Duchess & the Damned (A Victorian Erotic Romance)(Re-Write!)

Chapter One, Part Two - Every Dog Has Its Day.

"A Prince," Alfred mused with raised brows as he stirred the stew he was preparing, while Charles sulked beside him. "That's ... impressive."

Alfred, Chef to the Estate and good friend to Charles, had been filled in about the happenings of last night's meeting, and Charles' lack of sleep, which was sure to lead to a lack of sanity – among other things.

"Four hours, Alfred," Charles groaned. "Four hours I was made to escort her through the town's shops to try on dresses and gowns for another man."

"And one that probably intends on disregarding whichever is chosen without any regard to her hours of indecision," Alfred hummed in speculative consideration. Expression flattened, Charles stared at his cynically humored friend.

"You are a cruel man, Alfred," Charles practically wept.

"And you are one with his head in the clouds," the chef scolded, sprinkling in a handful of seasoning to the cooking stew. "Didn't you take this position? Or rather, positions, because you knew you were doomed to unrequited love?"

"Perhaps at first ..."

"And what's changed that you've failed to tell me?"

"I had hoped ... being at her side for so many years ..."

"That her parents would overlook your social status and consider your proposal," Alfred finished with a tired shake of his head.

"It is not unheard of," Charles defensively argued, turning away from his friend and leaning on the edge of the counter beside the woodstove. "However rare it may be. Is a man, even of my stature, not allowed to dream? Not allowed to hope?"

Alfred paused his stirring, sighing when hearing the genuine sorrow in his friend's voice. Setting his spoon down on the folded towel on the opposite counter, he turned to rest a comforting hand on Charles' shoulder.

"Charles ... I'm sorry. But. She isn't engaged. You have that to hold on to," Alfred reminded. "And even if she is to be married, you can still spend the rest of your life with her. Caring for her in ways a busy Prince may not. Your relationship will not change."

And while Alfred sought to give him comfort with those words, they only managed to bring more dread to his already burdened mind. Not being able to advance in their relationship. To never hold her in a way that the Prince would undoubtedly take for granted. To not be able to show her the tender warmth of a loving embrace. It was that, among a handful of other things, which pained him.

"I know," Charles acknowledged, head hung low in what read as defeat. Squeezing his shoulder, Alfred sighed, returning to the stew.

"If you do love her, it will be enough," the elder of the two urged. "You may think you have the love of a man, but you are still a child yourself. You will come to understand."

It was then that the topic of discussion came rushing in, clothed in one of the several dresses she had purchased earlier in the day. Feet bare and hair thrown about her face and shoulders, Emilia screeched as she entered the master kitchen, immediately darting over to Charles in a heap of drooping fabric and poorly tied laces. Charles' brows pinched while Alfred's rose in amusement, seeing the disheveled young Duchess.

Cuffs sliding off her nearly bare shoulders, Emilia was unable to properly tie the back of her new dress. Corset of mismatched loops, her maturing cleavage threatened to spill over the swooping neckline. Alfred snickered as his index finger came to rest against his chin.

"Oh my," he mused. "Hello, young Miss ..." Bowing his head in respect, Alfred slyly inched towards Charles' ear, snickering, and lowered his voice to a bare minimum. "Not looking so young anymore, mind you."