The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

  Readers love Groom of Convenience by Vicktor Alexander

  “This is a totally fascinating story that had me hooked from the very beginning!”

  —Rainbow Book Reviews

  “I really enjoyed the world building that Vic brought about… Another hit for

  Vicktor!!”

  —Love Bytes

  “I loved the elegance of this unique wonderfully written story… Fantastic read.”

  —MM Good Book Reviews

  “I thought this story was adorable… good world building and many characters I look forward to seeing again.”

  —Prism Book Alliance

  “One of the things I like most about Vicktor.

  Alexander’s books is their ability to create a world that allows us to reexamine our pre-conceived ideals…”

  —Crystal’s Many Reviewers

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Servant Duchess Of Whitcomb © 2015 Vicktor Alexander. 1st ed

  © 2020 Vicktor Alexander 2nd ed

  Cover Art

  © 2020 Beauty by Vee.

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Vicktor Alexander Presents, LLC. 5549 Black Hawk Lane; Lakeland, FL;33810.

  For my daughters Chipmunk, Vivianna, and Bow: Always.

  To the editors, Desi and Sheri, who both worked with me on the first editions of Groom of Convenience and The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb: You ladies rock my socks off! Thanks for making the editing process easy, fun, and for loving my boys as much as I do. And thanks for catching the special reference I made about a certain show.

  To my readers who waited patiently for me to re-release this book, and to the ones just discovering it for the first time. Thank you.

  And forever in memory of Justin.

  I have to acknowledge Justin Timberlake’s “Amnesia” from his 20/20 album once again, as it helped me write this book. I think it may be the soundtrack for the Scandalous Whispers of the Remmington Realm series. But it was also joined by “No Apologies” by Jussie Smollet and Yazz from the Empire soundtrack, which is my own personal soundtrack for this year, and I think Orley’s as well.

  When I first got the idea for Scandalous Whispers of the Remmington Realm series, I wasn’t prepared for the reaction it would cause among readers. I just knew I was beyond excited. As a member of the U.N., the Undercover Nerds, an official group, I knew there would be a few people who would read Groom of Convenience, the first book, because of its historical content, and even more who would read it to find the inaccuracies, but I was shocked by the number who read it and loved it. The U.N.—a bunch of men, sports enthusiasts who secretly watch the History Channel, read the encyclopedia, read the reference books in the library, and spend way too much money on books about history, science, and geography, all for the fun of it—are often joined by their female friends who enthusiastically tell them about books they should read. And I was floored when I heard that those friends were telling them to read my book!

  So first, I want to say a huge thank you to all of you who read the first book. You all are amazing. Truly. Now, on to the explanations. If you read the first author’s note in Groom of Convenience, some of this will seem familiar to you, but you should still read it because some of it will be new. While I wanted to write a gay romance set in the Regency period (one of my favorites, next to the Medieval period and the Victorian era), I also wanted to have a little more creative liberty with certain aspects of the lifestyle of members of the peerage. If you are a previous reader of mine, then you know I love to write m-preg (male pregnancy)—perhaps that is because of my desire to have more children, or maybe it’s because I want everyone to be able to have their own children—it’s something I write often. So I needed to be able to give my male characters the opportunity to have children, but I also desired to give my female characters the chance to impregnate their partners, female or male. I yearned to have a world where that was possible without making them all aliens with tentacles and five eyes, so I created an alternate universe. It looks just like ours, and historically everything is the same. Some of the names are a little different (Nafoleon instead of Napoleon), yet some are exactly the same (William Shakespeare).

  The biggest difference is that gender and sexuality are quite fluid in this universe. There is male and female, which is determined by the physical appearance of a person. When a child is born, their genitalia determine if they are male or female, much as occurs in our world. Penis signifies male and a vagina signifies female. So males are given traditional male first names and females are given traditional female first names.

  However, in Tearth, the world in which the series, Scandalous Whispers, is based, man and woman, boy and girl is determined by the internal makeup of the babe born—if there is a uterus within and whether the person has the ability to either sire or conceive a child. That is another distinction between the genders. Men were those males and females who could impregnate their partners (both males and females) and had deeper or huskier voices. Women were those males and females who could conceive children, and were distinguished by their higher vocal pitches. Women were considered ladies if they were from a titled family or had married into one. Men, if they were from titled families or had been knighted as such, were the ones who bore the title and all of the power that came with it. There is also the mark on the baby’s head that doctors take note of on the hairline of the child at birth.

  There will be those female men who will be more “masculine” and will wear trousers, jackets, and vests. And there will be those male women who will be more “feminine” and will wear dresses. In our society these would be people we consider to be “flamboyantly” transgender or “boyishly” transgender. Cross-dressers, bigender people, etc.

  This is my own subtle attempt at paying homage to the community of transgender and intersex individuals who are ignored, shunned, or even feared in television, movies, books, and society. These men and women are physically one thing but internally identify as something else. This book has an entire society filled with people like that.

  Within the pages of this book you might be confused when you read a sentence. A male might be referred to as a woman, girl, lady, duchess, countess, fotmy, etc. And a female might be referred to as a man, boy, lord, duke, earl, maldy, etc. This is because of the way the society is structured. For this reason, in this universe, it’s important to use Christian (first) names with titles, to avoid confusion. For example, Chester would normally be referred to as “Your Grace” or even “Her Grace” or in some circles “Lady Whitcomb” in a typical Regency novel; in this world, it’s important to know that he’s a male woman, so he’s referred to as Chester or Lady Chester Garrick or Lady Chester or Lady Chester of Whitcomb. Christian names are also used for those male women who are given to dressing in traditionally feminine clothing and appear more
feminine in their features, though their genitalia marks them as male, and their internal organs mark them as women. These male women are the exception and have female names, i.e., Madame Marie-Etienne Nitot, who is a male Tfrenchwoman. Usually these female names are given to them at birth, for while these male women are born with male genitalia, their features are more feminine, androgynous, even at birth. For some, they are given male names, only to have their names changed later in life as their inclination toward female clothing becomes more apparent. The same is true for female men. Christian names are used with titled female men and those who identify more with their masculinity, are androgynous, and will dress as “men” are given male names at birth. Certain terms used within the book will be explained at the end, as well as certain practices among the “Anglish” and “Tlondon” society, but for the most part, this book is a gay historical novel.

  Just set in an alternate universe.

  Which means sometimes the rules are a little different. But the laws are still the same. It is still illegal for two men or two women to engage in sodomy or sapphic actions, though it looks a little different on Tearth and in Angland.

  Which you will see explored in this book.

  And for those of you who were wondering? Get ready to see a labor. You really aren’t ready.

  I hope you will enjoy this series in spite of its special quirks and that it will, in its own way, open your eyes to a community of people who are no different from you. Maybe you will also turn on the History Channel and watch a program or two. They’ve got some wicked cool stuff on there.

  —V

  The Servant

  The sharp retort of gunfire exploded around Orley Garrick, Duke of Whitcomb, and he ducked, trying to avoid the debris and the bodies of fallen soldiers around him as he surged forward. The smoke from the countless rifles burned his eyes as he desperately looked for the person who had caught his eye. He heard the cries of the dying calling out to him as he rode his horse farther into the thick of battle. Using his sword, he cut down an enemy soldier who raced toward him, mouth open as he let out a battle cry. Orley closed his eyes against the spray of blood across his face and blocked out the sound of the man’s death gurgle as he fell to the ground beneath his own horse.

  Orley raced on toward the figure in white who didn’t belong on the battlefield. He called out a warning, telling the woman to be careful, because there was no way a man would be on a battlefield wearing a long, flowing white chemise, free of dust and bloodstain, appearing almost angelic among the crowd of soldiers. The woman didn’t stop. Instead she walked straight toward the commander of the enemy soldiers, and fear filled Orley. He wasn’t sure why; he didn’t know the woman, and yet he could not let anything happen to her.

  At that moment, the woman turned to look at him, and Orley gasped when he realized the woman in front of him was not female as he’d suspected but male. Why in the world was a lady on the battlefield?

  “You should not be here!” he yelled, trying to warn the male, but just as he got close enough to lift the woman onto the back of his horse, an enemy soldier plunged his sword through the woman’s back and out through his chest. Orley watched helplessly as the woman’s eyes widened moments before he collapsed to the ground, and a grief unlike aught he’d ever experienced ripped through him.

  He was not sure how he knew, but the dying woman belonged to him, and someone had just taken him away.

  Tossing his head back, Orley let out an anguished shout at the heavens.

  Orley woke, panting and sweating, in the home of his friend, Heathcliff.

  Holy. Shit. That one had been very different from his other nightmares. He rubbed his face with his hand and groaned as pain raced through his leg—the one that would never be the same. All because of war, a battle. All because of….

  Orley shook his head. No, he wasn’t going to think about that.

  Someone knocked lightly on the door, and Orley winced as he realized his plan to come to his room and take a quick nap after his taxing journey out of Tlondon had turned into a deep sleep and a brandnew nightmare.

  God, he hated sleeping.

  “Enter,” he called out as he sat up and swung his legs off the bed he was borrowing while visiting Heathcliff and Lucien for their country-house party. The door opened, and Orley turned to address the person standing there. He stopped short, almost swallowing his tongue as he took in the vision of the most beautiful creature to have ever been born.

  Orley had been privileged to see many beautiful people in his life. Male and female, he was a lover of aesthetically pleasing images and didn’t discriminate. However, all of them paled in comparison to the lovely light-brown-skinned woman in front of him. Orley’s stomach clenched, his groin tightening as he inhaled sharply. The lovely scent of jasmine wafted up to his nostrils, and his eyes slid closed as he relished in the delightful fragrance emanating from the male who had just entered his room.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace. I was sent to bring you a light repast and perhaps something to wash up with? His Grace the Duke of Pompinshire thought that perhaps you would like to freshen up before joining the rest of the guests downstairs.” The woman’s voice was soft and lyrical, with

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  a slight lilt to it, and Orley wondered if perhaps he sang. He would have no problem lounging around on the settee listening to him sing or even just talk. Of course, as he took in the male’s appearance, he felt the desire to do much more than just listen to him.

  “Your Grace? Are you ill?” the servant asked, and Orley swallowed, shaking his head.

  “N-no. I’m fine. Just a bit out of sorts, I’m afraid. I appear to have overslept during my nap, and now I am feeling quite peckish,” he lied.

  The woman nodded, his hazel eyes lighting with relief. Orley wondered at that. Was his well-being really of great concern, or was it just because the maid had been sent to look after Orley?

  Orley allowed his gaze to rove over the young male’s form again, taking in every detail intently. He would like to have something to conjure up in his mind’s eye later on that evening when he put his hand to his already burgeoning erection.

  Wearing the female black dress with a white apron, which was the maid’s uniform that was standard in most homes of the gentry, the young woman had honey blond hair that was currently pulled back in a very luscious chignon at the nape of his neck, and Orley could only imagine how long and thick it was. An image rose to his brain of that hair hanging down over his face as the young woman slid up and down his cock, and he pressed a hand to the sheets covering his waist. The young male’s skin was almond colored, and all Orley wanted to do was spend hours licking every inch of his body. He was not overly tall, only a few inches taller than Lucien, Heath’s husband, but still much shorter than Orley. And where Orley was all hard, thick muscles, the male maid before him was slender, though still with a lovely, toned body.

  His slim-fingered hands held a covered silver tray, and Orley gestured him forward with a beckoning wave.

  “Well, far be it from me to refuse such generosity from His Grace. You can just place it there on the nightstand,” he directed, watching the sway of the servant’s hips beneath the skirt of his maid’s gown as he walked toward the cherrywood nightstand. Orley shoved his fingers through his blond locks, messing up his hair and throwing his queue into disarray. He was unnerved as the vestiges of the nightmare faded from his mind, wreaking havoc with the lovely, distracting image of Heathcliff’s maid, whose form even now was causing a pleasurable ache in his balls.

  “Is there anything else that I can do for you, Your Grace?” the maid asked, his voice hushed, eyes downcast, and a slight tinge of red to his light brown skin.

  Orley prided himself on being a man of honor, integrity, and character. As a matter of fact, his grandfather, Charles Edrick Garrick I, the former Duke of Whitcomb, had more than once given him lessons and lectures on the way a gentleman was to behave. Anyone can strut around and use
his physical strength to try and prove his brawn. But it takes honor, patience, gentleness, character, integrity, fortitude, knowing when to fight, knowing when to walk away, knowing when to love, how to love, and when to let go, and most importantly, knowing when to use your physical strength and when to be humble, that makes you a man.

  Orley had always believed those words from his grandfather, had in fact lived by those words for his entire life. He’d only strayed from them when he’d served in His Majesty’s military and on those rare occasions when he’d allowed Blaine, Heathcliff, and Quincy to talk him into traveling down into the Lower East End to partake of the wares of the light-skirts. And while his grandfather’s words usually guided him, right now he was seriously considering doing something illicit.

  He couldn’t believe the images that were passing through his mind. Flashes. Quick, as if they were memories like his time spent on the battlefield rather than the salacious, hopeful yearnings of a desirous, dry, fruitless attraction. However, the longer he spent in the company of the object of his mind’s current musings, the more it seemed his “dry, fruitless attraction” was soaked in hope and possibility. And perhaps it was for that reason that rationality and his grandfather’s words of character, honor, and integrity grew softer and softer until they were suddenly silent. All he could concentrate on was how lovely Heathcliff’s maid was. How round the male woman’s derriere was. How slim his shoulders were. How graceful his neck was.

  How full his lips were, and how much Orley desperately wanted to kiss them.

  “I think I would really like to know your name,” he heard himself saying.

  The maid’s eyes widened, and he gasped softly. “Me, Your Grace?”

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  Orley chuckled. “Of course you. There is no one else in the room but you and I, and I assure you that I already know my own name. Unless it has changed in the time I have been asleep. It hasn’t, has it?”