Noona's Dukedom Gave Me Brain Worms
@beloveds-embrace legit gave me brain worms. We aren't going to talk about how long this damn thing got. Can be read without context of the Dukedom AU but it makes more sense if you've read all the possible endings. Shout out to @strangergraphics for the cute divider. ***It got a little bit away from me... Word count: Shy of 6K AO3
Sneaking into the stable of the noble house of Price was a bad idea. He knew it. The hunger gnawing at his spine pushed him forward despite his mind’s warnings. Due to the starvation, his body was smaller than it should have been. He used that advantage to sneak between the slats in the fencing and to hide below the edge of the empty stalls.
Voices and clopping of hooves lifted over the walls. The grooms were rotating the horses in the paddock, he would have a few moments to scrounge for something to eat. He would even take the horse’s oats at this point.
Darting from the stall he scanned the walls for a full door; the horse food would most likely be up to keep away the rodents. His hand nearly touched the handle when a swish of skirts had him unlatching a stall with a large black horse and hiding. The horse did not care for his presence and began to flick its ears and swish their tail.
The swishing of skirts continued, nearer and nearer to the stall with the upset horse. It stopped and he ducked further down, holding the door shut but not letting it latch for fear that the sound would travel. Three loud breaths in his ears and the horse pawing at the straw were all the sounds that he could hear.
“Child, I need you to come out of there. Now.”
The voice held the commands with familiarity. Shutting his eyes tight the boy wished that God listened to orphans. He did not complete another breath before he was hauled out by the collar of his shirt. The damn thing ripped as the woman slammed the door closed to the angry sounds of a horse.
“Ma’am!” A groom, dressed in nicer clothes than should ever be used to care for horses, came running in. He skidded to a halt at the sight of the boy. “Do you need me to take care of him, my Lady?”
Hells beyond, of course, he had been found by the lady of the house. The devil must want his soul something fierce.
“No. Thank you, Benjamin.” You must dismiss him with a nod for the groom eyes him warily before heading back outside.
Chancing a glance upward he saw a lovely dress, must be the height of fashion because none of it made sense to him, and a sad face.
“What is your name child?” You ask him kindly, despite the hand still gripping the ripped portion of his shirt.
He thought about running, leaving his shirt behind in your hand.
You let out a small hiss of reprimand and the thought is abandoned.
“David, ma’am.”
Even in those two words, he knew his low-brow accent could be heard.
“And what are you doing in the stables and with my husband’s horse, David?”
He thinks about lying. You must see it in his face for the small bit of tension in your shoulders falls away, as does your hand.
“Come with me, David. And before you tell me the lie on your tongue, make up a story. Tell me the most unrealistic reason of how you came here, and then we can discuss the truth.” You gesture to the bright light beyond the stable and begin to walk.
You make it several steps before you turn around and lift a brow at him. Trained by society to listen to his betters David scurries after you.
He tells you a tale, of how fae had stolen him away from his family and left him for dead in the woods because he never seemed to grow. He spun the story so neatly that he nearly missed that they entered the side door of the grand manor on the property. A maid passed in front of you, long strides taking her down the hall.
“Mary,” you state her name, waiting for her to pause with a quiet, ‘yes ma’am’ before you continue. “Please send a tray of bread and cheese to my room. Also, have someone open the old trunks in the nursery to see if there are any clothes that would fit this child.”
Mary’s eyes flick to him and back to the lady, the confusion only thinly masked.
“And if his Lordship asks?”
David knew this wasn’t usual; his last posting would have called that cheek and seen him dismissed. You handle it with almost an ease of familiarity.
“Then send his Lordship to my room.” You settle a hand on his shoulder, directing him to the stairs, “Come, David.”
He moves where you direct, curious and cautious in equal measure. He had no training for how to act when the lady of the house pulls him into her sitting room and directed him to sit on a wooden chair near a writing desk. You disappear into what David assumes to be your bedroom for a moment.
Taking a moment to observe the room he notices a stack of books next to a comfortable chair with a blanket draped over the back of it. There is dust in the corners of the room and along the windowsill. Your maids were terrible at their jobs.
His mother had been a maid before she had been forced to put him in the orphanage due to illness and probably dying from consumption. She would be ashamed to claim this room as clean. For a duchess no less? Disgraceful. David could feel his brows pull down in a glare as he looked more. No stack of wood near the hearth, and a large collection of ash in the grate spoke of negligence.
When you return you are carrying a pitcher of water, a bowl, and a rag. Setting all of them on the floor you settle yourself down next to them. David had never seen a lady deign to sit on the floor before.
Pouring some water into the bowl, you wet the rag and wring it out before gently lifting it to his face.
“Where are your parents, child?” You ask in kindness, he flinches anyway.
He was a bastard of an earl and a maid who could not refuse. A knowing enters your eyes at the set of his chin.
“They do not care for you here.” His tone is serious.
It is your turn to flinch. It does not stop you from wiping the dirt from his face.
“What makes you say that?” You ask in a quiet voice, eyes not straying from your task.
“The maid was cheeky, and the state of your sitting room. Any maid worth her salt would not let dust collect like this.” He is still scowling as you rinse your rag and begin on one eye.
“Mmm, the staff were chosen by my husband before marriage. He is…resistant to change,” you hedge.
David does not reply other than to watch you in silence. Something here did not feel right. He would know, he had served in a great house once before. The lady of that house had been a mean and hateful woman, nothing like what you had presented yourself as. No one in the gentry would have saved him from a horse or brought him into their space to dress and feed him. He decided he would stay, ask for a position, and see if you were as good as this first impression.
A light knock at the door did not prevent you from finishing your task.
“Enter,” you called as you started on his hands.
“Found these in the nursery ma’am, a few moth holes but they will serve for now.” Mary, the cheeky maid from earlier glared at you as she settled the clothes across the settee. The tray of bread and cheese rested on the cushion next to the clothes.
David glared at her over your head. Mary jerked back when she saw his black look. She returned a sneer and breezed from the room as easy as you please. Acted like she owned the damn place.
“You need new maids,” David near as growled as his child’s voice would allow. Confusion washed over him like sacrament water at your soft smile, both hands holding his.
“Let’s get you in some clean clothes and get some food in your belly. I can hear it from here,” rising from your position on the floor you settle the water on a side table and join him near the settee.
David fingers the fabric. It is finer than anything he has ever worn, even with the moth holes. Glancing up you are looking at him with expectation. He had not grown much since the orphanage at eight but he knew that changing in front of you would not be wise. In response to the single brow you lifted, he held up the clothes in answer.
“Use the antechamber,” you point to the same door you had used to bring back the water.
Soon enough David is changed into new clothes and is seated on the settee stuffing his face with bread and cheese in alternating bites. Sleep overtook him with the strength of an executioner. When he stirred next he could feel your fingers parting his hair. The deep voice came again, that is what had woken him.
“Are you sure this is what you are willing to bargain for, wife?”
“John, as I am your wife in name only, I am asking for a compromise. Let me take the child as a ward and I will delay choosing a lover until he is grown and managing his own affairs.”
You present the option as if it makes sense and is the only logical choice. David slits his eyes open, taking in the pattern of your dress up close.
“I am not allowed,” David heard the fury in your words, he wondered if the duke did. “To take a lover for fear that he will feed the roses. But none of you would stoop so low as to murder a child. Heaven forbid I get to feel a modicum of love in my own home.”
“You tread a dangerous line, wife.”
Shifting fabric from behind his head has David tensing to leap up and defend you from a blow. Your fingers dig into his hair enough to give a warning, ‘Stay still.’
“No more dangerous than your lovers do, husband.”
The silence is laced with danger, it wrings his neck as if he were the queen. Your fingers tighten almost painfully on his skull. David breathes, slow and steady, matching the lie of your calming breaths.
“Are you threate—”
“I am again repeating my offer. I care for the boy as my ward; in return, I delay taking a lover so you may continue to enjoy your three without worrying about my behavior.”
David thinks not even the queen could keep her composure in this situation. You maneuvered your husband magnificently.
“You would have been a good general wife,” the Duke replies coolly.
“How fortunate for me then women are property and not people,” you reply with equal chill.
He grew, and grew, and grew. Regular meals and exercise saw David immediately falling into several growth spurts. He only wore short pants for three months before you had a tailor taking in some of your husband’s older and discarded clothes. He still wonders how much you paid the valet to sneak them out of John’s room.
David had taken to calling everyone by their first names. John and Simon were not ‘my lord’ or any other superfluous title they did not deserve, for they did not treat you as a gentleman should. Dinners were stilted in silence. You sat at one end of the great table, David seated next to you; eight chairs separated the pair of men at the end from your bright smile. They never attempted to usurp convention and sit closer, or invite either of you to move up and forgo the distance.
Your days were split between bringing David’s reading and math skills up to speed as you secured a teacher for him. Or rather David flourished under your tutelage until several teachers arrived to teach him math, French, history, Latin, and even science.
The house never suffered under the reduction in your attention. That did not stop the head butler from calling attention to the delay in requests being fulfilled.
Mr. Kyle Garrick could be no older than you. While twenty-four appeared ancient to his twelve the head butler being no more than thirty. He had never heard of such a thing below stairs, and the servants would have gossiped about it.
Kyle stood now in your office, eyes trained above your head as he spoke to you. David watched from his place at a side table; chalk pinched between his fingers and letters abandoned.
“The staff have reported that the expected deliveries have been delayed,” he clasped his hands behind his back, still not looking at you.
“Are the staff in need of an item urgently?” You look up from your correspondence. While John might manage the land, you managed the people and the tenants and the local clergy and did so without ruffling any feathers. David had to say you worked harder than your husband.
Kyle’s nose scrunched as if the question were one he would rather not answer.
“No. Not as of yet ma’am”
“And have you confirmed that the deliveries will arrive before the matter becomes urgent?” You arch a brow at your head butler.
The angry shift of his jaw tells David you are a master at stepping through this house without any of the blood you let fall onto your skirts.
“Yes,” comes the terse reply.
“Then is there anything else you need from me, Mr. Garrick?” Your face is innocent and open as Kyle’s eyes flick to you.
“No, ma’am. Thank you,” Kyle turns sharply on a heel, every line of his suit pressed to perfection.
Both you and David watch Kyle as he pauses at the door. Without turning he broaches the subject.
“Ma’am the staff have all been wondering…about the boy.”
David glances to Kyle’s hand on the doorknob. His arm shakes with the force with which he is holding it.
“David is my ward. He is confirmed as such in my will and by John’s own solicitor. If any of the staff take issue with the decision they can be dismissed immediately with a letter of recommendation and their wages due,” you reply, the chill in your tone removing all heat from your office.
The words land like arrows in Kyle’s back from the way his spine straightens.
“Yes ma’am, thank you,” he flings open the door and is gone with only a soft click of the shutting door to mark his departure.
Kyle was added to his list of people in this place who were not safe, right next to John and Simon. The head chef joined that list on the selfsame day.
Nipping down into the kitchens for a bite to eat, for feeding his hungry body only seemed to fuel more hunger, David listened to Johnny rant and rave about the lady of the house and her ‘particular tastes’ and her unwillingness to eat any meat presented to her. Something in his tone hinted that his anger grew from something deeper than a delicate palette. David did not raid the kitchen when any staff might be present from now on.
Observation was a tool that kept David safe on the streets after he had escaped the orphanage. Between his teachers and his daily meals with you, David witnessed a deepening sadness he could only attribute to your husband and his lovers.
Each night you tucked him into bed in the room next to yours. Reciting the Lord’s Prayer, reading a chapter of whatever book he had been reading, and laying a kiss on his brow were the standard. One night you laid an especially long kiss on his brow.
“I think I would have taken to my bed and never left if you had not arrived when you did David. Thank you for allowing me to save myself for you,” were the whispered words against his forehead.
Having no words for the overwhelming feelings in his chest David sat upright and hugged you tight.
“You’re the best mother I could have asked for,” came his own whispered reply.
Neither of you commented on the tears in the others eyes.
Nearly a year passed in that building others called home and he thought of it as a shared prison. At thirteen he had put on nearly a stone in weight and could hold his own academically with any boy his age who had been nurtured from the womb to stand among the peerage.
A letter from your desk, and a preemptive payment, secured him a spot at Eton in London. The household held its breath as you directed both your items and David’s to be packed for the move. John preferred the country estate but kept a home in the city for when Parliament was in session. David had missed the frigid argument that must have ensued before you were allowed to leave.
The years at Eton were grueling. Being a no-name ward to the Lady Price did not buy him the safety he would have received at being an acknowledged earl’s son. He often returned to the home he shared with you each weekend littered with bruises and with a sour mood.
It only took three weekends for you to call on your friends with children at Eton to run interference and to hire a pugilist to teach David how to handle the rest. Things didn’t get easier for nearly a year.
Returning as a fourteen-year-old with a bit more weight on his bones David channeled the attitudes he had seen both John and Simon wield to great effect and used his fists to even greater effect. His attitude and willingness to scrabble with even the boys who could be called men made the rounds. He walked away from every fight. Limping and spitting blood still counted as walking away.
Only once did David pull the attitude of the duke out with you.
“I will not be attending the picnic this weekend.”
David looked down his nose at you where you sat reading a Jane Austin novel. He stood, to give himself the illusion of height. He didn’t really mind either way about the picnic but he wanted to test his powers against you. When he looked back on the moment as a fully grown man he could see that he wanted to be sure that you could, would, still love him and keep him in hand as he grew. He wanted to know if you would protect him, even from himself.
A single finger slipped between the pages, turning it.
“David, if I do not let my husband speak to me so, why would I let you?”
The lack of emotion in your question sent sparks of fear up his spine, akin to the fireworks he had seen last year.
He remained silent and unsure how to reign in the wild horse of his mistake.
Closing your book softly you lift your eyes up to him. A wall of neutrality sat in your eyes that he hadn’t seen since leaving the country estate. Patting the seat next to you twice you waited until David sat to prune his behavior.
“Command is something given, not taken. If you wish to be a leader among men they first will need to want to follow you.” Only the sounds of carriages on the cobblestone outside the window break the silence. “My husband commands because of his birthright. I command because I have been trusted to do so. All of the charitable works I accomplish while you are in school, the lives I change, the directives I lead? These have all been trusted to me because I have proven I will not abuse them.”
David swallowed hard, lip starting to quiver.
“I’m sorry, mum,” his voice is small, a dandelion of admitting he had been wrong.
You reach up behind him, and despite the years between then and now being filled with nothing but love and gentle guidance, he still flinched. The hand on his head pulled him to your breast, soothing him as he cried.
“Trust I will care for you. Trust that I love you, David. If you have concerns we can discuss them, but no one deserves high-handedness unless they have proved themselves worthy of its censure.”
College had been his goal, the plan he would dare say. That plan flew out the window when John called David to his London office and handed him a letter.
“I have need of my wife, and our bargain has come to a conclusion. This is your commission. You will be serving under Admiral Wishart. He is expecting you on the third. The Royal William sets sail on the fifth,” John said all this with a wild gleam in his eye.
David snatched the letter from John’s hand, scanning over every word. His stomach sank further with each line he reread.
John Price had purchased a commission for him. As no law stood in the way of paying for a commission for any man, David had been promised to the crown as a soldier against his will.
Straightening to his full height David took three deep breaths to prepare his thoughts.
“She will not forgive you for this.”
“Maybe,” John shrugged, “But a woman of her age yearns for a child and with you gone, I can provide her with one.”
Civility fled with the thought of this man, so long abandoning his wife, touching her in any way filled David with nothing but rage.
“You would have better luck stealing the king’s trousers from his still awake body than bedding your wife. Good day, sir,” he infused the word sir with every ounce of hate he held for the man.
David had searched you out after leaving John’s office. Eighteen had once felt so grown, but now he knew he could be nothing more than a child masquerading as an adult. He had found you having tea with the neighbor. Pacing the front hall his hands worrying at his cuffs David swallowed hard to force the acid back into his stomach. The butler, this one old like every other butler was, announced him.
Rodgers opened the door wide for David to pass through. Instead, he caught your eye, the tears in his own clear even from the distance. Rising without removing your eyes from him you took your leave. Sliding your hand into the crook of his arm you nod for Rodgers to open the front door.
The door is not fully shut when David whips out the commission letter for you and tears streak down his face. Reading the letter three times all color leeches from your face.
“He didn’t,” you whisper, aghast.
“Mum, I’m scared,” David hugs himself, trying to keep the pieces of himself from flying in every direction. “He said you yearned for a child, and he could give you one with me gone.”
The pallor of your panic disappears until all that is left is a Duchess. You take his hand, squeezing it tight.
“You have all the skills to get through this. Wishart is a solid man to serve under and despite all his faults, John did purchase you a commission which will keep you safer than if you had volunteered. Now come and lay down in my bed and let me read to you.”
David laughed out a sob. You had not read to him like this since he went to Eton. The offer is all the sweeter because soon he won’t have a chance. Holding your hand up all the stairs he settles into your bed, arms wrapped around your middle. The soothing effect of your voice lulls him into sleep.
When he wakes he is alone in your bed and a soft sobbing drifts from the closet. He never doubted your love for him, but to hear you weep for him nailed it to the center of his soul.
He would survive the war.
Better yet he would come back decorated and rich beyond measure.
Six years passed before David could settle his feet on soil and not track his eyes around the port waiting for the bell to drag him back. He had clawed his way through the ranks; he saved so many men that when he had received his own ship as a captain he had nearly a full crew from volunteers alone. He had been made one of the youngest captains in the Navy.
Your last letter had reached him four years ago. He doubted any of his had reached you, spread out along the coasts as they were.
He and his men had eight weeks of leave while their ship was dry-docked and fixed. The first thought that crossed his might was to find you, Duchess Price, his mum.
The lamp lighters were working their way down the street as he approached the last non-floating home he had. Music drifted to the street from the open windows. Laughter and a cacophony of voices told him that a party was in full swing. Bounding up the stairs David knocked twice, loudly.
Hawthorne, the man who had served as butler when he left for the sea opened the door with an imperious look.
“Yes?” He lifted a brow.
“Hawthorne is that any way to greet the prodigal son?” David grinned and lifted both brows.
All servant’s decorum fled when Hawthorne realized who stood on the stoop.
“Master David? We all thought you dead.”
Stepping into the door David pushes it open forcing Hawthorne to let him in.
“Is the duchess in my good man?” He pats the butler on the shoulder.
“She is entertaining, bu—”
David does not wait to hear what other words might have followed. His long strides ate up the distance to the sitting room. And there you were, dressed in starlight. A healthy look on your face and a gentle smile at your current conversation companion ease the tightness in his chest that had lingered since you waved him off at the docks all those years ago.
The woman you are speaking with glances at him as he moves closer. Turning you follow her gaze. Your brows pull together as you look him over.
He had been so familiar with your thoughts when he left he can see them now. ‘This is not a guest I invited. Could he be my husband’s invite? Why does he look familiar?’ And there it is, the recognition.
“David?!”
No sign of a woman trained in moderation here, only a mum welcoming her son back from the dead. He catches you as you fling yourself into his arms. David spins you twice before settling you back on your feet.
“‘‘ello mum,” he whispered down to you.
Blinking away the tears you remember all of your guests. Turning you address the room.
“My friends, let me reintroduce you to my ward, David. He has been serving in the Royal Navy and has just returned to us,” your hand settles on his arm, fingers digging into the muscle below his sleeve.
Nodding to the room David settled his other hand on yours. That is when he shifts his head enough to find Simon and John standing together, staring daggers at him. He gifts them with a saccharine grin. They scowl all the harder.
The instant you let go of his arm they bully David into the hall and further into the study.
“When I sent you to war I did not expect you to return a captain,” John flicked at the brass on David’s chest.
“I didn’t expect you to still be holding tighter to your lover than your wife,” David eyed Simon before dropping his eyes back to John. “She never did forgive you, did she?”
David had gotten taller than he realized. Simon had towered over him as a child, now he looked down to make eye contact with the man.
“We’ll make this fast. Are you the duchess’ paramore?”
Recoiling as if he had been shot, David stared at the two men agog.
“This is the longest I have been on land since I left to fulfill my commission and you are asking if I am bedding the woman who I view as a mother?” Disgust dripped off every word. “What in the nine hells led you to that conclusion?”
John and Simon share a look.
“There is a report that the duchess took a lover. A man of large stature who has not been seen in polite society before,” John explains, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Smirking, David can’t help the rush of pride that fills his chest. You were still holding your own.
“Must burn you up inside, both of you, that she continues to hold you at bay,” David gloated.
“And how would you know that so recently returned to land?” Simon snapped at him.
“It’s clear from this conversation.” David gestures between them, “You waited too long to offer her love and she found the idea of your bitter fruit repugnant, didn’t she?”
The sour look on their faces had David folding in half laughing.
“And now she has taken a lover and you mistook me for her paramore,” David clutched at his stomach as the laughter continued. “Ah, this is such a better reunion than I had hoped for.”
“This is not a laughing matter, boy,” John chastised him.
Standing tall David wiped the tears that had leaked from his eyes.
“On the contrary I find this to be the funniest thing I have heard in nearly a year. When the duchess brought me into your home as a child she did so to fill the void you left her with. Had you loved her, any of you or your lovers, she would not have taken me in to fill that hole. But more’s the loss for you. Now when you can finally see the gem you threw away, I hope it burns.”
David threw open the door of the study. He left behind him two men who would forever regret not seeing the gem in their midst. Rejoining you in the party he answered your questioning look with a smile and a shake of his head.
When at last all the guests are tucked into their carriages and heading for home you pull David into your sitting room and lock the door. It is here you are able to take his face between your hands and study him like a vicar does the bible. Seated on the settee, he lets you examine him and ensure for yourself that he is well.
“You scared me, David. I thought you were dead. No one could confirm if you were alive or dead for so long I went into mourning for you.”
The thought of you wearing black for him tugged at his heart.
“We were pulled into a series of secret missions, our still being alive was not reported anywhere. I doubt even your husband would have been able to find the information on us if he had asked,” David bumped your forehead with his own.
Letting his face go with a laugh he can finally appreciate the fact you are more beautiful than when he took to the sea. It’s no wonder there are rumors of you taking a lover.
“Is it true you have taken a paramore?” David leans back into the seat.
His eyes go wide as you squirm slightly. He sits straight again and stares at you as you grab a shawl left within reach.
“Mum?”
“It is not that simple, David,” you hedge.
“I am a smart man, you made sure of that. Now tell me, please,” he took one of your hands between his.
Heaving a great sigh you look at the man your son had become.
“After John signed you away to death I nearly perished. My heart had been broken and I knew deep in my soul you would not return to me.” Curling your fingers around his you look at them as you continue, “The crown asked that I help host a collection of the Austrian aristocracy. The task gave me something to focus on. It was no more than something to fill my time until the fourth set of visitors. I meet one Lukas König, a lord.”
Your words peter out as your shifting and squirming increase.
“Go on,” David encourages.
“It did not begin as it has progressed. He makes me laugh and listens and values my opinion,” you speak as if pleading your case before a judge.
You look up at him, searching for something. He must not provide the answer you are looking for because you tuck your chin to your chest again.
“Mum,” David frees one hand to lift your chin to see your tear-stained eyes, “What do you need from me to be free of this prison? A divorce? I know men close to the Archbishop and am willing to call in all my favors to see you happy.”
Tears begin to stream down your cheeks, so different from the ones earlier squeezed from his eyes by laughter.
“You would do that for me?” The breaks in your voice hurt him deeply.
“For the woman that saved me time and again? For you who became my mother when you did not need to? I would do anything for you, including delivering you to Austria myself.”
“David, my son, I think I will take you up on that offer.”
Before he heads back to the sea, David will see you to the arms of a man who loves you. He will know you are safe and when he returns to you he expects to have at least one sibling. He keeps that thought tucked behind his smile.
Masterlist
