Thorn, Son of a Duke Read online

  “As I just found out about him. I am not easily won over, señor.”

  “He doesn’t have to win you over, amigo. He is the Duke and can make or break you. Should you choose to make him your enemy, you’d be no more than a foolish native.”

  At those words, Thorn arose and would have toppled his chair save for the bolts that anchored it to the floor. “We shall see, Sir Martinez. We shall see.” He turned to the older man. “Sir Tomas, to clarify, my mother and I lived in a small house on a large plantation. We never lived in a hut. I took good care of her.”

  “Point well taken, Thorn.”

  Thorn strode out the door, his hands fisted, his knuckles white. He gritted his teeth and swallowed back the words that should not be uttered. Again, he stared into the vast ocean that separated him from his beloved island.

  It wasn’t the best of lives, but it was the only existence he knew. Now it was gone, swept away with the wind and the snap of his father’s fingers.

  What would the future bring?

  Chapter Two

  Duke of Althorn’s Study, London, England, 1817

  The Duke requested the presence of his wife and mother to his study. His mind was a mélange of thoughts. Words that used to come easily were no longer at his disposal. He read the letter from Mr. Morton Jones time and time again and could almost commit every word to memory.

  The rain pelted the large window and the glistening cobblestones challenged the horses’ hoofs as carriages moved through the rain and passersby sought refuge with umbrellas that could not survive the wind. Like his heart, the Duke thought. The message he would deliver could stun his loved ones. He prayed as never before they would understand.

  A servant tapped the door and entered with hot minted tea. He also had the decanters full in case one of his ladies swooned. Of concern, of course, was his wife, four months pregnant with their second child.

  He turned from the window and walked to his desk where the letter lay on top of his other most important papers. His best friend, Tomas Martinez, was most likely on the way back to England with a young man who had been a stunning revelation.

  Althorn spoke to the portrait of his father on the wall. “When you sent me to Barbados, did you think to warn me about delightful native women whose culture reveled in lovemaking and producing children? Or did you think I would sow wild oats and get the desire out of my loins by the time I returned home? What would you do, Father, in my shoes today…right now, at this moment? Would you have made a decision without consulting your wife?”

  He moved to the imported cognac decanter and poured a stiff three fingers of liquor in his crystal flecked glass. He inhaled first, and then took the first swig. His lips parted, and he worried his bottom lip.

  The revelation would be a true test of Cassandra’s love for him and all she held dear. She’d said many times, “Family is the single most important thing, Gordon.” How he loved when she called him by his Christian name. “It’s a testament to the endurance of our love for each other.” Then she would punctuate the words with a wet 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 on his profligate days 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, Lady Madelaine, entered giggling back and forth. They stopped when they saw him seated there.

  “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, madam. Shall I?” She went to the teacart and wheeled it to them, where she sat and did the honors.

  Gordon 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 get the unwholesome feeling there is more 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, arose and walked to the front of his desk, 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 table cart.

  “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 without injury 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,” as she 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 and inhaled breaths cleaved 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. “I never knew until this letter arrived about him, 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 color doesn’t matter, Cassandra. He’s my blood…and I will welcome him to our home. I ask much of the both of you, 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 ethnicity they are.” Then she smiled. “I seem to remember 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 and any other of our children will inherit the entailed estates. I confess I’m at a loss on how to handle this. I remember 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 such issue by me of an illegitimate son.”

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

  “I was afraid to, for fear it would upset you so much, we might lose our child. Also, I was just unused to the entire idea and all 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?”

  He stood in front of his wife, and she went to him, 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, if you but give me time. Let me get to know the young man.”

  She turned to her mother-in-law. “I think 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 illegitimacy. Perhaps our Gordon will come to like an older brother.”

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

  His mother smiled and sighed in relief.

  He knew the family would be tested in more ways than they could know.

  Chapter Three

  On the ship en route to England

  On the main deck, at the sound of the doors opening, Thorn turned to see 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,” Tomas said apparently in tune with his mood, “when I mentioned you’d be a foolish native, it was a test. Unclench your fists and listen to me if you will.” Tomas’ intense eyes engaged Thorn’s. “I knew the words would taunt and needed to see if you could keep your temper under control. There will be those who will do the same and try to force you into a compromising position. When that happens,” he added, “you have to make immediate judgment to fight or 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 those 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 and a beautiful young woman.

  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 entranced by her face and spun gold hair. I’ve never seen such a glorious color.”

  “I have,” said Tomas.

  “Where?” Thorn asked.

  “On your stepmother’s head.” Tomas inhaled deeply.

  “Really? Are you a connoisseur of such things?” A brisk wind blew through. Thorn moved his hand to pull up the collar of his coat.

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

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

  “Of course. I make no bones about the fact 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 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 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 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. What do you know of arranged English marriages?” 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 he watched me like a hawk until he was sure I would not do anything untoward.”

  “You didn’t even kiss her?”

  “No.”

  “Once?”

  “No, we were good friends.”

  “So you have honor—like your father. I admire that.” 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, or Duchess, the first time. Thereafter, you may call her madam or ma’am. If I know Cassandra, she 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 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 color are the Duchess’ eyes?”

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

  “I know not of cornflowers,” he answered.

  “You will become acquainted.”

  “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 II, and his title is Marquess of Althorn. It’s an entailed hereditary title. Before you ask, your grandmother is an angel who will spoil you to death. Be prepared for kisses and hugs.”

  “Are you married, Tomas?”

  “I can see how your mind works, young man. So full of questions. So anxious to assess. So uneasy about trust.”

  “Dukes have large homes, large staff, large everything it seems. Does my father have a large ego?”

  “Yes. Before he met your stepmother, he was a renowned rake of the highest water.”

  “Tomas, stop with the English euphemisms. Explain highest water, if you please.”

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

  “Who else lives with them?”

  “There’s 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 footstep.”

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

  “They think much of themselves, 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?” He 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.”

  Tomas nodded. “So the old bugger is still alive and well. Doesn’t surprise me at all. The day grows dark. Shall we retire to our cabin and you can inform 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, Tomas’ broad arm across Thorn’s shoulder in a jovial beginning of true friendship.

  Thorn had a comfortable feeling around 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 Tomas.

  Chapter Four

  London Wharfside

  Thorn stood by the railing and scanned an old road that gave access to wharves and docks on the north bank of the River Thames. The panorama before him amazed. Busy docksmen 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 owned and operated by the company. I would venture to say the wealth that 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.”

  Thorn’s eyes widened at the activity; 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 departed the coach, his beaver top hat and greatcoat an admission of his wealth. The coach driver 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.