Althorn put a finger to his lips and motioned for all to be silent. They couldn’t be seen from the cabin since they were downhill from it. He whispered, “Our plan hasn’t changed. It is imperative we walk with stealth or they might try to harm the child.”
They arrived at the boulders just this side of the cabin as the sun set. Light showed through the windows. He signaled, and three of the Saints moved into position by the door. Althorn raised two fingers, outstretched his hand, and signaled Morgan and the Bow Street Runners to the rear of the cabin. A full moon provided some light. Lanterns, hidden under cloaks, partially lit the way. In all, there were twelve men: Ravensmere, Montgomery, five Saints, and four Bow Street Runners, and of course, Althorn.
Loud slurred voices came through the walls.
Althorn nodded, dropped his hand, and the door was rushed, broken through, and they crashed in. The startled thugs—three of them—got up, chairs toppled as they attempted to reach for their shotguns on a far wall. They were stopped at gunpoint and retreated.
“Blimy, wot’s this ’bout? We’s just havn’ a drink or two.”
“You’d be wise to tell us where you’ve hidden the girl, or we’ll beat it out of you, and it won’t be a pretty sight.” Althorn smacked the first lout across his left temple. He reeled and fell.
“Search the two rooms. Hurry,” he commanded in a voice so cool it could freeze water.
The cadre of rescuers fanned out and made short work of it all, but there was no Alicia in sight, and no evidence of her having been held there.
“Geez,” one of the mugs spoke. “T’wasn’t us that done nothin’.”
Another said, “Git out.”
“It would be difficult for us to leave since this is my property and you are guilty of trespass. Don’t move. My trigger finger itches me to blow your brains out. Rest assured I’m prepared to do so. Where is the child?”
He growled at them but ordered the Runners, “Keep your pistols trained on these louts. I’ll be back.” Althorn moved over the broken planks of the door and whistled. Everyone watched as they heard a dog bark. He was given Runt, Alicia’s beloved dog on a leash; the young animal ran to a corner and sniffed at a blanket. The dog was allowed free rein on the off chance he might zero in on the scent of his mistress.
“Foul beast,” said a thug. “Don’t know wot. Ain’t nobdy here. Bloody hell.”
The sound of Runt’s bark made everyone turn. The dog scratched frantically at the rug under the table. Althorn turned and aimed his pistol at the men and commanded them to stand against the wall. The table was set aside and the carpet removed by one of the Runners. A trap door appeared. Runt pawed at the wood and barked.
“Of course, there’s a food locker below.”
The duke smiled. The metal ring lifted and there they saw Alicia, bound and gagged, blinded by the sudden light and shivering from the cold.
“Handcuff them and tie their feet together until we can get leg chains,” Althorn ordered
One of the Saints jumped into the cold dingy earthen cellar, cradled the little girl, and handed her to Althorn, who placed his pistol in a holster and took Alicia to him.
Runt barked anxiously and rushed to the girl and licked her face. Althorn removed her gag, untied her hands and feet, and called, “Get me the blanket in the corner.” Runt nuzzled the girl whose wrists were chaffed by the harsh ropes.
Althorn was handed the wool cloth and wrapped Alicia in it. “You are safe now, sweeting. We are here to take you back to Auntie Cassandra.”
“Sir Uncle, I prayed you’d come.” She clung to him and her dog for dear life. “It was dark down there. They said if I made any noise, they would cut me up.” Tears fell like raindrops.
He wiped them with his scarf. “Auntie Cassandra will be most happy to see you safe, not too much the worse for wear. It’s an adventure you can tell Alfie about. A true brave soldier at arms.”
Ravensmere ordered the Bow Street Runners, who had the power to arrest, to take the men to prison in London where official charges would be signed.
“While they’re at it,” spoke Althorn, “they can take the actor fellow with them after he signs a confession and implicates the mastermind of this nefarious act, Felicity Montgomery.”
“I’m ashamed of my wife’s involvement in this, but there is no doubt she’s guilty. These blighters will sing like canaries. Newgate is a harsh place for men, and can be hard on women. I’ll have to seek counsel on what to do with Felicity. If you would allow it, she should be placed in a private cell until we can figure out her fate.”
“I don’t envy you, Montgomery. I just want to get this child to Cassandra. While you sort out your problem, best for you to leave Alfie with us. My villa is well protected.”
“Good of you, old chap. I’ll take you up on that. I want him safe, too. I’ll see him for a moment to explain, and then I’ll depart to summon my barrister. I’ll call on you all tomorrow.”
Althorn nodded.
The kidnappers were hustled into a carriage under heavy guard and driven to prison.
Althorn invited all the men to sup at his home, but the Runners and Saints declined, their work done and proud to have been of service.
Montgomery, Ravensmere, Althorn, and Alicia traveled in one coach back to the villa.
When they arrived, Samantha waited at the door. “Thank God, you’ve all returned and were not injured. We were all worried. Cassandra managed to doze a bit.”
Sighting Gordon who held Alicia and the dog’s leash, she touched the girl’s face. “Precious child, we are happy to see you unharmed.” The Duchess of Ravensmere’s sought her husband’s eyes.
“Yes, my dear. She is frightened, but unharmed and the thugs are on the way to prison. I’ll explain all to you later.” Ravensmere turned to Althorn. “Take the child to Cassandra so she will be relieved of the stress this surely caused.” The duke held the blanketed Alicia in his arms, Runt followed with his leash dragging the floor. They hurried into the drawing room.
Cassandra opened her eyes; she arose from the chaise. “Darling girl, you are safe? Unharmed?”
She raked her husband eyes, who answered, “Safe and sound. Unharmed, my love.”
“Auntie Cassandra, his Grace and Runt saved me.” He released her to Cassandra’s waiting arms. “Sir is my hero, just like in the fairy tale books.”
“Gordon, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I’m sure you will think of a way, my wife.” And for the first time this night, he experienced relief. “I do hope you can handle my new designated title of Sir Hero.”
“I’m still woozy, but I’m well. Our child is safe and unharmed.” Cassandra showered her ward with kisses, and even allowed Runt on the chaise. “Your hands are cold, Alicia.” She rubbed the girl’s fingers. “I’ll wager your toes are frozen, too.”
Gordon went to his wife. “Let me take Alicia. She’s much too heavy for you to lift. Can you arise by yourself? If not, Samantha will help over by the fire. I’ll place Alicia between the two of us.”
He summoned Chester and asked for heated woolen comforters to be sent up straight away.
“I love you,” he whispered to Cassandra.
“I love you more.” She placed her hand in his and her head on his shoulder.
The warm blankets were given to the duke who wrapped them over Cassandra and Alicia.
“Alfie will stay until this outrage with Felicity is resolved. You have nothing to fear.”
“Please do share with us all the details,” Lady Madelaine said. “We’ve been most anxious. I’ve implored Samantha to stay and dine with us, she has agreed, but then she wishes to return to her own children.” She addressed Samantha’s husband, “Ravensmere, dear Duke, we are ever grateful for your wise counsel and assistance, aren’t we, Gordon?”
“Calm heads were needed, and that is where he excels,” he agreed.
Amid the happy commotion, Alfie ran in with Giant. “Alicia, you’re back. Nanny has a b
lack eye. She’s resting. Are you all right?”
Alicia nodded. “I was a good soldier.”
Who could ask for anything more?
Epilogue
Four Years Later
Cassandra and Gordon were in the garden discussing plans for the birthday party for their almost four-year old son, Gordon Althorn II, Marquis of Sedgewick. Cassandra rubbed her hand on her stomach when her expected child moved. She took his hand and placed it on her belly.
“I do believe we have a fighter. That’s quite a kick.”
“Are you happy?’” she asked.
“Of course, my dear. I’ve become domesticated with children, dogs, relatives, and family festivities.”
“Do you miss your old rakehell days?” She leaned over his shoulder to peer at the newspaper. He folded it, reached for her, and eased Cassandra onto his lap.
“I’m not so foolish to answer such a question in total honesty.” The touch of his hands still excited her as they skated across her bared skin just above her breasts. “Because now I have you to raise hell with, but I’m glad I had those times because it makes me appreciate you even more.”
“Gordon, you do have a way with words.” She rubbed his thigh in slow circles.
“I’d be careful how you fondle any part of me. I might have to whisk you away.”
“There are worse things that could happen.”
Chester interrupted the familial scene and handed him a letter just arrived by packet from Barbados. “Your Grace, it occurred to me this note might have import for you.”
Cassandra removed herself from his lap and sat in her wrought iron chair.
“Tomas visits today. We’ll discuss the report from the overseer. Place the missive on my desk,” Gordon instructed Chester. He turned to his wife. “Now come back, Cassandra, and finish what you started.”
She leaped onto him and he caught her.
“Naughty wench.”
“How much do you want me?” she asked.
He stretched both his arms horizontally. “This much.” Then he cradled her and took her to a private chamber.
Author’s Notes
Barbados is an island in the Eastern Caribbean. In 1492, the Spaniards imposed slavery on the natives. The first of English ships arrived in 1625. Within years, the land was deforested and tobacco and cotton plantations abounded. Sugar was introduced less than a decade later, and the production of these products was reliant on slaves. Natural disasters in the late 1600s decimated plantations, and Barbados was no longer a dominant force within the sugar industry. Jamaica and the Leeward Islands leaped forward.
The location of the duke’s family was in St. Phillip Parish. According to Wikipedia and other research sites, Arawak Indians were a South American group who self-identified as Arawak or Lokono. Arawak speakers in the Caribbean were also historically known as Taíno (“good” or “noble”) and differentiated themselves from the neighboring island Caribbeans. The Taíno have been extinct as a distinct population since the sixteenth century, though many people in the Caribbean have Taíno ancestry. Taíno influence has survived even until today, as can be evidenced in the religions, languages, and music of Caribbean cultures.
I chose the Arawak Indians to write about since I had met a number of them on a vacation trip to Aruba a few decades ago. Obviously, the details in the book are partially based on historical fact intermingled with a vivid imagination.
After I learned more than I needed to know about tattoos, the duke’s was inked in one henna color. Normally, sailors were the predominant users, and it was not uncommon to have a tattoo artist in most ports in England, France, and Italy. In England, in the mid 1800s, the royal Duke of York popularized the tattoo, making it an aristocratic fad.
I took poetic license with Alicia’s dog, Runt, who was a scent dog. Dependent on where you choose to research, the bloodhound is a large scent hound originally bred for hunting deer and wild boar, but also used from the Middle Ages onward for tracking human beings, and now most often bred specifically for that purpose. Thought to be descended from hounds once kept at the Abbey of St. Hubert in Belgium, it is known to French speakers as the Chien de Saint-Hubert.
This dog is famed for its ability to discern human odors even days later, over great distances, even across water. Its extraordinarily keen sense of smell is combined with a strong and tenacious tracking instinct, producing the ideal scent hound, and it is used by police and law enforcement all over the world to track escaped prisoners, missing people, lost children, and lost pets.
All else is a figment of a fertile imagination. I truly hope you enjoy the journey of Cassandra and Gordon Althorn on their way to finding true love.
If you enjoyed My Divinely Decadent Duke, then you'll want to read Book 3 of The Duke Series…
Thorn, Son of a Duke
by
Sandra Masters
The Duke Series
Chapter One
Thorn Wick leaned over the railing of the ship, a queasy sensation roiled in his stomach as he watched the swelling of the seas. He closed his eyes and hoped everything would go away and he’d wake up and find himself in his room in Barbados on firm ground.
He preferred to be starboard, a term he just learned, so he could breathe the salty air, and if necessary, heave his guts over the side without soiling his newly purchased clothes. He recalled when he was at his mother’s bedside and she made him promise to go and live with his father. It was the first time she’d mentioned him in more than a passing comment.
She’d said to him, “Thorn, I am dying. It will make it easier for me if I knew you and your birth father were together. He’s a good man and because he contracted malaria, he was torn from me. Then later you were born.”
“Mother,” he asked, “what good will it do? I can make my way here. I refuse to believe you’re at death’s door. You’re too young,” his eyes blurred and glistened.
“Son, I am not so foolish to think I will survive this malady. It came on slowly and has sucked my strength minute by minute. Please listen to me.”
“Mother,” he held her hand tightly. “I need you. Don’t leave me alone. Haven’t I provided for you?”
“Thorn, you’ve been the best of sons a mother could wish for. Now, I’d like you to meet your father. In many ways, you are nobler than you think. The barrister in town has a letter that I want sent to the man who fathered you to let him know he has a strong, handsome son who bears his blue eyes and his tattoo.”
“No, I don’t want to go. My life is here on this island with you.”
“Thorn, promise me you will see Mr. Morton Jones and ask to have the letter delivered by messenger. Funds have been provided. The Duke of Althorn is a prominent man and he will assure you grow up in the environment you deserve.”
Thorn moved to her bedside and cradled her to him, allowing unmanly tears to fall. He rocked her in his arms, closed his eyes, and prayed she would not leave him. He was hers to love, and she was generous in that regard.
“Promise me, Thorn. I can go my death in peace if I know you will have a good and prosperous life…that all we’ve done together was not a hopeless dream. You are older than your years, but it is time the duke knows of you. “
She looked into his blue eyes, cupped his face, and exhaled slowly, each word more painful than the previous.
“I promise, mother. I promise. At least I will try my best,” and he saw her face relax into a serene expression. She was gone to meet her maker.
“No, No, No,” he bellowed.
****
Born in one world, he was about to enter the new one of his father’s as a bastard son. Wrenched from his native island, he wasn’t sure where he belonged. It was a difficult stance to have one foot in the island of Barbados he’d come to love, despite the bullying of boys his age. It was the other foot that concerned him since he didn’t know what to expect of the Duke of Althorn and—England.
Sir Tomas Martinez, his father’s friend, came to transpo
rt him and informed Thorn of the hierarchy. Simply put, Thorn had a half-brother, a step-mother and a grandmother.
The sun overhead glowed on his swarthy skin. His black hair shined with blue tints, like his father’s he was told. Eyes the color of china blue Delft were a replica of the duke’s. What signified most to Tomas and the young man was the tattoo the witch doctor had inked him when he was eleven years old. Again, his father had the exact same one.
Thorn remembered the pain when the needle perforated his glistening skin and the hours he’d stayed still without movement. Old Kondo could be fierce if his artistry was disturbed. As a young boy, he asked why it was necessary. Kondo told him he needed the protection of his ancestors who were of the lion clan. Evil would not follow him, Thorn was assured.
Thorn made a point to remember Tomas should be addressed as Sir Martinez when they were in public.
The English tailor in Barbados fitted the young man with London styled tailcoats with double breasted lapels worn open. A waistcoat was made from linen in a brocade fabric. Two cotton shirts were provided, long and loose fitted with off the shoulder sleeves and a high collar that scratched his neck. It was mid thigh and served as the only undergarment. Even though a young man, he was fitted with breeches and riding boots. The cravat cloth further aggravated, and he remembered his words to the tailor that the fashion was a foolish circumstance since it had to be wrapped around the throat a few times. Obviously, Thorn preferred his light native clothing. However, he was used to tight fitting breeches and fine riding boots since one of his chores was to exercise the Akhal-Teke horses for a wealthy plantation owner. It was at those times that he became at peace with himself. They were not just horses, but those of special breeding and distinguishing features. His special advantage was he knew everything about the prime horses of the acclaimed breed.
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