The Reluctant Duke

by Blaise Kilgallen

  “Most of Ireland’s lands don’t belong to the Irish, Yer Grace. For seven hundred years, English kings ruled here without a single, powerful Irish overlord to bind people together. It were an easy thing for Henry II to claim her and parcel out her lands as he wished.

  “There's been marryin' between the English and the Irish over the centuries, too, but it hasn't helped any for the Irish to gain back what rightly belonged to them centuries ago. That ‘twere one reason I joined the Navy. I wasn't afraid of hard work, and I knew I'd be gettin' some grub at the end of the day…not starvin’ like at home.”

  “I don't understand,” Caroline inquired. “Didn't your family have some land to farm and keep animals?”

  “'Twould’ve been heaven were it so, Yer Grace,” Captain Johnson answered with a weary smile. “Land rents are so high nowadays there's little room to spare on the small parcels allotted to raise anythin' but what's needed to pay for the lease. Most families have nothing but a patch of potatoes. And that's all they put in their stomachs.”

  Slowly chewing on his supper, the captain continued. “There were twelve in me family. Five o' us lads went to sea. Us leavin' home early put more food in the mouths of the rest, leastways fer a while. There's only me and me brother left alive now.”

  “And where is he, Captain?” Antonio inquired.

  “He got hisself a small sailmaker's shop in Liverpool, Yer Grace. None but meself were able keep to our homeland.”

  “Pity. I’ll see what the circumstances are in County Meath, Captain. Perhaps, I can better the conditions of a few of your countrymen,” Antonio told him.

  “What of Kilburn?” Caroline asked.

  “Lord Terence is a good man,” Captain Johnson replied. “His family has been Anglo-Irish, and he holds to his Irish heritage. Ye'll find his workers well cared for and willin' to do for him 'cause he treats 'em like human beings not slaves.”

  “Tell us more about Lord Kilburn,” Antonio suggested. “I’ve never met the man, nor has Lady Caroline. It seems he’s rarely seen in England.”

  “'Tis not my business to discuss my betters, ye understand,” Captain Johnson answered. “I can tell ye that Lord Kilburn spends a great amount of time at the Stud. He stays in England during the racin' season or when he's needed in Parliament to fight for Irish rights. But he doesn't stay in London any longer than he must. He’s a rarity—a competent, fair minded owner. He sails the seas on the Killarney often. Several months outta the year, we're visitin' with the sheiks in Mediterranean countries or the plantations in America's south lookin' for new bloodstock. Ye'll not find any better horses bred in Ireland than at Kilburn Stud.”

  “So I've been told, Captain. I’m anxious to see what Lord Kilburn has to offer. I hope we'll get an early start in the morning, eh?” the Duke questioned.

  “Aye, Yer Grace. The coach should be arrivin' about eight or thereabouts. Ye'll be at Kilburn by the noon hour.”

  “Then, I expect we'd best get a good night's rest now. We'll see you in the morning.” Antonio and Caroline rose. “Goodnight, Captain.”

  “Breakfast is early, Yer Grace. I'll have someone wake ye in time.” With a nodded bow toward Caroline, he said, “Sleep well, Yer Grace.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Caroline answered, “for making my first sea voyage such a pleasant one.”

  * * * *

  The fog and mist lay thick on the harbor when Antonio and Caroline arose the following morning, and it was difficult to make out things clearly even a short distance across the ship’s deck. However, by the time they washed, dressed, breakfasted, and left their cabin, the sun was burning off the mist, and they could see the bustle of activity in one of Ireland's busiest ports.

  Soon the Killarney made its way under light sail to a berth along the pier reserved for her mooring. Antonio and Caroline stood at the rail watching the maneuvering directed by Captain Johnson and his first mate, Mr. Foster. By eight-thirty, the sloop was safely docked, and the gangplank lowered.

  A dark green coach pulled by four handsome chestnuts arrived on wharfside as Antonio and Caroline prepared to disembark. The Earl of Landoon's oval lozenge was emblazoned on the coach’s doors—two golden lions rampant on a field of scarlet crossed with bands of emerald green. Two footmen and four outriders beside the driver were ready to transport the Duke and Duchess of Weston to Kilburn Stud.

  The servants collected the Thorndykes’ baggage from the Killarney, and Antonio and Caroline stepped off the gangplank onto the pier and into the waiting carriage. Captain Johnson wished them a safe journey, promising he’d be waiting in Dublin to sail them back to Holyhead. The horseshoes of four horses and ironclad coach wheels clattered across the heavy wooden planks of the pier and headed through the narrow streets of Dublin.

  * * * *

  The Kilburn coach turned into cobbled St. George's Lane. Having returned from the outdoor market where Molly Ryan daily sent Lorena and James to purchase what vegetables were available for preparation for the noon meal, she and James had just reached the entrance of the White Whale pub. Quickly, the two displaced English nobles jumped into the recessed doorway to get out of the way of a fancy coach and its outriders. Timmy Ryan yanked open the pub’s door at that precise moment. Greeting the pub owner with a wave, the last of the outriders thundered by on horseback behind the earl’s rumbling carriage.

  “Ho there, Timmy, me lad! How be ye this bright mornin'?”

  “Foine, foine, Seamus,” Tim shouted in return. “Fit as a fiddle. Gi' me regards to yer missus. Stop back to see us soon, lad.”

  Passing the dingy portal of the pub, the carriage wended its way through Dublin toward the green, rolling hills of Ireland.

  Tim wiped his hands on his bar apron, looked around at the stirrings in the street, then entered the pub again, gesturing to Lorena and James to come inside and close the door.

  “That was a fine coach that passed by, Mr. Ryan,” Lorena dared. “You're friendly with the nobility then?”

  “Nay, lass. The Earl of Landoon employs my second cousin's son, Seamus. ‘Twas his coach they was escortin' to Kilburn Keep. Must be nobs visitin' the Stud at Tara lookin’ fer prime horseflesh.”

  “And where is that, Mr. Ryan?” she inquired.

  “A morning’s coach ride to County Meath. Ah…'tis the greenest part of this Emerald Isle. My family's from that area, God bless 'em.”

  County Meath, Lorena thought. She was almost positive Weston owned property in County Meath. If only James was himself perhaps they could make the trip and get help to send them back to England. Surely, his Irish steward would recognize James. Well, perhaps not, she caught herself. Neither she nor James looked much like aristocrats nowadays. She had cut her long, blonde hair because it got in the way when she worked and was impossible to keep groomed. Her hands were red, rough, and chafed from her scullery duties. James's hair had grown to shoulder length and was tied back with a narrow strip of leather. He wore a scruffy beard although she did her best to keep it trimmed. Their clothing was made up of hand-me-downs, well-patched and ill-fitting. Lorena had bartered her wedding ring in one of Dublin’s market stalls for a jacket for James and shoes and a shawl for herself. They’d both lost weight during the months they’d worked at the Ryan’s pub. In no way did they resemble the English eighth Duke and Duchess of Weston.

  However, Lorena never gave up hope. She was afraid to ask help from the Irish populace, who, she was told, hated the English nobility. Someday she vowed quietly, she’d find a way to leave Ireland, return to England with her husband, and reclaim the life to which they both were entitled. She would hire the finest physicians in London to treat James, and she’d search for and find Joshua.

  If only they could get back to England!

  Chapter 25

  The Earl of Landoon's carriage moved slowly through Dublin’s congested streets and crossed over one of the many bridges spanning the River Liffey. Those riding inside the carriage peered down into the greenish waters hurrying toward the
Irish Sea. On the other side of the carriage, the rushing stream turned northwest towards the Hill of Tara in the area of the River Boyne.

  Antonio and Caroline relaxed against the padded squabs. Ireland’s rolling hills were indeed green…all manner of green. Little else was to be seen as they passed out of the city limits but open fields and rock walls. Here and there, they noticed odd humps in the landscape. They turned out to be poor, semi-underground dwellings built into the side of embankments and fashioned of unmortared stone and turf.

  “Nombre de Dios!” Antonio exclaimed when he caught a glimpse of a young child entering one of the hovels. “Look, Caro! There are people living in those mounds of dirt. I can’t believe my eyes.”

  * * * *

  The first sighting Antonio and Caroline had of the Landoon estate was a somber, gray stone building with turrets at either end of the facade. Situated on a rise, it was approached by a dirt drive lined with large, piled stones forming walls on either side. The drive curved to form a circle at the entrance. In its center stood a massive arch, and from its crosspiece, attached by heavy chains, hung a huge, metal replica of the Landoon coat of arms and a plaque that appeared to be written in Gaelic.

  As the coach pulled up smartly to the wide stone stairs leading into the keep, two footmen jumped from their perch. One quickly let down the coach’s steps while the other opened a door. Antonio hopped out then held up a hand to assist Caroline. Her eyes took in the imposing castle.

  Mullioned windows of colored glass flanked the tall, double entry doors that she supposed were of oak, banded and hinged with dark metal. Shrubs massed against the front edifice were leafed with shades of green. Caroline saw that drapes were drawn away from several of the mullioned windows facing the circular drive. A slight movement indicated someone awaited their arrival.

  The heavy doors were thrown open and two more footmen in green livery with red trim descended to aid in the removal of baggage as Antonio and Caroline mounted the steps to the impressive entrance. They were greeted by a butler and ushered into the large two-storied foyer that was lit by a glass dome. The floor was made of polished marble. What could be seen of the walls of the foyer and the hallways leading to the rear on either side of a central staircase was the same gray stone as the keep’s exterior. Large areas were covered by faded tapestries and interspersed with ancient pieces of battle equipment… A full suit of ancient armor guarded either side of the central staircase leading to the upper floors. The stairs rose for a flight of some dozen steps to a landing then branched off to either side and continued upward to an open balcony overlooking the towering foyer. From there, doorways led along halls to additional rooms.

  “I welcome ye to Landoon Keep on behalf of the Earl of Landoon, Yer Graces,” the ancient butler announced in a deep baritone touched with the now familiar Irish brogue. “Ye’ll be meetin' himself at the mid-day meal an hour from now. Meanwhile, I’ll show ye to yer rooms. Our men have already brought in yer baggage.”

  He led Antonio and Caroline up the stairs to the left and down a long, well carpeted corridor, past several closed doors, to one open at the far end which turned out to be their accommodation.

  Their baggage was waiting. The butler deposited the Thorndykes in a large sitting room saying, “Should ye be needin' anythin', please use the bell pull. There’s heated water for yer use. Ye'll find it behind a screen in the bedchamber. Yer things will be unpacked while ye take yer noon meal with the earl.” The butler shot Antonio a questioning look. “Will there be anythin' else now?”

  “I think not,” Antonio replied. The gray-haired servant turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

  Strolling toward a window, Caroline exclaimed, “Oh, Tonio, come look. It’s absolutely grand.” Their rooms overlooked the grounds to one side of the castle. The greensward stretched as far as the eye could see, shading from pale yellow-greens to the darker colors of a heavily wooded forest.

  Rough stone walls crisscrossed open fields. They were dotted with numerous horses and beef cattle, turned out together it would seem, without problems. Today, the sky was as blue as an Irishman's eyes, with mountainous white cumulus shimmering in the sunshine like opalescent pearls. What the Thorndykes surveyed from the ancient keep was a far cry from the poor areas in Dublin and the even poorer hovels they had passed on the road. Though raised in different parts of the world, neither Antonio nor Caroline was used to anything resembling the crushing poverty that overran Ireland. They couldn’t comprehend the tragedy these people endured, and had endured, for hundreds of years. So, while they were shocked by what they saw, their thoughts concentrated on the reason for their trip—to purchase a few outstanding stallions for Antonio’s stud at Westhaven.

  The newlyweds washed off the road dust and freshened up for their initial meeting with the earl. A light knock on the door brought a footman to show them the way downstairs to meet Terence Kilburn.

  * * * *

  Antonio and Caroline had no idea what sort of man they would see when they entered what appeared to be a book room and were announced. “’Tis the Duke and Duchess of Weston, me lord,” said a lanky footman, his brogue slurring the words.

  A very tall, well-dressed, dark-haired man stood gazing out of the windows at the far end of the room. Abruptly, Terence turned to greet them, crossing the room in a few long strides and reaching politely for Caroline's hand. He bowed and raised it to his lips within an inch of her gloved knuckles.

  “Welcome to my home, Your Grace.”

  Next, he turned to Antonio. “Glad to meet you at last, Your Grace,” he said as they shook hands. “I trust your trip was uneventful.”

  “Quite smooth, Landoon. Caroline and I enjoyed the trip very much.”

  The men eyed one another, each seeming pleased with what he saw.

  “I'm afraid,” the earl addressed Caroline, “this is a bachelor household, Your Grace. We don‘t stand on ceremony. I must make my apologies since I’ve greeted you in my library instead of a formal salon.”

  “Not at all, my lord,” Caroline answered. “I, for one, am used to country manners and prefer a more relaxed atmosphere than one usually finds in the hallowed halls of the London ton.”

  Terence smiled his pleasure and escorted her to a settee near an oversized fireplace. “May I offer you some refreshment?” he asked. “A brandy for you, Your Grace? Or do you prefer wine?” When Antonio made his preference known, Terence turned to Caroline. “A glass of sherry, Your Grace?”

  After brandy and wine were poured, the three chatted about the sea voyage, the beauty of the countryside, and Terence’s ancestral home. The butler announced that the noon meal was served, and the three proceeded to the dining room. Naturally, conversation turned to horses.

  “Do you ride, Your Grace?” the earl inquired. Antonio chuckled before Caroline had time to reply. His dark eyes glittered with a mischievous gleam as he answered the earl's question for her.

  “Have you a tame little mare available, Landoon?”

  Caroline glared at Antonio, ready to protest but said nothing.

  “I'm sure we have an older mare that would prove suitable if Her Grace would care to join us on horseback. But, of course,” he directed his reply to Caroline, “we’ll accommodate you with a driving pony and cart if you prefer.”

  Antonio couldn’t contain himself and burst out into laughter at the daggers being aimed at him from Caroline's greenish eyes.

  “Forgive me, Landoon, before my duchess stabs more than food with her fork. I must tell you that my wife is an indomitable horsewoman. I'm certain she can handle all but your most fractious mounts.”

  “And what makes you qualify that statement, Your Grace,” Caroline admonished Antonio with cool candor, displaying a somewhat haughty expression.

  “I would hate for Landoon and I to pick you up off the ground, chica, should you be unceremoniously dumped,” Antonio teased. “I’m fully aware of your equestrian talents. You have nothing to prove to me or Landoon, I expect,” h
e said, soothing her ruffled feathers with an open-faced grin.

  Turning to Terence, Antonio went on. “Caroline is the proud owner of a powerful and speedy Thoroughbred stallion. I’m trying to persuade her to let me use him on one of my Andalusian mares. As a matter of fact,” he smiled wickedly. “One of the reasons I married the lady was to get my hands on the animal.” The twinkle in Antonio’s eyes gleamed. “She calls him Demon, and he’s aptly named from what I hear.”

  “Oh, Tonio, you scoundrel. Don‘t make up such a Banbury tale. He’s no such thing.” Turning, she aimed her words at Terence. “He was named as a colt because he was always into mischief, my lord. Now he’s quite a sober old gent,” she explained.

  The earl was enjoying the byplay between his guests. He saw the sparks that flew between them as well as the admiration and love that shone out of the newlyweds’ eyes.

  I can identify with these people, Terence mused silently. The good Lord knows I lack for close friendships.

  His thoughts were due in part because of his own feelings toward the English and what they had done to Ireland. But Weston was half Spanish, of mixed blood like himself. And the duchess was not at all like females of the London ton whose unbending ways he couldn’t tolerate. He’d taken an immediate liking to them both, and their teasing banter had added to a feeling of comradeship. Aye, Terence decided. He would like to call the Duke and Duchess of Weston his friends.

  “Would you care to take a tour of the Stud this afternoon?” Terence asked as they were finished eating. “The colts are in one of the far fields, but I'd be happy to show you the stables and some of the training facilities if you'd like.”

  It was how the remaining afternoon hours were spent. The earl had several brood mare barns and a stallion barn situated beyond walking distance from the keep. The three, who now shared an easy camaraderie, rode to the barns in a native cart pulled by a shaggy pony of indeterminate age. Grinning, Terence advised Caroline the little gelding had been around almost as long as he had. By the time they returned to the keep, formalities had been dropped, and they were on a first name basis, rank forgotten. Supper was served at seven. An early start was planned for the following morning. The earl's estate was nowhere the size of Westhaven, but it would take time to reach the young horses Antonio wished to inspect.