The Reluctant Duke

by Blaise Kilgallen

  * * * *

  Unfortunately, the changeable Irish weather did not cooperate with them. Prevailing winds and the Atlantic Ocean presented the island with plentiful rainfall. Each season and every part of Ireland was never without rain for long. Where the Stud was located in the central plain, unrelenting showers were frequent. Today, rain fell for hours.

  “Por Dios,” Antonio complained. “I thought it was only in England that this weather persisted. When I arrived in March, it did nothing but rain for the first four days we were there. How I long for sunny Spain,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “You said 'we', Tony. Have you brought other members of your family with you?”

  “Si, Terry. My sister, Briella, and my Aunt Mari and Uncle Carlos came with me. Briella made her come out in London, and Aunt Mari acted her chaperone along with my grandmother. My Uncle Carlos is in charge of the horses at Westhaven.”

  “How came you to England?”

  “I came to England only because of my responsibilities to the Weston title. My cousin James, his wife and their son were lost in a boating accident off the coast of Scotland last autumn.”

  “Ah, yes,” Terence replied. “I recall reading about it in the Times. I wasn’t privileged to know your cousin. ‘Twas a strange tragedy, Tony. I’m very sorry.”

  “For all of us. Yes, it was,” Antonio agreed. “I never expected to return to England, and I wouldn’t have if the accident had not brought me there. But then,” he said, smiling, “I would never have met Caro again. Nor would we be wed. So, it was a tragedy, but a propitious happenstance in other ways.”

  “Was any trace ever found of your relatives?”

  “None whatsoever that I learned. I’m told the investigation was thorough. It seems all three drowned. The circumstances were somewhat odd…was that not so, Caro?” Antonio asked.

  “Did you know them, Caroline?” Terence interrupted.

  “Why, yes, my lord. Lorena and James were our neighbors. I knew both of them quite well. And, of course, young Joshua, too.”

  “Hal Newton, Caroline's brother, owns Crestwood Manor. His estate and Westhaven Hall meet each other along one border,” Antonio explained. “It was close to that boundary when I first saw Caroline riding her stallion.”

  Smiling all the while, Antonio went on to tell Terence the story of the mysterious intruder who rode the black demon so wildly across the fields…astride, no less…and wearing men’s breeches.

  “A lady after my own heart,” was Terence's smiling comment.

  “I remember the day,” Caroline continued after Antonio finished his story, “when Hal and I were notified of the Thorndykes’ disappearance. My father was buried on the same day so it sticks in my memory. It was a dreary, drizzly day in Kent, but I’m told the weather was perfectly fine in Scotland. I believe James was a knowledgeable sailor. How they could all be lost without a trace…” She sighed heavily. “The empty boat was found two weeks later further up the coast. One wonders if foul play could be involved.”

  “No request for ransom ever came?”

  “No, nothing, Terry,” Antonio replied. “We knew only that the investigation did not turn up a thing out of the ordinary. And so, according to my cousin’s will, I became the next in line for the title. Were it not for Caro, I’d wish James was still the duke and I was still in Spain.” Antonio’s expression wore a wry smile when he grimaced at the deluge pouring down in sheets of water from the keep’s steep eaves.

  Caroline and Terence laughed together at Antonio’s comments on the weather. Both were used to living on a damp, rainy island.

  The sun finally broke through the rain-soaked clouds, but so late in the afternoon that their plans were cancelled until the following day. After supper, the three spent an hour in conversation. Then Caroline chose a book to read about breeding she’d found in Terence's library. The men spent the rest of the time discussing bloodlines and sires.

  Terence was aware of the glances Antonio and Caroline exchanged later. He was ready to release them from his company whenever they wished, but he wanted to see how long it would take them to think up excuses before retreating to their bedchamber.

  It didn't take long. Using the pretense of an early start in the morning, the two soon bade him goodnight. He watched them join hands as they mounted the staircase, and he chuckled. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if the two raced madly down the long, carpeted corridor to their bed.

  * * * *

  Dawdling while finishing a nightcap, Terence felt a mild twinge of jealousy though he had no grounds for such an emotion. It was simply because he’d met, liked, and was attracted to Caroline. He decided a woman like her would suit him fine. It was time he thought about choosing a wife. He had avoided doing so for some time. When he saw the sparks generated between Antonio and his bride, he felt things stirring inside of him.

  He didn’t necessarily need someone to love him, although that would be a happy happenstance. But he did need someone to give him an heir. It would devastate him to turn over his title to an Englishman since he was the last of his forbears’ Irish nobles. Bad timing that he hadn't found Caroline first. She was beautiful, witty and vivacious, sensible and comfortable to be around, knowledgeable and interested in his same pursuits. From the looks she gave the duke, the lady was a passionate and feisty wife besides. Antonio was a very lucky man. If Caroline had a twin or another woman who came close, why he might just kidnap her to his lonely castle, keep her for himself, and never let her go.

  * * * *

  Antonio and Caroline quickly dismissed both the maidservant and valet assigned to them. Their clothes soon left a trail from sitting room to bedchamber, leaving them naked and locked in each other's embrace on the big bed. Antonio was ready for her by the time they lay down, but he took delight in making Caroline wait until he covered her body with arousing kisses in all the right places.

  She was whimpering with frustration when he finally slid into her welcome heat. Both aroused, it took only moments for their simultaneous, cataclysmic climax. Then they relaxed, entwined in each other's arms, sated for the time being.

  “I like him very much,” Caroline commented, nibbling Antonio’s neck where her head nested on his shoulder.

  “Who?”

  “Terence Kilburn, you big lout,” she said then smiled lazily. “He's very handsome.”

  That aroused Antonio's interest a little. “You think so, mi amour? More handsome than me?”

  “Why…I think you’re too conceited already, my egotistical lord,” she admonished him. “Don’t you believe there are some others who match…or exceed your good looks?”

  He rolled her over on her back, his body straddling hers. Grinning, he bent close, his hands grasping her wrists and holding them beside each side of her head. “You had best not think so, wife.”

  Though he smiled, Caroline read his intensity, sparking an unconscious jealousy in his eyes. She dared not tease him farther.

  “Tatu,” she whispered low, stroking his cheek when he released her hands, holding his hot gaze with hers. “There is no one else for me but you. I was waiting for you during those years although I didn’t realize it. I never thought you would ever be mine.”

  “Jesu, mi corazon, I burn with need for you every moment.”

  If only she would tell him what she truly felt, from the heart, his happiness would be boundless.

  “Never think of leaving me, Caro. I cannot get enough of you, mi esposa. Even now, I need to take you again.”

  And he did. This time, slowly and oh, so thoroughly, until she cried out in joyous fulfillment.

  Chapter 26

  The sun was shining the next morning. The horses were saddled, and they were on their way to the far fields before eight o’clock. The Kilburn Stud covered an area of nearly four thousand acres, small in comparison to Westhaven, but large for Ireland. Terence took them to an area where yearlings and two-year-old colts ran free on green pastures to stretch their legs and build strong, youn
g muscles. Terence already had in mind several that he would like go to Westhaven, but he was aware both Antonio and Caroline knew their cattle. He would let them choose unless they asked his opinion.

  As they rode, their discussion turned to Antonio's Andalusians and their history.

  “I’ve been engaged primarily in breeding Thoroughbred hunters and racers, Tony. I have no knowledge about the Andalusian breed. Tell me more,” asked Terence.

  “To begin with, Andalusians existed on the Iberian Peninsula before history was recorded. The horse is depicted in cave drawings that date back many centuries. The Spanish horse developed while fighting for survival in the rugged, hilly areas of my country. Nowadays, they’re rarely found except in schools of Haut Ecole in Austria, Germany, and Italy. The French prefer Thoroughbreds or Anglo-Arabs at Saumur. I felt that a cross between the true Andalusian and a Thoroughbred might prove better than the Anglo-Arab cross for the same purpose.”

  “You may have a good point, Tony,” Terence agreed. “Did your ancestors raise these horses over the years?”

  “Si, my maternal grandfather, Don Alphonso, and his father before him…and before him,” answered Antonio. “The animals are in our blood, both Briella's and mine. Most breeding farms are located in Andalucia. Both my grandfather and my English father's estancias are near Seville.”

  “I should like to see your homeland one day,” Terence commented.

  “You’re welcome there, and at Westhaven, whenever you desire to visit,” Antonio invited. “I’ve brought several Andalusians with me to England. Indeed, Terry, I value your opinion as to which of my mares might prove the best cross with your stallions. Right now, most of our mares are in foal.” He glanced sidewise at Terence. “Except the one I am saving for Caro’s black Demon.”

  Caroline's eyebrows went up.

  Antonio continued. “I’m looking at your colts now. It will be next year or the next when I put your stallions to our mares.”

  “That doesn't mean we don't want you to visit very soon, Terry,” Caroline said. “Don’t we, Tonio?”

  “What are your plans for later this year?” Antonio asked.

  “I have a full schedule. If all goes well, I’ll sail to the Mediterranean in the Killarney, most likely in September or October. I go to see what the sheiks have in the way of new Arabian blood.”

  “There's a possibility Caroline and I may be in Spain during that time,” Antonio remarked. “I want my family to meet my duchess, and she to meet them. Can you make a stopover in Cadiz? If so, we’ll see what can be arranged for your visit.”

  “I'd consider it an honor, Tony.”

  * * * *

  Earlier, Terence had sent a few men to round up the young colts for Antonio's inspection. When the riders reached the far fields, there were twenty young Thoroughbreds in a fenced paddock. Terence seemed to recognize each one by some distinguishing characteristic, studiously enumerating their bloodlines as if he were reading from a document. With a connoisseur’s eye, Antonio looked over those he favored. “You have a fine, crop, Terry. I find little fault with any of your animals. However, I’ve singled out three that seem appropriate for my needs. Do you agree, Caro?”

  “They are all excellent, Tonio, but I don’t presume to know your Andalusians that well, so it’s up to you to choose.”

  “Our Andalusians, mi amour. You will soon grow to love them as I do. When we get back to Westhaven, I want you to train with Uncle Carlos.”

  “Tonio, you know I’d like to. But…why wouldn’t you be the one to teach me?”

  “Oh, no,” he chuckled, aiming a wink at Terence. “I want to stay married to you. Let Carlos feel your sharp tongue. He’s very patient. Much more so than I.”

  * * * *

  Terence and the Thorndykes spent the balance of the morning discussing Antonio's choices. It was decided the young colts would remain on Kilburn Stud until the following spring. Terence would transport them to Dover on the Killarney, and Antonio would bring them overland to Westhaven.

  The nobles arrived back at Landoon Keep in time for a cool collation. Afterward, Caroline elected to take a book into the garden while Antonio and Terence went over business papers involved with his purchases. It was a lazy summer afternoon, and one that continued into a relaxed evening.

  The next morning the Landoon carriage with Antonio, Caroline, and Terence rolled through the green countryside in County Meath towards the Weston estate located south of Trim. Terence and Antonio discussed the conditions of the peasantry in some depth. The legal position of the tenant farmers and agricultural laborers in Britain was similar to the Irish situation. Many poor in England also existed on the sharp edge of survival.

  “I've helped the situation on my lands,” Terence was saying, “and there are more owners who wish to do as I do. Robert Peel made Lord Devon chairman of a commission that sympathizes with us to investigate landlord-tenant relations. I was a member of the committee writing the bill brought before Parliament. The Devon Commission accumulated valuable information, but when the government introduced a moderate tenant-rights bill based on its own findings, both Whig and Tory members opposed the measure saying it was a violation of property rights. Prime Minister Peel was forced to abandon the portion of his Irish policy without any significant changes. So you see, Tony, we often butt our heads against a different mindset. Most members believe that Parliament shouldn’t interfere with the status quo.”

  “And in the meantime…” Antonio asked.

  “In the meantime, the peasants increase in number and the food supplies diminish. I see tragedy in the offing if there’s a drought or some other happenstance that wreaks havoc on the potato crop,” Terence warned. “Right now, the crop is flourishing.”

  “Weston’s Irish holdings provide a substantial income according to reports I’ve read from Thurmond, my man in London,” Antonio said. “Corcoran, the steward, handles things in Meath. Perhaps, you’ll recommend reforms that can help the situation on my family’s property.”

  “I’d be happy to do so, Tony. I applaud you for considering the plight of your workers and tenants. The fact that you’ve come to observe and to institute a better rights policy can only serve you to the good.”

  “What do you mean, Terry?”

  “I see peasant unrest growing,” the earl continued. “There are rumblings. Every so often a patriot comes along, someone like Daniel O'Connell, who can unite the Irish into action. So far, no one’s been strong enough or wise enough, to mount a campaign of long standing. But there will be someone soon. I feel it.”

  “You sound as though you would join such a movement.”

  “No, I don't believe in revolutionary violence. Without an exceptional leader, things can go awry. Innocents often become victims of those who seek to help them. No, I will do what I can to help my homeland but in Britain’s Parliament, not in the streets of Dublin or Cork…or even in the hills of Meath.”

  “I thought you’d be a man of action rather than a Parliamentarian. Looks are deceiving.”

  “I’ve seen too much misery to cause more of it,” Terence replied to Antonio. “I'd sooner rely on wits instead of weapons.”

  * * * *

  Antonio’s meeting with Liam Corcoran had been cordial and brief. The Weston estate near Trim covered five thousand acres originally bestowed on the third Duke of Weston for service performed for Queen Elizabeth I. No English duke had ever occupied the property. Tenant farmers worked it from its acquisition until the present time; some of them still had large leaseholds. Those intermediate landlords rented out smaller portions of their leases to others, some as tiny as an acre of ground on which a large family might subsist. As long as the potato crop was abundant, they could survive.

  The tenants Antonio met in Meath had little to say to him. No one wanted to jeopardize his means of survival. Antonio came away from the estate no wiser than when he arrived. He saw the land was rich, the situation ideal much like the Kilburn Stud on which to raise horses and bee
f cattle. But it meant that tenants would be removed, and they had nowhere else to go. Instead, all Antonio could propose was to reduce rents, help with repairs on the dwellings, and allow tenants to raise a few livestock animals on a communal piece of land so they had something other than potatoes to eat.

  “What you suggested, Tony, will bring sustenance and joy to your people there. The Irish, you know, are very loyal. You won’t regret what you’ve done.”

  “I’d do the same for those who are my tenants in Kent or Oxfordshire. As duke, why should I treat my Irish tenants any differently?” was Antonio's candid reply.

  * * * *

  Early in the week when they had toured the barn area, Caroline noticed the earl kept foxhounds. Of course, it was summer and foxhunting season didn’t start until after cubbing in November, but she brought up the topic at breakfast one morning. “Terry, I notice you kennel a number of hounds. Do you hunt?”

  “It’s as traditional here as in England, Caroline. I do keep a small pack, but primarily to train my young horses. I take the dogs out with a drag when I have a buyer interested in trying a new hunter.”

  Caroline had never mentioned her first marriage nor had Antonio, so Terence was unaware that Sir Richard had lost his life during a foxhunt in Kent.

  “Do you hunt, Caroline?” Terence asked in return.

  “I did, Terry,” she replied, her expression turning somber when she recalled Richard’s untimely death. “I lost my taste for it as I grew older.”

  Struggling to keep the conversation light, Antonio teased, “Yes, indeed, Terry, you’re looking at a lady of advanced years. What if she was two and twenty and all but on the shelf when I married her?”