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

by Sandra Masters

  The three men entered the carriage, the Duke first, Sir Tomas next, and Thorn last. The footman put up the steps, closed the door, and went to his place on the board with the other footman. Thorn took it upon himself to be the talkative one, and went on about the events aboard ship to lighten the feel of things, and ease his nervousness.

  “Thorn, we’ve arranged a small celebration of your arrival at the townhouse. Do you feel that you will need to rest immediately after your long voyage – beyond time for a bath, and a change of clothes, of course?” Gordon shifted his cane.

  “No, sir. Truth be told, I was anxious to be on terra firma. I do not think I would make a worthy sailor.”

  He laughed, yet sought his father’s eyes for approval.

  “Then you are very much like me. I do prefer the feel of the brown earth under my feet over the salt water beneath the planks of a ship.”

  Polite conversation abounded, each man taking the measure of the other.

  “Father, may I speak in earnest?” Thorn asked.

  “Yes, I would have no artifice between us. To be taken from your home is a shock, I am sure, but be aware that I did not know of your birth, not until very recently. Now that I have you, I would have us earn each other’s trust.” He laughed. “I do not expect miracles, just gentlemanly honesty at all times. Can you persuade yourself to grant me that?” the Duke’s voice cracked.

  Thorn made sure to speak in his best articulate English.

  “Yes, sir, I appreciate the truth over a lie. I may not always agree with you, but if I’m allowed to speak my piece, I will speak honestly.”

  “Agreed, young man.” The conversation hushed until the Duke asked, “Tell me, how did your mother die?”

  “A strange malady overcame her. We worked at the plantation of Sir George Donegal, and we had a small house for our use. Mother was the housekeeper at the plantation. I helped train his Akhal-Teke horses for him and learned so much about those wondrous golden horses.”

  “Golden horses, you say. We have another name for them in England. I have a few Eastern blood horses who were sired by the Akhal horses of Russia. They are considered thoroughbreds here. Our stable does not have an original stud.”

  “Father, I understand your horses are noted in the General Stud Book. I should like to peruse that book, if I may.”

  “I don’t see why not. We’ll arrange it. What did you do for Sir George Donegal?”

  “I trained his Teke horses. He taught me all he knew and soon he left me with full responsibility for their care. It afforded a fair living for my mother and I.”

  “Donegal is a good man, but why did you not stay on at our plantation?” Althorn asked, brow raised.

  “I’m told that there was a problem after you left, sir. Kondo, the witch doctor, told my mother it’d be best to secure employment elsewhere, in a different parish. I had to grow up fast when Mother took sick. She couldn’t hold food and her thirst was voracious. She suffered for over nine months until the illness claimed her. Sir George sent for his English physician, but a diagnosis could not be made. Whatever it was came upon her slowly, getting steadily worse, week by week, until it used up every ounce of her strength.” Thorn inhaled, looked at the passing countryside, and regained his composure. “She died in my arms. There were only a handful of people to mourn her.”

  “How difficult all this must have been for you. I am saddened, for I remember your mother fondly. Know that I and the family will not rush you into anything. You and I shall have long talks and walks together where we will take the measure of each other.”

  Thorn looked down at his gloved hands.

  “I understand, sir.” He sat rigid in the seat as the cadence of the hoofbeats took prominence, filling a moment of silence. As they entered Grosvenor Square, where the Duke’s house was located, Thorn was agog at the number of homes, their proximity to each other, and the obvious wealth displayed. “Where do they keep the horses?” he asked, his head against the window.

  “Some homes have stables in the rear. After the passengers are let out, the horse and carriage circle to the back lane where there are entries to the mews where they are stabled, and the carriages are housed.”

  “Do you have other horses, sir?”

  “Yes, at our country estate, which is near Epsom, we have a rather full stable of blood horses, Northern blood and of course, Eastern. Some gold, but a few chestnuts and bays also.”

  “I’ve heard the terms used. I will have to study this, to understand how the English name the breeds, and what breeds are only found here, and the like. I’m only used to the Turks, to Akhal-Tekes, from the East.”

  “I would venture that we call them by different names, but that in most cases, they are one and the same. With horses, we have much to talk about, it seems. Donegal bred quality horses I gather. How much experience did you gain, in the matter of breeding?” asked the older man.

  “Quite a bit. At least I thought so.” Thorn was quick to smile. “I am a world away from comfort in such knowledge.”

  “Nonsense, Thorn, I have already seen enough to consider that you are ahead of most young men in your age group, who tend to think of pretty girls, instead of horses. Unless, of course…”

  His voice father’s voice faded away, and he gave a wry grin. Thorn shook his head.

  “I did not have time to indulge in such vices, sir. When my mother took sick, I was our only source of income – I concentrated, almost entirely, on work. Yet… yes, I do like to think of pretty young ladies. But I am not quite familiar with flirtation,” he admitted.

  Sir Tomas spoke and huffed, “Then you’ve come to the right man for such an education.” A dour look from the Duke made Sir Tomas pause. “Gordon, amigo, at least you used to be.”

  “Pay no attention, Thorn. He just likes to goad me, yet one day, he will taunt me too far.” The tone of his voice indicated not anger, but mirth in response to the comment. Thorn relaxed somewhat. “Young man, anything can be learned with a little practice. Tell me, do you dance at all?”

  “Dance? No, although I watched at times when Sir George had Balls at the plantation. His daughter tried to teach me, but I was all tangled, uncoordinated feet, and certainly more comfortable amongst the hooves of their splendid horses.”

  “Perhaps we can prevail upon Alicia to acquaint you with the steps, or we can employ a dance master. London is notorious for its Balls, with quadrilles, and the latest fad, waltzes.”

  Thorn asked, amazed, and curious, “A person can make a living teaching the dance?”

  “Yes. And a good living at that if he has a select clientele,” answered his father.

  “This is an even stranger land than I thought.”

  Thorn shook his head, bemused.

  The carriage drew to a halt.

  The house they had stopped before was enormous, its many windows glittering in the sun, and Thorn felt, again, completely out of his depth.

  Chapter Five

  Grosvenor Square, London

  The footmen descended, opened the door, and put down the steps for them to exit the carriage. The Duke went first, then Sir Tomas, followed by a speechless Thorn, whose glance came upon two young ladies, in conversation, walking in the park in the midst of the prosperous square. In passing, he wondered what they discussed.

  The heavy double doors at the top of the marble steps opened and a butler stood there, smiling.

  “Chester, this is my son, Thorn, who has come to live with us. Is his room prepared?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, as you instructed. The footmen will bring up the luggage for the young man and Sir Tomas.” He addressed Thorn, “Good evening, sir.”

  Thorn nodded, not sure how to address the Butler, but the man seemed completely unworried by his confusion.

  Chester closed the door after thy had entered, and took their hats, gloves, and canes. The Duke nodded to Chester.

  “The family is in the drawing room and awaits you.” Chester added, “The Duchess called for tea
and other drinks a short while ago, in anticipation of your arrival.”

  He led the way to the room, knocked, and opened the doors, stepping aside to allow them entrance.

  *****

  Thorn’s emotions were running at high intensity. Adjusting to having been pulled from his life in Barbados to start a new one in his father’s country was a prodigious task. He understood that his father had not known about him until his mother chose to inform the Duke, from her deathbed, yet he still held resentment for all of those lost years. All of that time, not having a respected man at his side, to guide him. Many times, he’d had to make decisions for himself and his mother without any male guidance. Those decisions were not always good ones, and he very much wished that thigs had been different.

  Thorn knew that, if he looked for faults, he would find them – no man was perfect. He also knew that it was unfair to the Duke to feel so, but nonetheless, Thorn felt abandoned.

  He wondered what, if the malaria had not made his father so ill, might have happened. Would Althorn have acknowledged his son by marrying his mother in a native ceremony? How many fights, how many jeers, how many sideward glances might Thorn have avoided by that simple circumstance, if things had happened that way?

  His mother used to say that there was a plan for his life, and that he was presented with these challenges to make him stronger, and worthy of the Lion Clan. One evening on his way home, after being jumped upon and beaten by three younger boys, he had cursed God and the Lion Clan. He’d managed to mete out punishment to them, in return, in his fury at their insults.

  That part of what his mother had said was true, the slights had made him stronger and angrier. Maybe he did have an inner lion which protected him. He’d wiped his bloody nose before he’d entered their house, so that his mother wouldn’t cry, but how could he explain the torn shirt? He’d decided that he’d wait until she retired to her room and then slip through and into his own bedroom with the stealth of a predatory cat. Now, he felt, suddenly, as if being able to sneak into the house like that would be better than facing the welcome which awaited him.

  Was this familial welcome too good to be true? Was there something in the background he did not know about?

  The frightening, cold climate imprisoned him. He would definitely need the woollen coat which Sir Tomas had spoken about. How many stares would he have to endure — like an animal in a cage? For here, he could already see just how different he was. Most of all, how would he become conditioned to this wealth and luxury? He must never forget that in many eyes — no, most eyes — he was a bastard son, a person not worth any regard or consideration. He had a name for it: degradation.

  He wished that he had asked to rest before meeting anyone else, or at least to have that bath which had been mentioned. The many weeks on board ship had left his clothes less clean than he would like, and slightly stiff with the saltiness of the sea.

  His mind roiling, he followed where he was led.

  The truth can be a lie not yet revealed. Inner turmoil shook him. His life was changing, and he had no control over it. The veins in his hand corded, ready to explode. It was as if he had blinked and suddenly, here he was in the drawing room of his father, the Duke. His conscience held guilt, and he was his own accuser. Could a young man find his destiny, or was he meant to fight it?

  The severe angles of his jaw gave him a stern appearance. It had served him well in Barbados. Suddenly, he felt alone. All alone with his memories — no longer able to claim the vibrant soul of the island as his own, he was a stranger in a strange land.

  He didn’t want to lose, or regret the past in the hope of enjoyment of his future. Everything was a mist to him, like a veil had been erected in front of him, and only opaque images emerged. Was this the work of the Lion Clan welcoming him — or warning him to beware? He heard faint music in his head. It was the native chant that had always fascinated and comforted him, an echo of his past come to haunt him.

  This English law did not care for low bastards, no matter the patronage of a father. He bit into his lip and returned to reality. He was a good man. He would show them all. His hands fisted.

  Thorn wondered how many minutes had passed? Had someone spoken to him and wondered when he had not answered?

  Oh, Mother, why did I promise to come here to be consigned to oblivion?

  The Duke entered with a spritely walk, kissed his mother and his wife, and nodded to Alicia and his son. They all rose, and there were many smiles, yet silence remained.

  “Thorn, may I introduce you to your grandmother, Madelaine, the Dowager Duchess of Althorn. She will, most likely, allow you to call her Lady Madelaine, or grandmother.”

  The Dowager gave a large sigh.

  “It is good to meet you, young man. I am so excited to hear about your travels. I know that you must be tired from such a journey, but welcome, dear grandson. Welcome.”

  She hugged and kissed him. Thorn looked up and his eyes traveled to the large crowns moulded into the plaster of the ceilings, and to the carvings of the centre chandelier. The opulence impressed and overwhelmed him at the same time. Embarrassed and nervous, he allowed himself to be captured in her arms.

  “Thank you, Grandmother,” he finally spoke.

  “This lady is my wife - Cassandra. My Duchess.”

  She went to Thorn, a gentle look in her eyes.

  “We’d have known you anywhere, young man. You look so much like your father. Isn’t that so, Mother Madelaine?” She turned to the Dowager, who smiled broadly. “Welcome, Thorn.”

  His stepmother was visibly pregnant. He couldn’t keep his gaze from her face and hair.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked in a whisper.

  “No, not at all. Sir Tomas explained that your hair rivals spun gold. He was right. I would say that it’s even more beautiful than my gold Akhal-Teke horses’ metallic sheen.”

  “Why, Thorn, that is a beautiful compliment coming from such a learned gentleman.” She addressed her husband. “My dear, you have never made such a comparison.”

  Her laughter was devilish, and his father grinned in response.

  “It appears that I am being outdone in charm by this young man, who claims that he doesn’t know about flirtation and compliments.” Thorn’s cheeks burned, but he was intelligent enough not to speak. He’d noticed the pretty young girl who had been standing to one side, waiting to be introduced. She was tall, blue eyed, with honey blonde hair, and a pert upturned noise. She was ready to blossom into a beauty, that much was immediately obvious. Now she stepped forward, and his father waved in her direction. “And this is my wife’s ward, Miss Alicia Montgomery.

  “Dear Thorn.” Alicia went up to him. “These older people tend to think that we have no ears for hearing, but I welcome you, too. It will be nice to have a young gentleman in the house.”

  He nodded to her.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Alicia.”

  “Posh, Thorn, when we are at home, we use first names. Please call me Alicia. We save the honorifics for public occasions.”

  Thorn felt his nerves ease somewhat.

  “The young gentleman by your side, is this Gordon, Marquess of Carsedge?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “He is your half-brother, but in this house, no one is a half-anything.” She looked to the Duke. “Isn’t that so, Uncle?”

  “Correct, Alicia, as usual.”

  The Duke grinned.

  Thorn went to Gordon, nodded, and extended his hand.

  “I am pleased to meet you, young gentleman.”

  The two shook hands. His father’s voice came to him then, filled with amusement.

  “Ladies, I fear that we have a well-bred charmer on our hands. We should prepare to have a number of female guests descend upon us.”

  The Duke’s grin was obvious in its intent.

  “He obviously takes after his father,” the Duchess joked. “Let us please sit and not make Thorn more anxious about meeting us.” She walked to a table set with
beverages of all types, including Barbados rum, which Sir Tomas had said he preferred. “Mother Madelaine, this is a special occasion. What would you like?”

  Each person was asked for their preference. The men opted for alcoholic liquors, and the women opted for ratafia. When it came to Thorn, he declared, “I am not used to English liquor, but I would like a taste of the dark rum, if it is permitted.”

  Sir Tomas was the first to answer.

  “This is a celebratory occasion. In fact, I will pour you the dark rum you say you like.”

  The Duke raised his glass.

  “A toast to our new arrival to our English shore, our home, and our hearts. To Thorn, our son.”

  Thorn choked on the recognition. Our son. Our hearts. I wonder how they truly feel. Could this be pretence or is it genuine? Thorn had been prepared to be polite, but he wasn’t prepared for affection.

  Meeting this family affected him deeply. He attempted to keep his emotions in check and sat next to his grandmother whose gentle laughter conquered all. Cassandra was the first to speak.

  “Thorn, we will need to know what food you like. I do hope that our English food does not upset your digestion. At times, it is hard on newcomers. However, I do know that most British desserts are relished all over the world.”

  The Duke chimed in, “Be careful, son. She makes a mean humble pie,” and everyone laughed.

  “You cook?” he asked, astonished.

  “Yes, I learned at a young age, when I was orphaned. When all is lost, I go to the kitchen.” Her smile was sincere, and her laughter lilted. “I’ll tell you a secret, this house is noted for its decadent Italian pastries also. Promise you’ll let us know what you like best… and what you like least.”

  “Dare I ask,” Thorn questioned, “what is in this humble pie?”