“Help? Of course, we’ll help. Lorena, hush now. Don't cry anymore. Everything will be fine now that we’ve found you.” Stroking Lorena’s shoulders and back compassionately, Caroline soothed her friend with comforting words and hugs. “I can’t believe…but thank heavens, you’re still alive. We all thought…”
Caroline glanced up at her husband who was standing over them. He wasn’t sure what was happening. Trying to speak clearly, she said, her throat clogged with tears, “Oh dear God, Antonio, it’s really true. This is Lorena, your cousin, James's wife. She’s not dead. She’s alive.”
“And so is James,” Lorena exclaimed quickly, pulling out of Caroline's embrace. “He’s but a short distance from here at the White Whale pub. Come, we must bring him to safety, too. Caroline…Antonio, please? Go get him.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Lorena” Caroline replied. “But first, you must come on board. You’re trembling like a leaf. You need a cup of hot tea or something else to warm you. It’s all right, dear friend, don’t worry. We’ll find James.”
Helping a shaky Lorena to her feet, Caroline put her arm around her waist to steady her as they walked slowly up the gangplank onto the Killarney.
“Why, 'tis the scullery maid from the White Whale,” Captain Johnson exclaimed. “My cousin, Molly Ryan, and her husband own the place. It's just off the quay on St. George's Lane.”
“This woman tells us her husband is also employed by the Ryans,” Antonio said. “If you would be so kind, Captain, will you send someone and have the man, James, brought back here to us?”
Antonio wasn’t as convinced of the strange tale that Caroline had been.
“Of course, Yer Grace, but…”
“In the meantime,” Antonio interrupted. “We'll take the lady to our cabin. Can you have your cook bring us some food?”
“Preferably, a pot of hot tea, Captain, if you will,” Caroline added.
Antonio caught up with Caroline and Lorena and helped the two women to negotiate the gangway stairs. Quickly, Caroline brought the dirty, wet, still weeping Lorena into their large cabin and yanked a thick coverlet off the bed, wrapping her friend in the blanket. The duchess was now visibly shivering, whether from cold or nerves.
Caroline managed to get Lorena seated and calmed down. The cabin boy arrived with a platter of cold, sliced meat, cheese wedges, and fresh baked bread, plus mugs of steaming tea. Caroline filled a plate for Lorena, but she shook her head and reached for the tea. Caroline glanced at Antonio, her eyes filled with wonder and unanswered questions.
“I’ll go back up on deck,” he said, “and wait. As soon as the man…er, my cousin, James…arrives, I’ll bring him down here.” So saying, Antonio left Caroline and Lorena alone.
“Oh, Caroline,” Lorena began. “I don’t know how you came to be here, but…”
Caroline patted her arm. “Hush and drink your tea, Lorena. It will warm your insides. When you feel up to it, you can tell us how you came to be in Ireland.” She paused. “I still can't believe we’ve found you. Or rather, how you’ve found us. What a brave soul you are, my dear!”
Caroline sipped her tea in companionship with her friend and neighbor, still running her eyes over this untidy-looking person who in no way resembled Lorena Thorndyke. Her once beautiful, long, white-blonde hair had been chopped off, the ends straggling unevenly. Lorena must’ve twisted it into a knot, but in her struggles, it loosened and now hung, stringy and limp, on her shoulders.
Taking a moment to consider, Caroline thought back. Lorena must be in her thirtieth year. Today, she looked several years older than that. Her pale skin was pulled tight across her high cheekbones; the planes of her face were no longer rounded and pink with health. Caroline had felt the frailty of her friend’s slenderness under the baggy clothing when she helped Lorena up the gangplank and into the cabin. Hard work or lack of enough food had taken its toll. Caroline guessed Lorena had dropped more than a stone's weight since they’d last seen each other.
Lorena clutched the blanket around herself while holding the mug of tea with the other hand. Caroline noticed that her friend’s hands, once elegantly manicured and silky smooth were red and rough, most likely from exposure to strong soap and cold water. Her nails were chipped and broken, and Caroline bled for her. Oh, poor, poor Lorena. Caroline’s heart cried out to her neighbor and friend.
Thank the good Lord, though, if what Lorena told her was true, James, too, was alive.
Chapter 28
Antonio mounted the steps from the cabin below and inhaled the salty, fishy air of Dublin Bay, emerging onto the Killarney’s main deck. He tried to grasp the unbelievable events of the past half-hour, meanwhile putting his jumbled perspective in some order. If the woman in the cabin was Lorena—and Caroline seemed to believe she was—then the man to be brought back posthaste from the White Whale was none other than his cousin, James Thorndyke. And he, Antonio—was no longer Duke of Weston. Nor was Caroline a duchess.
It didn’t matter to him if he lost the title. He hadn’t wanted it to begin with since it was thrust upon him by family obligations.
Antonio came to another, more important realization. He’d be free of those titular responsibilities. A wild surge of pleasure ran through him. The thought of sunny Spain burst through his brain. Away from all this dreary fog, miserable rain, and dampness. At last, he and Caroline could go home to Spain! Permanently.
His exuberance didn’t last long.
What if Caroline didn’t want to leave England? Her brother still lived in Kent. It meant tearing her away from her only living relative. Por Dios! What if she didn’t want to live in Spain? He couldn’t bear to hurt her, but…
Thoughts tumbled through Antonio in the brief time it took to stride from gangway to the ship’s railing where Captain Johnson waited for the arrival of Seamus McGee and James Thorndyke.
“Yer Grace,” the puzzled captain addressed him. “Can ye give me some idea o' what's goin' on?”
“Yes, of course, Captain.” Antonio faced the captain. “It’s my wife's belief that the lady we brought aboard moments ago is the spouse of my cousin, James. When the man arrives from the White Whale, I’ll know his identity for certain.”
“Yer cousin, is he, Yer Grace?”
“We believed our relatives to be deceased—perished by drowning in a boating accident off Scotland last year. How they survived and reached Ireland—well, we must hear the tale from their lips, if true. I can tell you no more than that yet.”
“Begorra! Praise be, it’ll be a right miracle then!” the captain exclaimed, anxious to explain some of what he knew. “I heard how they came to the White Whale. Timmy's cousin, Paddy Ryan, is a seafaring man, too, ‘cept he ships out of America. ‘Twas his Ballinger’s crew that pulled the two from the Irish Sea. Paddy brought ‘em to Dublin on his ship. From what I'd been told by my cousin Molly, the gent couldn't speak a word after gettin' walloped on the head and dumped overboard from a small sailing craft off Scotland. I heard he's talkin' some’ot now, but can't remember anythin’ afore they was rescued.”
“You mean they were attacked and thrown in the ocean by some culprits?”
“No, no, Yer Grace. He and the woman was knocked overboard in a squall by the boat’s boom. Caught 'em unawares, it’d be my guess. The boat got away from 'em, and they was sure to drown, bein’ so far from shore the way they was. Paddy's lookout spotted 'em, and they was hauled aboard the Ballinger looking like a pair of drowned rats.” Scratching his head after removing his hat, the captain said, “Well, I'll be jiggered. It's a small world, ain’t it?”
“So it appears,” Antonio agreed.
“Ahoy, aboard the Killarney,” Seamus shouted from the wharf. “I've brought the fella ye wanted from the White Whale.”
“Come on board, Seamus. Hurry it up now, laddie. His Grace is anxious to talk wi' the gent,” the captain called back.
James started up the gangplank with Seamus following.
* * * *
The man
Antonio saw coming towards him out of the fog looked nothing like the cousin he remembered. James had been well muscled and broad shouldered, with a developed torso and heavy thighs. He seemed the correct height, but this man was lanky and spare looking. Antonio remembered James as being round of face with a ruddy complexion, clean-shaven, and with a luxuriant head of curly brown hair. This fellow's cheeks were hollow, he was pale, and he wore badly trimmed side whiskers and a scruffy beard, sprinkled with gray. His hair was tied back with a piece of narrow leather. Besides that, he looked none too clean.
Antonio’s sharp, questioning gaze locked onto eyes as blue as his English father’s. Reaching out to take the man’s hand, he said, “I’m Antonio, Sebastian Thorndyke’s son. And you are…”
“My wife tells me that I’m James Thorndyke,” the man replied, grasping Antonio's outstretched hand. “I have no memory of before we came here,” he explained.
Antonio’s appraisal took a few more long moments before he was able to see the resemblance and concur with Caroline’s belief. Haggard, thin, unshaven and dirty—nevertheless, this man was his cousin, James Thorndyke, the Duke of Weston.
“Come, James, let’s join our wives. Do you remember Caroline Newton from Crestwood Manor?” he asked.
James just shook his head as he followed Antonio below deck.
Caroline spun to face the door as Antonio opened it, drawing in a sharp breath when she saw James. Oh goodness, she thought. He’s so terribly thin! And he looks older than his six and thirty years. Nevertheless, she knew without a doubt that he was, indeed, James Thorndyke.
Lorena had warned Caroline of James's memory loss. Caroline wondered if he would recognize her. “Dear James, I’m so happy to see you alive,” she exclaimed, taking his hand in greeting. “Do you remember me? Caroline? Hal's sister from Crestwood Manor?”
Slowly, James shook his head.
“Come dear,” Lorena told her husband. “Sit down and drink a cup of tea.”
“Perhaps, you’d like something a little stronger, James?” Antonio offered. “I know I would. How about a brandy?” When James nodded, Antonio filled two glasses with the amber liquid from a flat bottomed crystal decanter and handed a glass to his cousin. Each man pulled in a mouthful and slowly swallowed the potent brew.
“Now then,” Antonio began. “I’m at loss as to what we do next. Naturally, you’ll return to Westhaven with us. Captain Johnson will sail us to Holyhead where the Westhaven equipage—your equipage, James—is waiting to take us back to Kent.”
Caroline broke in at this point. “Tonio, do you think the captain has another cabin for Lorena and James? I’m sure they’ll both feel better after a hot bath and fresh clothes. And James will want a shave,” she said, angling a smile toward him. “I'm certain we can manage better clothing for them, don't you think?”
Antonio was glad Caroline had an intelligent head on her shoulders. This entire scenario still had him completely addled. It was difficult to comprehend on the spur of the moment. He’d met his cousins eight years ago, and of course, they had both changed.
“I’ll speak with the captain about it right now, Caro,” he said and left the cabin.
Antonio met Ezra Johnson coming down the gangway. “Captain, my cousin and his wife are returning to England with us. Can you have another cabin made ready for them? And hot water, lots of it. They want to bathe. And James will want to shave.”
“But of course, Yer Grace. I'll take care of it right away.”
“Oh, and Captain, I’d like to meet Tim Ryan. Can you arrange it before we leave?”
“No problem, Yer Grace. I'll send Seamus to fetch him.”
“Good.”
Rather than go back to the cabin, Antonio stayed on deck, standing with elbows leaning on the ship’s starboard rail, looking across the misty waters of Dublin Bay. He was certain Caroline could manage without him; he'd likely be in the way rather than of help. After a short while, he felt someone come up beside him. Gently, Caroline laid her hand on his arm.
“Tonio,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes all aglitter. “Can you believe what’s happened? Lorena and James have been here…alive…all along… when we thought them long dead. It’s truly a miracle.”
“Yes, it is,” he replied, turning to her and taking her shoulders in his hands. He looked into her eyes and asked, “Are you absolutely certain they are who they say they are?”
“Oh, yes, Tonio, there’s no doubt in my mind.” She hesitated briefly then nodded. “After what they’ve both gone through, of course, they look different. Lorena seems fine, but James…”
“Captain Johnson told me what he learned of their history. The pub owner’s cousin found James and his duchess floundering in the waters off Scotland and rescued them. James was unable to speak then. The other sea captain was skeptical of Lorena's tale—especially in the condition they were found.”
“Yes, so it seems. Lorena told me that James was in no condition to confirm their identities. Oh, Tonio, what a terrible coil this has been for them!”
Suddenly, she halted in mid-thought, wide eyed. “Good heavens, Antonio!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t think. What’s the matter with me that I didn’t remember? Everything was so…”
“What is it?”
“Neither Lorena nor James mentioned Joshua! Their son! What happened to him?” Caroline grabbed Antonio’s arm. “Did James mention anything to you about Joshua?”
“No, I didn‘t wish to press him, since he’s as befuddled as I am.” Antonio smiled crookedly. He laid a hand over hers. “Let’s take it slow, querida. We’ll learn the whole story soon enough. There’s no need to overset them.”
Captain Johnson approached with a burly looking fellow in tow. “Yer Grace, this here's Timmy Ryan, owner of the White Whale, me cousin by marriage.”
“Believe me, Yer Grace,” Timmy stammered an apology. “We had no idea the lady and gent was nobility. Me cousin, Paddy…er…Cap’n Ryan…had some idea, but thought the lady was a bit balmy herself. No one ever brung it up agin. Had we known…”
“No matter, Mr. Ryan,” Antonio answered. “From what’ve I learned, you were good enough to put a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. Although…” He paused with a twisted smile. “I suspect they worked hard hours to earn it.”
“That s'truth, Yer Grace. They was both good workers, I must admit,” he ran on nervously. “Allus did what was asked of 'em, wi' nary a sulky complaint. They was both good workers,” he repeated.
“Well, Mr. Ryan, I’d like to compensate you for your trouble…as well as your…charity.”
“No trouble, Yer Grace. No trouble a'tall.”
Antonio held out a small leather pouch and dropped it into the man's hand. “Take this, Mr. Ryan. Their Graces, James and Lorena, are going back to England with us on the Killarney. You’ll need to hire new help.”
Having stuffed his woolen cap in his coat pocket, the pub owner tugged on his reddish forelock and dipped his head. “Much obliged, Yer Grace,” Timmy said. “Aye, and a safe journey to ye.”
Captain Johnson walked to the gangplank with Tim and bade him goodbye. He returned to speak with Antonio and Caroline.
“We’ll be on our way in an hour if that meets wi' yer approval, Yer Grace. With tide and the wind at our backs, we should make Holyhead in time for yer evenin' meal.”
“Excellent, Captain. We’re ready whenever you are. We’re anxious to return to England.”
Antonio and Caroline proceeded to leave the damp, salty air and enter the warm, dry confines of their cabin.
* * * *
Running feet, creaking timbers, squeaking pulleys and shouting sailors indicated the Killarney was leaving the mooring at Dublin dock. Soon the ship was riding the waves, slipping through the fog under light sail. Waves slapped against the Killarney’s bowsprit as the sloop moved into the mainstream of the harbor. Turning seaward, the sleek vessel leaned slightly to port as a following wind filled the sails and pushed the sloop ever f
aster. Mr. Foster loaded on more canvas and steered for the open waters of the Irish Sea and Holyhead on the distant shore.
Now underway, the ship's cook sent word to Antonio and Caroline that the midday meal awaited in the captain's dining room. Caroline knocked softly on the door of the cabin Lorena and James had been given. “A hot meal is ready on the main deck. Lorena. James. Please join us.”
Lorena opened the door and Caroline gasped. It was as though a different young woman greeted her. Lorena's pale golden hair was clean and shining; her face was scrubbed clean, and her cheeks were touched with just the slightest tint of pink. But her eyes! Her eyes made all the difference in the world. They’d always been as blue as bluebells, but now they gleamed with sparkling life.
“Oh my, Lorena!” Caroline exclaimed. “We’ve not lost you, after all. I’m so glad. I can see the old Lorena in your eyes.”
Caroline had contributed undergarments and a blue, muslin morning gown for her friend. Lorena was never as voluptuous as Caroline, but the gown wasn’t too bad a fit when a sash was tightened around the duchess’s tiny waist. The gown’s color complemented her blonde hair and blue eyes.
Lorena opened the door wider, and Caroline caught sight of James. A shave and a bath certainly did wonders. His clean hair was brown, albeit tinged with touches of gray. James’s hair always had a tendency to curl. It was too long, so he’d tied it back. With the beard and side whiskers gone, the sharpened planes of his face appeared angular—and aristocratic. Antonio's white, borrowed shirt hung on his cousin’s lean frame. The gray doeskin breeches, though not as snug as they should be, clung to long legs now encased in leather boots.
It looked to Caroline that all James needed was a month or two of hearty fare, and he would be back to his former weight.
“James, you look marvelous,” Caroline told him.
The Reluctant Duke Page 27
