manor. The cold of the winter night hit her like the morning air hits an alcoholic following a night of heavy drinking and the uncontrollable panic which she had been unable to find in the manor quickly reared its ugly head. Oscillation soon followed and the maid was forced to come to rest at the manor gates and attempt to make sense of the situation. Though she had not instigated the kiss, she felt a tremendous guilt for allowing him to push by her plump lips with his tongue.

  "Am I a whore?" she asked the stone lions which sat atop the large and intimidating pillars. "If I am not, am I any better than a whore?" Unsurprisingly, the cement cats gave the maid neither their opinion nor advice. The gates and pillars and trees, which surrounded the young girl, also remained mute, refusing to become involved in the drama.

  "Am I a whore?" She asked again, repeating the question over and over between deep inhales of fog and mist. These inhales and this questioning continued until the maid was not quite so ridden with anxiety. Though she never did learn if she was or was not a whore, she was able to compose herself and force herself to complete her journey home, albeit on legs which felt as though they were made of unbaked pastry.

  Chapter Four

  That night, Sandra lay in her bed with her mind racing, refusing to yield and preventing her from sleep. Upon returning to her garret that evening, she had succeeded in putting all thoughts of the Duke out of her mind. A long conversation with her husband had reminded her just how much she cared about him. She loved him. However, now that the hour had passed midnight and her husband was sleeping, Sandra's thoughts returned once again to the man who employed her and the kiss that they had shared. As she replayed the encounter in her mind, in all colours and at all speeds, she found that it excited her far more than any kiss which she had shared with her husband in recent memory. In fact, there had only been two kisses to stimulate the young girl more than her kiss with the Duke and those were her first kiss with Daniel and the passion driven kiss that had followed his proposal of marriage.

  She was no longer asking herself if she was a whore, but she was asking herself if she was, in fact, still in love with her husband. Of course, she cared a great deal about him and hated to see him suffer, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to take care of the man and his various unpleasant moods. On many occasions, she felt as if she were a nurse, assigned to one particularly unhappy patient for the rest of her life. Though her work did not allow her any great deal of time to think about her position in life, when she did manage to grab a second with her thoughts, she found that they were not completely positive. Those post-work conversations with her husband were indeed wonderful, but a marriage cannot sustain itself on a conversation. Daniel took quite a lot and could scarcely offer anything beyond a listening ear. Yes, she felt bad for him, but she needed somebody to feel bad for her. The few women whom she considered friends did not understand her pain at all. They were all married to produc
tive men who held jobs in fields, which did not depend on their voice or dancing skills. They were carpenters, blacksmiths, and carriage drivers. These were occupations that would long yield results and bring money into the household. The women remained at home and raised children and cooked dinners and performed the tasks, which a woman was supposed to perform. Deep down, Sandra may have resented her husband for his inability to give her a life similar to the lives of her friends.

  "The Duke could give me a life of freedom," she thought as her husband tossed and turned in the bed next to her, dealing with troubles of his own. "Never again would I have to stain my hand with work nor my mind with worry." This was not, of course, entirely true. Aligning herself with the Duke would result in quite a degree of anxiety and nervousness, double what she had experienced at the manor gates. She would be forced to endure many a sleepless night while she attempted to leave her husband and while the Duke completed whatever tasks needed to be completed before he could send his wife packing. But those unpleasantries would surely be worth it once she was living in that large house and having servants and maids cleaning up after her. It sounded divine.

  Perhaps he had sensed his wife's apprehension in his slumber, or perhaps his own nightly worries had proved too much to sleep through, but suddenly Daniel jolted upright and turned his head in the direction of Sandra.

  "My love," he said, placing his trembling palm against his chest to calm his unsteady heart. "You are still here."

  "Yes, Daniel. I'm still here."

  "I had the most horrid dream. I imagined you had left me for another and I was forced to live out the remainder of my days alone." There was that same fear in his voice, the same tinge of neediness, which never failed to awaken Sandra's mothering tendencies. As he began to weep, she kissed him upon the forehead and wrapped her aching thin arms around him.

  "Relax, my dear gentle husband. There is nothing for you to worry about. I am here with you." He clutched her nightdress and buried his head deep into her shoulder. He needed to feel safe, untouchable. Sandra, despite her thoughts of leaving her husband, helped him to achieve this with her familiar scent and her comforting words. Tears began to form in her eyes too, although she did all she could to keep her emotions hidden from her husband. It was overwhelming for her to think that a man whom she had once so admired now relied on her and her only in order to live. Without the maid by his side, he would last no longer than the runt in a litter of kittens after it has been cast aside by its own mother. She knew at that moment that she could not leave the man. He needed her and if she were to divorce him or otherwise rid herself of him, she would most likely find that she needed him also. With his head still on her shoulder and his tears still staining her nightgown, she resolved to explain to the Duke that their encounter had been but the result of a misguided impulse and could never happen again.

  Chapter Five

  The following day, upon arriving at the manor, the maid went straight into the study, where she expected to find the Duke sitting beside the fireside, waiting for her. However, she was instead greeted by an empty chair and a fireplace filled with unlit wood and coal. This was because the Duke was still in his chamber, lying next to the Duchess, dead to the world. The sweet kiss of the maid had served to put his mind at ease and had allowed him to sleep through the night for the first time in weeks. He was not likely to rise for a couple of hours at least, which meant the maid would have to immerse herself in the usual menial household tasks while she waited for the opportunity to kill whatever sinful beast she had created with her master.

  As she was already in the study, Sandra tossed some more coal into the fireplace and set the collection of flammable material alight. She warmed her hands as it burned. It had been a long and difficult walk to the manor that morning. The pathways of the countryside were covered in ice and the horrid winter wind blew raindrops from the leaves of the surrounding trees right into the young girl's face.

  As she watched the colour return to her near-frozen hands, it occurred to Sandra that she felt incredibly fatigued. This was rather unsurprising, considering the fact that she had not slept a wink the previous night and had used the little remaining energy in her body to get herself to work that morning. She eyed the Duke's chair. It was strictly off limits to anybody who was not named Alexander, but the red velvet which acted as its skin seemed so soft and inviting that Sandra could not help but feel drawn to it.

  "I shall just sit here for a moment," she swore to herself as she eased herself into the indent left by the Duke's rear. "Then, when I am suitably warm, I shall rise and get myself to work."

  Of course, the maid should have known that it is very nearly impossible to simply rest one's eyes. If we are tired and allow ourselves a moment of rest, we fall asleep. It has been this way since the dawn of time and shall remain this way until the sky comes crashing down.

  Sandra learned this lesson first hand several hours later when she awoke to find the Duke's staring at her from a chair, which he had brought in from the dining room. Smiling as he sipped on a mug of tea, he seemed to find the maid's inability to keep her eyes open to be quite amusing.

  "Ah, and you return to the world," he said with a chuckle as she lifted her eyelids and became once again aware of her surroundings.

  "Your grace..."

  "I trust you are well rested, my love." That sentence provided Sandra with the powerful push she needed to re-enter the waking world.

  "My love?" she repeated in her mind before pushing herself to her feet.

  "Oh no, my love. There is no need for you to vacate my chair."

  There were those two words once again. She knew she needed to bring an end to the Duke's infatuation with her as soon as possible, but it was a task which demanded a great deal of sensitivity on her behalf. The man was her employer and breaking his heart or shattering his illusions would more than likely result in her immediate termination. He was a kind man and it was possible that he would fire her out of embarrassment rather than vengefulness, but either way she would be out of a job.

  "Your grace," the young maid began as she traced the marble mantle with her index finger, collecting the dust, which had built up, during her nap. "I feel that we must discuss our... em... encounter that..."

  "Yes," the Duke said, interrupting her and rising to his feet to join her before the fire. "Yes, I think that is a wonderful idea. Almost as wonderful as the kiss which we shared before you left for home."

  "Oh my," she thought, "this is not going to be as easy as I hoped." After a deep breath and gulp, she spoke aloud once again. "Your grace..."

  "Oh please, my love, my name is Alexander. Call me Alexander."

  "Very well. Alexander, I am, as you know, the wife of another man."

  "And that is another one of the many mountains which we must overcome before we can be together. But rest easy, my dear, I assure you that our love will see us safely through."

  "But I do not love you, Alexander. I cannot love you." She paused, slightly shocked that she had been so momentarily bold. There was silence. The kind of silence that falls after one man punches another much stronger man in the face. She felt right away that she had made a huge mistake and all there was to do now was wait to pay the price for her actions.

  The Duke, however, was a persistent man and was not about to accept defeat and jump to relieving the maid of her duties.

  "Sandra, please do not be so hasty. I am in love with you and have been in love with you since the day you first became a maid in my manor."

  "Your grace..."

  "Alexander" he corrected her, shaking a finger as if he were correcting a schoolgirl on her Latin grammar.

  "Alexander, I cannot embark on any kind of extra-marital affair with you. I love my husband and I would never betray him."

  "My dear, I do not believe you are telling the truth."

  "Oh but I am. I do have a husband."

  "No, no, no. I already know that to be a fact. I do not, however, believe that you love the m
an."

  "But I do," she protested, "I love him with all of my heart."

  "But do you find him sexually attractive? Does he arouse you?"

  "Yes, yes of course he does."

  This proclamation of lust for her husband did not seem particularly genuine. In fact, it sounded as though the maid was attempting to convince herself that she was attracted to the man with whom she shared her life. This did not go unnoticed by the Duke and he leapt upon her clear uncertainty like a hyena pouncing on wounded prey.

  "If you do not mind me saying, my love, that sounds rather uninspired to me. A perfunctory declaration of affection."

  Sandra hated to admit it, but she was beginning to believe the Duke was correct. Now that she did not have her husband's trembling arms wrapped around her and pulling her to him, she did not feel such an unwavering loyalty. Perhaps she was quite easily persuaded, but the Duke was making a compelling argument as to why she should spend the remainder of her life with him and not her husband.

  "Of course," the Duke continued, knowing his words were having the desired effect, "if you love your husband as you say you do then please, take today off and go to be with him."

  "Pardon me?"

  "It has been so long since you last had a day away from this place. Go and spend these daylight hours with the man who you love so greatly."

  Surprised by the fact she was still employed and taken aback by the Duke's generosity, the maid thanked him and left the room. She moved slowly with her arms dangling by her side, as we all do when making a journey that we are uncertain about. Though she did not know exactly why, she felt that she would later regret leaving the Duke alone in the study. Perhaps she did love him. She shook her head. No. Now she was alone with neither her husband nor her employer to influence her decision and she was going home. Back to her garret where her husband would be sitting by the window, boring himself, waiting for her to return so she could reassure him that he had something to live for. Then, the next day, she would return to the manor, work for twelve hours and return home to reassure him once again. This would be the pattern every day and would follow until she was grey haired and hunched over and no longer able to perform her duties at the manor. Then she would spend every waking hour of every day trying to keep her husband from slashing his wrists, if he hadn't done so already. She had already reached the manor door when she realised that this was not how she wished to spend the rest of her life. Love, if that was indeed what she felt for Daniel, could scarcely justify living in poverty for the next fifty years. The poets said that love was worth any and all suffering, but that was easy for them to say. They had thousands of people paying for their work on a daily basis. They dined in manors and palaces and never, not even once, had to get down on their hands and knees to scrub the floor of one. Her hand did not make contact with the fingerprints staining the doorknob before she turned around.