The Reluctant Duke

by Blaise Kilgallen

  “Captain, I don't know what's the matter with my husband. He took a blow to the head in our small sailboat when the boom hit him. My husband seems…dazed. We—we were cast into the sea when a vicious squall surprised us and…” She paused and glanced at James worriedly.

  “Aye, madam, ‘tis a mean-looking gash he took. I’ll have someone tend to him.”

  “Thank you.” Lorena went on to explain. “James hasn’t spoken once since we were catapulted overboard. I—I don’t know…”

  “Ah, so that’s what happened to ye. ‘Tis a wonder yer still alive.”

  Lorena choked on her next words. “I’m more terrified, sir, because I believe we’ve lost our son, Joshua.”

  “Lost your son? I don’t understand,” the captain questioned. “We saw no one else in the water, lass.”

  “Did you not see a small sailing craft nearby? We were all in the boat together. James and I were tossed overboard, but—oh dear God! Dare I hope that Joshua remained in the boat? It didn’t capsize, you see, but you must look for him—and find him! Captain, please!” Lorena begged.

  Captain Ryan tugged at his bristling side whiskers thoughtfully and looked hard at Lorena and then at James. He sat behind a large desk that took up most of the floor space in the cramped cabin. The desk’s surface was covered with charts and navigational equipment. Two bedraggled adults sat across from Captain Ryan. James was seated on the single bunk bolted to the deck, and Lorena perched shivering in the only other chair.

  The captain noted the lack of conviction in the gent's eyes—the dull, uncomprehending look of someone who wasn’t sure where he was or what had happened to him. Captain Ryan assumed they were husband and wife, but the fellow didn’t acknowledge her. The bedraggled woman kept eyeing the man nervously.

  “Madam, you’d better tell me who ye are,” the captain stated.

  “My husband is the Duke of Weston. I am his wife. We came to Scotland on holiday two days ago.”

  The captain listened to the woman’s tale with some suspicion.

  “James is an excellent sailor, but—but he doesn’t even know me now!” Lorena choked on her tears as they bubbled out of her cornflower blue eyes, flowing down her cheeks in earnest now.

  “There, there, lass,” Captain Ryan comforted. “I'll have my second mate take a look at yer husband. Scully is our man of bones here on shipboard. P'haps 'tis only a temporary state, for I can see that the fella is befuddled as well as hurt.”

  Lorena realized she hadn’t convinced the captain of their identities, and knew James couldn’t verify them in his present state. She prayed after a night’s rest that he would snap back to himself.

  The captain, too, hoped the fellow would come to his senses. The Ballinger was to put into Dublin before heading to America. In the meantime, he’d do what he could for them. He’d have to leave them in Ireland to make their way back across the Irish Sea to Scotland or England as best they could. Hurricane season was upon them. Violent storms could already be blowing up from the Atlantic, the West Indies, and more southern tropical waters. Captain Ryan was anxious to make headway toward his homeport in Virginia so as to possibly out flank the bad weather.

  “I understand, Captain,” Lorena said, “and we must get my husband to a physician so he can be tended to properly. But first we must find out what happened to our son.”

  “Lass, we spied no one in the water nor spotted any craft nearby. Ye’d best resign yerself that yer boy has been lost overboard and drowned.”

  Lorena face crumbled and she began to weep again, sobs tearing from deep in her throat while she buried her face in her quivering hands.

  “I'm very sorry.”

  There was no way the captain could console her, so he simply continued. “We’ll be stoppin' in Dublin then headin' cross the Atlantic to America. I'll see yer husband gets to an apothecary before we leave.”

  “Dublin!” Lorena exclaimed, panicky while jerking up her chin in horror. “But that's in Ireland! We can’t go to Ireland!”

  “I'm sorry, but ‘tis where we're headed. I can’t change my course for ye.”

  “Captain, we’ll pay whatever you ask,” the duchess begged, wiping her eyes and suppressing her wavering sobs. “James is a wealthy man. Please, Captain, take us to England. You’ll be well compensated for your trouble,” Lorena assured him.

  To Captain Ryan the bedraggled, half-dressed swimmers gave no appearance of wealth. The man wore a decent pair of boots, but his footwear might have been acquired by other than a money purchase. The captain was still mighty dubious. If only the fellow would speak up. But, he hadn’t uttered a word since the Ballinger’s sailors fished both of them out of the waves.

  Now Lorena’s trembling hands lay in her lap, clenched so tightly that her knuckles showed white. The captain saw she wore no jewelry but a plain wedding band.

  Raising them and pressing fingers to her lips in a prayerful gesture, Lorena’s eyes pleaded for the captain to change his mind. Gazing deeply into the sharp blue eyes and the tight line of his lips, she knew her plea fell on deaf ears. Bowing her head in utter dejection, Lorena sucked in a shuddering breath. She must be strong, she told herself. James was of no help. It was up to her to get them back to England—and then to locate Joshua.

  He isn't dead, he isn’t dead, she repeated to herself. Deep in her mother’s heart, she knew he was still alive…somehow, somewhere.

  * * * *

  A brisk wind filled the ship’s canvas, and the Ballinger soon sailed into Dublin Bay. The vessel would lay over for another day to load cargo bound for America, then sail with the tide, hoping not to be caught in the stormy weather the captain feared.

  “I’ll be spendin’ a few hours with me cousin and his wife,” Captain Ryan said, giving orders to the seamen to hurry the loading. “I’ll take the pair with me. Mayhap Timmy will send the poor man to an apothecary.”

  Scully, the second mate, had found a sizable lump on the fellow's skull under the deep gash. He’d sewn up the scalp wound and later reported, “The bloke could’ve taken a severe wallop from the boat’s boom as the lady said—or from somethin’ else, Cap’n. A blow to the head like that might’ve damaged his brainbox. He might never be right again. I cain’t tell fer sure. He didn’t speak or lose that blank look in his eyes yet. I saw no difference this mornin’ from when I seen him last eve.”

  “James?” Lorena tried to coax her husband to speak. “Dearest, please, won’t you say something? Do you know who I am? Do you remember what happened to us?”

  James only looked at Lorena kindly—and uncomprehendingly.

  Worried and afraid, she wasn’t certain if he understood a word she said.

  “Captain Ryan is taking us ashore, dear. We’re in Dublin, Ireland. He promised to bring you to an apothecary—someone who can help you.” She covered her quivering lips, trying to control her escalating alarm.

  After the boatswain managed some makeshift clothing for James and Lorena, they joined Captain Ryan on deck. “I'll be at my cousin, Timmy's pub,” the captain advised his first mate. “’Tis the White Whale on St. George's Lane if'n ye need me. I'll be back aboard well before high tide. Mind now, have the Ballinger ready to sail. We don't want to be missin' our chance.”

  Trailed by the disheveled-looking English pair, Captain Ryan’s heavy boots clomped down the gangplank to the busy wharf. Lorena and James hurried after him like two ragged hounds following their kennel master. Patrick Ryan walked briskly; Lorena had little time to look around as she and James kept pace with the captain’s rolling gait. She tugged on her husband's sleeve to keep him moving, afraid to lose the sailor in unfamiliar surroundings. A short time later they turned into St. George's Lane and stopped before the entrance of a dingy pub.

  A once blue sign, its paint chipped and peeling, was now a drab gray. However, it portrayed the shape of a large whale. The sign hung askew from a rusty pair of metal chain links. Creaking with noise, the sign swung gently in the sea breeze funneling down the lane,
bringing with it the salty smell of the bay and the turgid odors of narrow, crowded city streets.

  Both tall men, the captain and James ducked as they passed through the low portal into the pub's dim interior. Bright rays from outside did nothing to dispel the gloom in the taproom. Sunshine hardly penetrated the sticky coating of salt and grime that cloaked the only source of light—two small windows in the pub’s front wall.

  “Timmy, me boyo,” the captain bellowed as he entered. The large man behind the bar stopped his mopping up and came from behind it to wrap his arms around Captain Ryan.

  “Well, I'll be jiggered! Paddy! When did ye get in?” the barkeep asked, pounding the brawny sailor on the back. Wrapping a massive arm around his cousin’s shoulders, the owner announced to several men seated at tables in the gloom, “This here be me cousin, Paddy, from the States. A ship's captain, he is, begorra. Come in, come in, Paddy. Sit ye down and give me the news.”

  Lorena and James huddled in the shadows inside the pub’s doorway. The captain shook hands with more men standing at the bar and at the tables while in the hubbub of introductions. He’d forgotten the two rescued English. Then the proprietor caught sight of the pair. “Here now, what's this? What’re ye two beggars doin’ in me pub? Get along now, d'ye hear me?”

  He was about to reach for a shaleleagh behind the bar when Captain Ryan stopped him. “Hold, Timmy, they're with me.” The captain grasped the barkeep’s arm and stepped back into the shadows to speak with him privately.

  “Couple of castaways we pulled from the sea. She tells me they're English nobility, but I'm doubtin' it by the looks of 'em, Timmy. Said as how they had a boy with 'em, too, but we found none. The fellow looks strong enough but hasn't said a word since we picked 'em up. She says they're wed, but I can’t verify it. Blast me if I know the right of it.”

  “What’re ye goin’ to do with 'em?”

  “She's lookin' to get him to an apothecary to see if he can be helped. Told 'em I'd do that much for 'em, but I'm sailin’ at high tide tomorra mornin’, Tim. After that, I don't know what's to become of 'em. Got what's on their backs and that's the whole of it.”

  “The fella looks to be well fed and strong, more so than a lot o' the blokes hereabouts. I could use some muscle in the back. What's his nature?”

  “Seems like a right enough mate, Timmy. Tame and quiet. Hasn't stepped outta place while I've had 'im aboard,” declared Captain Ryan.

  “Might take 'em on for found. There's room in the loft over the stable where they can bed down. She can help Molly in the kitchen.”

  “Right ye are, Timmy, lad. And I thank ye. I'll feel better knowin' they found food and shelter, at least, when I leave.”

  The captain approached the two figures still huddled together at the pub’s front entrance. “Step over here,” he said, motioning to James and Lorena. “Me cousin, Tim, says he’s need of a strong back. He'll feed ye and put ye up for yer man's work in the backyard and yer's in the kitchen, lass. Ye'll have a roof over yer heads and somethin' in yer stomachs. It's the best I can do for ye.” He looked to Lorena for an answer, not expecting one from James. “What say ye?”

  “But, Captain,” Lorena said. “How are we to get back to England? And what’s to be done for a physician for James? We’re aristocrats. You’ll be well paid for your help,” she reiterated.

  “I wouldn't go spreadin' that news about, lass,” the captain warned, hiding his comment behind a broad set of calloused fingers. “There's no love of English nobs here in Ireland, ye know. It’ll only get ye in trouble.”

  Lorena met the captain’s shrewd eyes and believed what he told her. At least they were on dry land and not that far from England.

  Not that far from England?

  It dawned on Lorena that they may as well be in Russia. She was thinking more clearly now. No one knew where she and James were or if they were dead or alive. Joshua could be dead—oh dear God, no!—or simply missing, too.

  James had lost his pocket watch and hadn’t a coin in his pockets or a ring on his finger. Both had removed their outer clothing in order to save themselves from drowning. They took nothing of value with them when they went on their afternoon’s outing. They were left with only the patched and ragged clothes on their backs given them by Captain Ryan’s crew. Lorena knew they were a sorry-looking pair of aristocrats, and their story wasn’t believed.

  Lorena dug deep for the strength she needed to face unknown trials if she and James were ever to get home to England. She promised herself they would make it or die in the attempt. Right now there was naught to do but accept the arrangements the captain made.

  “Thank you, Captain Ryan,” Lorena said. “We’re grateful for your help. We won’t forget you.”

  The next day, Lorena was put to work as scullery maid and James, as man of all work for Tim Ryan, owner of The White Whale pub.

  Chapter 23

  The duke’s beautifully appointed traveling coach rolled smoothly across England, pulled by four sturdy Cleveland Bays. The equipage’s glossy black exterior was embellished with gold scrollwork while the Weston’s family crest was inscribed outside on its doors. Thickly padded velvet and leather squabs upholstered the interior. Well sprung, the coach was as comfortable a conveyance for a long journey as was available. Two coachmen sat on the box, and two footmen plus two postillions completed the traveling entourage that left Westhaven in mid-afternoon after the couple’s wedding. Antonio and Caroline settled down for the first leg of their journey.

  The carriage wended its way through the North Downs, bypassing London, heading through High Wycombe and thence to the outskirts of Oxford. Antonio's man of business, Mr. Thurmond, made the overnight reservations. Since they wished to start their life together alone, Caroline’s maid and Antonio’s valet were left behind. They arrived at the Golden Eagle Inn, near Oxford. Antonio planned for them to spend the first night of their married life there.

  The innkeeper and two servants greeted them as they pulled into the outer courtyard of The Golden Eagle. Built in the seventeenth century, the lodging's steep-pitched eaves and overhanging upper story distinguished its design as being of early Tudor origin. Leading to the inner courtyard, a graceful Georgian doorway was flanked by classical columns.

  Emerging from the coach, Antonio sent Caroline ahead to their rooms while the innkeeper led the way. Two menservants followed with the newlyweds’ baggage. Antonio gave orders to his coachmen and outriders, made arrangements for the horses’ care and feeding, then followed his wife inside.

  A large sitting room and an equally roomy bedchamber overlooked a rear garden that was readied for them. The servants deposited their valises in the bedchamber and exited the sitting room as Antonio entered.

  Caroline wandered about as she loosened the ribbon ties of her bonnet and removed it. Even on this warm summer evening, a small fire burned in the fireplace, its amber glow casting shadows on the whitewashed walls of the sitting room. A serving maid knocked and entered to light two large whale oil lamps.

  “I've put hot water and drying cloths out for ye, Your Grace,” she said, addressing Caroline. “Will ye be wantin' anythin' before your meal, Your Grace?” She spun around and curtsied toward Antonio when she heard him come in. Antonio glanced over at Caroline, and she shook her head.

  “No,” he answered the maid. “You may bring our supper in half hour. Then, we’ll require no further service.” The girl left them, closing the door quietly behind her.

  The focal point of the bedchamber was a large canopied four poster with the counterpane already turned down on crisp white linen. The bed curtains were drawn back and tied with gold tasseled ropes; a four-pronged candelabrum stood ready on the bedside table. In one corner stood a large screen, perhaps a lady’s convenience. Caroline also spied an oak stand with bowl and pitcher, soap, and cloths.

  Antonio moved behind Caroline as she gazed out the windows, putting his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. He bent to nuzzle her neck and nibbl
ed on her earlobe. “Humm…you smell of roses,” he murmured. “Every time I smell their fragrance, I think of you, mi amour.”

  Caroline turned in his arms and slipped hers around his neck, looking up into dark eyes filled with warmth and desire.

  “It appears, my lovely duchess, we are to share a soft bed indoors for a change…without four-legged witnesses spying on us.” Antonio grinned and bent to plant a kiss on her forehead. Then his eyes darkened. He dipped and touched the tip of his tongue to her beauty mark before taking her mouth. The kiss started slow, but Antonio could no longer contain the hunger he felt for his wife. She responded so quickly; he groaned with pleasure.

  She opened her lips, and his tongue slid into the wet recess of her mouth, dueling with hers in passionate love play. Finally, Caroline pulled away from him, breathless and smiling, laughing softly, although a bit nervously. “Tonio,” she chided him. “We didn’t eat supper yet. Remember your need for sustenance, Your Grace.” Her smile had grown mischievous. “You must conserve your strength for later.”

  “Minx,” he replied, yanking her back and rubbing his lower body against hers. “Dare you doubt me, mujer?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Never fear, wife, I shall not disappoint you, tonight or any other,” was his retort. Already his erection pulsed against her.

  “No, no, Tonio. Please…first, let me wash away this road dust. Leave me be for a few moments if you will. We shall dine like civilized people, and after that, well…”

  He released her to attend to her ablutions. Her wanton ways teased him, promising him a wedding night to remember.

  * * * *

  When Caroline came back into the sitting room, she had changed into a robe over her undergarments. Antonio had thrown his jacket and waistcoat over the back of a wooden settle that stood against the fireplace wall. He loosened his cravat and was comfortable in shirt and trousers.

  “I must wash up also,” he said, heading for the bedchamber and giving her a quick kiss as he passed her in the connecting doorway. “Don’t stray far, querida. I’ll return in no time, and I want you there waiting for me.”