Thorn, Son of a Duke: Regency Romance (The Dukes of Desire Book 3)

by Sandra Masters

  Then she would punctuate the words with a deep kiss and cradle her posterior in his lap. How well she knew his weaknesses. And how he delighted in his eager wife who always found new ways to enchant him. She’d become quite the seductress in her own right. He never looked back with any fondness on his profligate days as a rake, because she was everything he wanted.

  Would his bed contain a cold wife or an understanding one this night? Time would tell — such an overused cliché.

  The door opened. Cassandra and his mother, Madelaine, Dowager Duchess of Althorn, entered, giggling back and forth.

  They stopped when they saw him seated there, his face serious.

  “We are here as summoned, Gordon. What have we done now that causes you to invite us to your private sanctum with such secrecy?”

  “Please be seated. First, would you both like minted tea?”

  Cassandra turned to the Dowager.

  “I’d be happy to pour, Mother Madelaine. Shall I?”

  She went to the teacart and wheeled it to them, where she sat and did the honours. Althorn waited until they were served, took a deep breath, twice, and started to speak.

  “We are soon to have a visitor who will reside with us for some time.”

  The ladies looked at each other and then toward him.

  “How long is ‘some time’?” Cassandra asked.

  “As long as he wants to stay,” Gordon answered.

  “I have the unwholesome feeling that there is more to this than you tell us, Gordon. Who is this person? Why have you taken such an interest? Is he an owner of another horse you wish to purchase? More Eastern bloods?”

  He shook his head, rose, and walked to the front of his desk, then leaned his posterior against the edge. His hands gripped the wood on either side of him.

  “All information will be revealed in a moment. First, Cassandra, you do know I have been faithful to you since our marriage?”

  She nodded, and looked at the Dowager, whose forehead furrowed.

  “Gordon, is this conversation necessary in front of your mother?” Her hand went to the cleft of her throat. She inhaled. “Of course, I’ve never doubted it.”

  She withdrew her hand, released the tea cup and saucer, and placed in on the side table, studying his face.

  “I’ve received a letter from a barrister in Barbados from someone I used to know there.”

  “You get many such documents, about your plantations.”

  “Not like this one.” He managed a small irritated grin. “I’ve been at a loss these past days on how to divulge its contents to you, without causing injury or distress to anyone.”

  The Dowager intervened.

  “Whatever it is, have out with it, son. If it’s a burden, we can share it as a family. You have two strong women in front of you. Please continue - or let us see the document.”

  She pulled at her lace cuff and then faced him squarely.

  “Mother Madelaine is right, Gordon. Please don’t dilly dally,” Cassandra eyed the letter behind him suspiciously. “So who is coming and why?”

  Cassandra posed the question with a smile.

  “A young man of seventeen, a native of Barbados on his mother’s side. On his father’s side, he has the blood lineage of a distinguished nobleman.”

  “What distinguished nobleman?” asked the Dowager, her expression suspicious.

  His eyes darted to his mother.

  “Your son.”

  Silence, cleaved only by inhaled breaths, filled the room. Cassandra’s hand went to her swollen belly, and she looked down. Gordon walked toward to his wife, reached for her hand, and knelt on one knee before her.

  “I never knew about him, until this letter arrived, Cassandra. His native mother died, and her dying wish was that I know about Thorn and take him to England.”

  “I see.” Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “Is he dark?”

  “I have no way of knowing. I’ve sent Tomas to bring him back. His colour doesn’t matter, Cassandra. He’s my blood… and I will welcome him to our home. I ask much of both of you in doing so, and asking you to welcome him too, but I could not leave my son behind and still look myself in the mirror in the morning.”

  Lady Madelaine was the next to speak.

  “Gordon, you’ve had days to ponder this, and we are now acquainted with the news. At seventeen, young men can present problems, no matter what their background or colour.” Then she smiled. “I seem to remember that I did ask if you and Cassandra could produce two children. So now we have three to love — four, if we consider Alicia.”

  He swore he would kiss his mother forever and ever for the levity. Gordon looked to his wife, whose other hand he still held.

  “I know it is much I ask of you, but this son is no threat to our children. Young Gordon will inherit the title and entailed estates. I confess I’m at a loss about how to handle this. I remember that I was a hellion when I was that age. I wonder if he will resent me. How will he adapt to our culture? I’ve had our barrister research the legalities of me having produced an illegitimate son.”

  Cassandra frowned at him.

  “Gordon, I… we… need time to digest this. Frankly, I wish you had thought to share this burden with me sooner. I might have helped.”

  “I was afraid to, for fear it would upset you so much, that we might lose our child. Also, I was just unused to the entire idea, and all of the problems it poses - because of my own youth. I was a second son and dealt with life as if it would be mine forever. How could I know of the consequences of my rash vices? What if he is like that?”

  He stood in front of his wife, and she went to him and embraced him.

  “All will be fine, Gordon. You took in Alicia and came to love her as your own. I can and will do the same for you, will accept your child, if you but give me time. Let me get to know the young man.” She turned to her mother-in-law. “I think that this deserves a celebratory drink. If you’d pour a small portion of ratafia for me, and perhaps something somewhat stronger for your mother, together we will conquer the problems related to the illegitimacy of this young man. Perhaps our Gordon will come to like having an older brother.”

  “You are indeed a saint, Cassandra. I’m in awe of you, and ever grateful for the pleasure of loving you.”

  His mother smiled and sighed in relief.

  He knew that the family would be tested in more ways than they could know - but they would weather it, together.

  Chapter Three

  On the ship en route to England

  On the main deck, at the sound of the doors opening, Thorn turned to see Sir Tomas approaching. He wanted to pummel something or somebody. His breath raced and his temples pounded. It was an effort to control his rage.

  “I will tell you now,” Sir Tomas said, apparently in tune with his mood, “when I mentioned that you’d be a foolish native, it was a test. Unclench your fists and listen to me if you will.” Sir Tomas’ intense eyes engaged Thorn’s. “I knew that the words would taunt, and I needed to see if you could keep your temper under control. There will be, in England, those who will do the same and try to force you into a compromising position. When that happens,” he added, “you will have to make immediate a judgment as to whether to fight or to walk away, as you did with me. We English have a saying - ‘there is safety in numbers’. Never fight against stacked odds. Instead, assess the situation and plan your retaliation. Think first, Thorn.”

  Thorn exhaled.

  “You knew how to offend me, sir.”

  “Yes. The words I’ve just spoken were to a man I am growing to respect. Pick your friends with care. Your enemies — and you will have some, it’s a fact of life — will respect you. Hold them close also, but without affection.” Tomas extended his hand. “Friends again?”

  A broad smile crossed Thorn’s cheeks.

  “Yes, again. No more tests for the duration of the trip, sir. I am still raw from the loss of my mother and my home.”

  He glanced at a nearby passenger
who walked with a beautiful young woman. Sir Tomas followed his gaze, and chuckled.

  “Young men will be young men no matter the nationality. She was pretty, but did you notice the gold band on her left hand?”

  “No, I was too entranced by her face and her spun gold hair. I’ve never seen such a glorious colour.”

  “I have,” said Sir Tomas. “Where?” Thorn asked.

  “On your stepmother’s head.”

  Thorn inhaled deeply.

  “Really? Are you a connoisseur of such things?”

  A brisk gust of wind blew through. Thorn moved his hand to pull up the collar of his coat.

  “Let’s just say that I can appreciate a beautiful woman with hair that puts the sun to shame.”

  “Does my father know this about you?” Thorn asked, slyly.

  “Of course. I make no bones about the fact that, if he hadn’t married Cassandra, I would’ve gladly stood in his place.”

  His laughter roared.

  “Does it not bother him?” Thorn asked, amazed.

  “It would bother him if he thought that I would follow through on any improper action. We know each other too well. It’s just bragging rights with a good friend — in admiration of his choice of wife.”

  “You English are strange. How will I ever know when truth is truth and not a challenge?”

  “We English – if you so choose to include me in that description - will help you — your father and I. We have the rest of our lives to teach you.”

  “Tell me about my English stepmother with the golden hair.”

  “She is a strong woman with an independent spirit, and a good match for your father. Theirs was a tempestuous beginning with their arranged marriage.”

  “My father had such a marriage? Could he not select a woman of his own?”

  “She was his choice. It was arranged – but they arranged it between them – it was not done by anyone else. What do you know of arranged English marriages?” Sir Tomas asked with a note of condescension.

  “I’ve read about the practice. The plantation owner had a large library and allowed me its full use. He also had a beautiful daughter, older than I, but we discussed such traditions.”

  “Beautiful daughter, you say, Thorn? Your eyes wander when you speak of her.”

  “She was virtuous, Sir Tomas. And I was the perfect gentleman with the strange name who trained her father’s horses. Nothing more. I grew fond of her father, but I do admit that he watched me like a hawk until he was sure that I would not do anything untoward.”

  “You didn’t even kiss her?”

  “No.”

  “Not once?”

  “No, we were good friends.”

  “So you have honour — like your father. I admire that.” Sir Tomas’ white teeth gleamed against his own tawny skin.

  “What is my stepmother’s name? How do I address her, Sir Tomas?”

  “Her name is Cassandra. Let’s see if I remember the honorifics. You may address her as Your Grace, the first time. Thereafter, Cassandra will advise you how to address her.”

  “Will she want me to call her Mother? I don’t know if I could do that. My wound is still too deep.”

  “She will pave the way for you, Thorn. Cassandra is a kind and nurturing woman, very much in love with your father. Everyone adores her, including your grandmother and all of the dogs, but especially your father’s dog. It is a humorous point of contention between them, most of the time.”

  “Dogs, too?” He laughed.

  “Yes, all ten of them.”

  “What colour are the Duchess’ eyes?”

  “A softer blue than yours, the colour of cornflowers in the spring.”

  “I know not of cornflowers,” he answered.

  “You will become acquainted with those, and other English flowers.”

  “What of my half-brother? Who does he look like?”

  “A seven-year old version of you, with a lighter complexion. Bright and curious, like you.”

  “What is he called?”

  “Gordon, like his father, and his title is Marquess of Carsedge. It’s a secondary title of your father’s, and will be used by his son and heir until the day of your father’s death, when his son becomes Duke. Before you ask, your grandmother is an angel who will spoil you to death. Be prepared for kisses and hugs.”

  “What else should I know of them, Sir Tomas? Dukes have large homes, large numbers of staff, large everything it seems. Does my father have a large ego?”

  “I can see how your mind works, young man. So full of questions. So anxious to assess. So uneasy about trust. And yes, he does. Before he met your stepmother, he was a renowned rake of the highest water.”

  “Sir Tomas, please stop using these odd English terms. Explain highest water, if you please.”

  “The best of the best when it came to women.”

  “Who else lives with them?”

  “There’s Miss Alicia. She is Cassandra’s ward. Pretty thing, and I believe she’s five and ten years. Blonde, too, but not like the Duchess. She likes to ride horses. You two have a lot in common.”

  “My head dizzies, sir. I grow tired, too. English women and English horses. I have a lot to learn.”

  “I’ll have to teach you how to approach women, especially English women. They can be high in the instep.”

  “Sir, what does that phrase mean?” Thorn questioned, his eyes still following the pretty lady.

  “They think much of themselves, and consider they are of better lineage, and you, or any man, might not be worth their attention,” he laughed.

  “Then why not just say so? Why the subterfuge?”

  Thorn tapped the railing and looked toward the endless foam of waves.

  “What do you know about subterfuge, Thorn?”

  “It is usually underhanded. Pretending to be one thing when they’re the other. The idea is prominent amongst the native population.” He smiled. “Old Kondo, the witch doctor, was a master at the game. Except sometimes the game turned ugly when his position was challenged.”

  Sir Tomas nodded.

  “So the old devil is still alive and well. That doesn’t surprise me at all. The day grows dark. Shall we retire to our cabin and you can tell me all about those Teke horses you so admire. Don’t tell me I should pronounce the full name after my brandy has me in my cups.”

  They walked the deck to their cabin door, Sir Tomas’ broad arm across Thorn’s shoulder in a jovial beginning of true friendship. Thorn had a comfortable feeling around Sir Tomas. The man was likable and seemed to have a genuine interest in him acclimating to what they both knew was a difficult society. A few drinks simplified everything. Coffee for Thorn and rum for Sir Tomas.

  Chapter Four

  London Wharfside

  Thorn stood by the railing and scanned an old road which gave access to wharves and docks on the north bank of the River Thames. The panorama before him amazed. Busy dock workers and porters hustled large cases and bales from the ships to the waiting warehousemen. Men shouted while clerks with inventory lists directed longshoremen to the appropriate buildings.

  “Sir Tomas, what is that large building to the right of us? Never have I seen such a large structure.”

  “That’s the East India House, which is owned and operated by the company. I would venture to say that the wealth which passes within its portals is unsurpassed in the world. They are a powerful force with which to reckon. Fortunately, your forefathers had the good sense not to invest in India and chose Barbados instead.”

  Thorn’s eyes widened at the activity, and excitement overtook him. He didn’t know where to look first.

  “Do you see that black coach with the Lion crest, waiting?”

  “Yes. Is that my father’s?” he asked with a bit of trepidation.

  As they spoke, a tall aristocratic gentleman stepped down from the coach, his beaver top hat and greatcoat a clear indication of his wealth. The coachman was armed and one footman was on the back board.
/>
  The other footman walked behind the man. A gold, dome-topped cane glistened in the sunlight.

  “Is that my father, Sir Tomas?”

  “Yes, it is. He’s come to greet you personally.” Sir Tomas grasped Thorn’s shoulder in convivial support. “Just be yourself, Thorn. Everything will be fine.” The gangplank was lowered, and the passengers prepared to depart. Thorn and Sir Tomas waited for the others to precede them. “Courage, little lion,” Sir Tomas joked.

  “I will need more than that,” Thorn replied, unable to keep his eyes off the aristocratic gentleman who waited patiently on the dock. I now understand what my mother saw in him. Thorn took a deep breath. “I’m ready, Sir Tomas. Let us greet the great lion.”

  He smiled with an inquisitive stare at the man who had given him life, and wondered what future awaited him. Not as fearless as a lion, perhaps, but with caution to embrace this strange new world which had been foisted upon him. They walked down the gangway with Sir Tomas leading. Thorn blinked at the sun.

  Tomas whispered, very quietly, speaking to the man who was still too distant from them to hear.

  “Courage, Gordon. He’s a good young man.”

  For a moment, Thorn’s world stood still. He steadied his gaze upon the man who was his father. There could be no mistake. He saw himself in twenty years as the aristocrat standing before him. They stopped before the man.

  “Gordon,” said Sir Tomas, “allow me to introduce Thorn Wick,” and moved back.

  The moment was fierce, and strangely unanticipated. Thorn stilled.

  Gordon Sedgewick, the Duke of Althorn, stepped forward, and extended his hand.

  “Welcome to England, son.”

  His voice was warm. Thorn grasped Gordon’s hand.

  “Father, thank you for meeting me. I did not know what to expect, but I can see that my mother was right in that you are a good and kind man.”

  “I am sorry for your loss, Thorn. My memories of your mother are few, distorted by the effects of my illness at the time, yet I know that she was good, and kind also. It is regrettable that we meet as the result of such sad news, but please know that I welcome you with all of my heart. We have a lot to learn about each other.” He grinned. “I suggest that we get into the carriage. These docks smell worse than carrion.”