Never a Duke, page 28
Ned hauled her into his arms and kissed her. “I love you too. Madly.”
He strode off, an impressive figure of a man determined to see justice done, while Rosalind stood by the coach, clutching a wad of very fine cravats and grinning like an utter goose.
* * *
Old skills stirred back to life as Ned trailed after Bob and Walden.
The ability to add a little swagger to a casual stroll, signaling to passersby that this is my patch, and you’d best watch your step around a canny lad like me.
The ability to take in details with a glance, such as the slight unsteadiness of one guard’s gait, the woman in the trailing group whose dress was styled with an out-of-date high waist. An elderly man who stood not far from the possibly expecting woman, jingling a few coins in his pocket.
Bob approached a pair of fellows loading crates of clucking chickens into a skiff. The boat was large enough to hold a dozen women, and nondescript enough to approach the Tantalus without causing comment.
“We’re in luck,” Bob said, a few moments later. “This load of fowl is marked for the Tantalus. Ship oars, me hearties, and look lively.”
“We don’t have time to unload a pile of damned chickens in the middle of the Pool,” Walden groused. “I did not part with my cuff links to—”
“We need the chickens to allay suspicion.” Ned passed Bob a crate. “We need space for the women too.”
They soon had half the cargo clucking on the dock, and were rowing away from the quay.
“Not so vigorously,” Ned said, when Walden would have rowed them clear down to the Channel. “We’re looking for a boat full of women departing from a dock other than the one where all the crying is coming from.”
As he watched, the last group of women—the aged and infirm—were herded into a boat.
“What do you want to bet,” Bob murmured, “they simply row them across and turn them loose on the Isle of Dogs?”
“Some of them would not have survived the voyage,” Walden said, as the boat left the dock. “Transportation used to be a more carefully regulated affair, but now it’s causing more problems than it solves. The colonies accepted the free labor at first, but now…”
“Now?” Ned asked, scanning the darkening water for another boat full of women. Young, strong, healthy women caught up in a vile, greedy scheme.
“Now we know that the dire threat of transportation has done nothing to reduce the incidence of crime here at home,” Walden said. “Transportation was supposed to be a deterrent, a terrible fate that frightened the criminal class into a sober re-evaluation of their felonious ways.”
Bob, sitting in the prow, snorted. “Some lord thought up that reasoning, some lord who believes an empty belly can sort out levels of hell according to the Crown’s convenience. I ate better on the transport ship than I had in years.”
“Or some lord,” Ned said, “wanted another colony settled for the good of merry olde England, and to hell with crime rates, deterrents, and starving lads. Rosalind and Artie are on the quay.”
“Getting ready to make a diversion?” Walden asked.
Darkness was falling in earnest, and still no little boat full of young women had pushed away from the shore.
“Tide’s about to change,” Bob said. “You live in a port town, you learn to feel it. You can feel the storms coming, the hot spells bearing down. I’d go inland to deliver an order, and be surprised by a passing shower, but on shore, I know what’s coming, and I know from what direction.”
Direction. Ned swung his gaze across the water, toward the London side of the river. “There,” he said softly. “They’re rowing them over from the other bank. That boat.”
“Awfully quiet for a boatload of kidnapped women,” Walden said, taking up his oar. “Let’s treat with the pirates, shall we?”
“Let me spell you, Ned,” Bob said, shifting to the middle of boat. “You’ll sound like you mean business without coming off like a nob.”
“Right,” Ned replied, taking up the perch in the prow. “Walden, do not open your mouth unless you can summon your best Yorkshire dialect.”
“Ye’ll nowt hear a waird from me, sair.”
As the two boats drew closer, Ned sent up a prayer that Reggie Sharp was not on the other vessel. Even in the dim light, recognition was possible.
“Ahoy, lads,” Ned called when the boats were several yards apart. “Been a change in plans.”
“Nobody said nothin’ about a change in plans,” came the reply.
“Captain of the Tantalus is on deck,” Ned rejoined. “Checkin’ off this and pokin’ ’is nose into the middle of that. We’ll take the ladies the rest of the way.”
A muttered exchange took place on the other boat. “Says who?”
“Says the man whose job it is to get these women on board without a fuss. You either swap with us, or the tide will settle the argument and you’ll be left to make the awkward explanations to himself.”
The women were silent, sitting on the benches three abreast. Ned counted a dozen huddled and cloaked figures, hoods drawn up, in addition to the four men rowing the boat.
“How do I know you won’t keep the ladies for yourself?” the largest of the four asked, as the tide brought the two boats into bumping proximity.
“I will keep ’em for myself,” Ned said, “all the way to Botany Bay if they’re pretty and willing, but I don’t have time to dicker with you lot when the Tantalus is about to weigh anchor. Off your arses and take this load of chickens back to the dock. No room in the hold for ’em.”
“This ain’t the plan. We take the women to the ship, we don’t hand ’em over to—”
“Stop, thief!” Rosalind’s voice sang out from the quay, as Artie darted off down the shore. “He has my reticule. That boy stole my reticule!”
“Give the man what he wants,” said another of the sailors. “We done our bit. Missus could use a pullet or two and now the constable will be coming around.”
“Aye,” said a second. “Don’t fancy runnin’ into the Thames police tonight of all nights.”
Walden rose, and his height and muscle might well have decided the matter. He stepped from one boat to the other, making both ships rock. The rest of the exchange went smoothly, and the sound of clucking chickens was soon fading into the dark.
“The women are bound and gagged,” Bob said, tipping back one woman’s hood. “Drugged too, would be my guess.”
“Walden, row like hell,” Ned said, taking up an oar. “If the constable catches Artie, there’s no telling what will become of him. Ladies, you are safe. You are not to be transported, but we do want to know who did this to you.”
Between the changing tide, the darkness, and the worry that somebody on the Tantalus would realize a boatload of women had gone missing, the docks seemed to recede rather than come closer.
“Taylor,” Walden said, “assist your brother.”
With Ned and Bob on one oar, and Walden single-handedly manning the other, the boat finally neared the docks.
“Upstream,” Ned said. “Away from the quay, away from the hulk. Get us upstream.”
Walden rowed as if driven by steam, his rhythm tireless, like a man who’d taken on single combat with the Thames itself.
“Thank God for well-fed dukes,” Bob muttered, slumping over the oar when they finally bumped against a deserted dock. The nearest lit torch was a good twenty yards away, on the shore itself. “My arms are ready to fall off.”
As were Ned’s. “We’re not home free yet. Get the women on shore and keep them quiet.”
The ladies seemed to sense the need for haste and silence because they climbed from the boat and stumbled to shore with little prompting. They remained silent even when the bindings and gags had been removed and tossed into the river.
“The Tantalus hasn’t gone anywhere,” Walden remarked, as he, Bob, and Ned shepherded the ladies toward the coach.
“I know,” Ned said, “and we still don’t know who’s behind this scheme, but I would love to turn the ladies loose on him in a dark alley.”
“These ladies are in no fit state to…” Walden’s smile was piratical. “Ah, my duchess has come to the rescue.” Behind the ducal town coach stood another even larger vehicle, the ducal traveling coach. “She and Lady Rosalind will have all in hand, and we gents can stand around looking humble and harmless.”
“We are humble and harmless,” Ned said. “Though you missed your calling, Your Grace.”
“I spent a few summers on fishing vessels,” Walden replied. “Old skills come in handy from time to time, don’t they? Let’s report for duty, lads.”
The Duchess of Walden treated Ned to a regal nod, then turned her attention to the ladies. Ned was fretting over Artie’s whereabouts as Rosalind saw the last woman into the traveling coach.
“They’re mostly unharmed,” she said, embracing Ned tightly. “You did it. They are safe and whole and will soon come right. Artie’s sister, Arbuckle, Campbell, and Miss Henderson, among them. Thank you.”
Ned hugged her back. “We did it, my lady. You and I, assisted by family. We did it.”
“We did. We absolutely did.” Then Ned’s beloved kissed him smack on the mouth.
* * *
“I sent a note to Mrs. Barnstable informing her that you will enjoy my hospitality tonight,” Her Grace of Walden said, passing Rosalind a delicate silver flask. “She replied by package, which I’ve had put into Ned’s coach. I intimated that you and I had run across each other while shopping and decided to share supper. Your company is so congenial that I’ve inveigled you into an evening of cards with me, and Mrs. Barnstable should not look for you before morning.”
Her Grace had seen the rescued women fed and billeted in the Wentworth town house with a dispatch Rosalind could only envy. The Wentworth family had gathered in the breakfast parlor thereafter and consumed enough food to feed the Congress of Vienna.
When the men had withdrawn to enjoy brandy in the library, Her Grace had commandeered another few minutes of Rosalind’s time. They lounged on opposite ends of a sofa that was comfortable enough to put thoughts of slumber into a tired lady’s mind.
Rosalind took the flask and had a nip, something she hadn’t done previously outside the huntfield or the sickroom.
“Thank you,” she said, passing the flask back. “For the medicinal tot, and for everything. We are very much in your debt.” Though the duchess’s sops to propriety would likely mean nothing in the face of the scandal about to break.
Her Grace had an imperial dignity, much like her husband. Unlike him, she smiled often and warmly. She linked arms with Rosalind, touched her sleeve, and generally comported herself like an auntie at large.
Or a mama. Her Grace had four daughters, after all.
The flask disappeared into the duchess’s pocket. “I haven’t had this much fun since Stephen courted Abigail. You really must bring Ned up to scratch, my lady. Walden says the foundation has been laid, but one wants a marriage, not merely a proposal.”
One wanted one’s beloved to be happy. “Ned proposed and I accepted.” The moment had been lovely, a little awkward, and fleeting. “He and I still have much to discuss.”
The duchess toed off her slippers and propped her feet on a hassock. “He’s told you about Newgate?”
“About Newgate, about attempting to starve himself, about his brother’s hanging.” Rosalind kept to herself the incident in the molly house. “He also told me about the Royal Navy kidnapping his father, consumption kidnapping his mother, and London itself trying to kidnap his human decency. I admire him all the more for what he has overcome, Your Grace. You need never defend him to me.”
Her Grace shoved a pillow behind her back. “Good. Now perhaps Ned will realize—”
A soft tap on the door heralded the arrival of Rosalind’s intended. He’d found a fresh neckcloth somewhere and reassembled himself into a natty, if weary, version of the successful banker.
“Your Grace, my lady.” He bowed and Rosalind got to her feet. “The women having been settled, I thought I’d see Lady Rosalind home.”
The duchess rose and stretched, a languorous, feline indulgence.
“I’ll bid you good night, Lady Rosalind,” Her Grace said, gathering Rosalind in her arms. “You have done a remarkable, courageous thing—many remarkable courageous things—and when next you meet with your animal welfare associations, I hope you will invite me to join you.”
The duchess was a grand lady, both in terms of her consequence and in terms of her stately proportions. She didn’t feel like a grand lady when she hugged Rosalind. She felt like a dear friend and the embodiment of feminine kindness.
Like a godmother, perhaps.
“Aunt Ida would like you,” Rosalind said, easing away. “I know of no higher praise, Your Grace.”
“Ned likes you,” Her Grace replied, smoothing the sleeve of Rosalind’s dress. “I know of no higher praise. Ned, don’t keep her ladyship up too late. I will expect you back here in the morning. A dozen very upset women need sorting, and I am not equal to that whole challenge on my own.”
“You are,” Ned said, kissing her cheek. “Good night, Your Grace.”
Ned held the door for Rosalind and the duchess, though Her Grace paused on the threshold. “You do know I’m so proud of you I could have Walden inflict a barony on you, Ned?”
He shuddered, and Rosalind thought the reaction genuine.
“Please do not,” Ned said. “Lend your consequence to my small investors’ projects or Rosalind’s charities, but spare me your baronies.”
She patted his lapel. “I knew you’d say that, but Walden did want me to ask.”
His Grace joined them at the foot of the steps, and though he still carried himself with the severe dignity of a ranking peer, he also had a jam stain on his cuff.
“The nursery is settled,” he said, “and thus the realm is safe for another few hours. Lady Rosalind, the day has been a delight.” He bowed over her hand, then turned to Ned. “I was right in what I said about family, Ned. I am frequently right.”
His duchess looked amused at that pronouncement. “Wish them good night, Walden. I require your escort up to bed.”
The duke offered Ned his hand. “If you want to resume using the Taylor name, I’ll see to the legal filings, but you will always be a Wentworth. Her Grace and I expect to serve as godparents to your firstborn. The line will form thereafter with Stephen and Abigail no doubt at its head, but I wouldn’t put it past Rothhaven and Constance to sniggle in front of them.”
In Rosalind’s experience, when men hugged, the gesture was a fleeting sort of wrestling hold that occurred only after consumption of strong spirits. Pummeling was involved, followed by self-conscious disregard for the affectionate display.
Walden drew Ned into a hug, and Ned surrendered to the embrace, resting his forehead on the duke’s shoulder. “I was terrified.”
“I know, lad.” The duke patted Ned’s back gently. “So was I. You were willing to take on the whole Royal Navy and my money would have been on you. All’s well now, thanks to ye and the lady.”
There was the Yorkshire growl, and there was Her Grace, blinking rapidly as she gazed at her duke and the boy who’d saved him.
“Ned and Lady Rosalind must be exhausted, Walden, as am I. Shall we to bed?”
The duke let Ned go and took his wife’s hand. “Good night, then. Thank you both for a fine day’s adventure.” His Grace bowed to Rosalind and processed up the steps with his duchess.
“Shall I take you home?” Ned asked. “You are doubtless welcome to stay here, and I’m sure the duchess would—”
Rosalind put a finger to his lips. “The duchess already has. The coach awaits, Ned, and yes, it’s time you took me home—with you.”
Ned grasped her hand. “With me?”
Rosalind nodded. “Take me to your house. Her Grace has seen fresh clothing packed for me in your coach, and she all but ordered me to avail myself of your hospitality—not that I needed her encouragement.” Though having that encouragement meant worlds.
Ned linked his fingers with Rosalind’s. “You are sure?”
“I am absolutely certain, and we are wasting time.”
“Far be it from me to argue with a lady at the end of such a trying day.” He offered his arm and Rosalind took it. No duke had ever handed his duchess into a coach with more dignity, or—once the horses were trotting along—been kissed by his duchess with more passion.
* * *
“Bob has accepted Lord Stephen’s hospitality,” Ned said, as the coach swayed around a corner. “They were in the thick of a discussion about the challenges of growing cotton in New South Wales when they departed.”
And seeing Bob casually climb into Lord Stephen’s coach had been daunting. Bob had climbed right back out, punched Ned on the arm, and promised to have lunch with him at the club the next day. Once an older brother, always an older brother—thank the Deity.
“Did you want to run after Lord Stephen’s coach to make sure they went no farther than his lordship’s residence?” Rosalind asked.
“Yes, and to pitch his lordship to the cobbles for stealing my brother.” Except, Stephen had been right to offer Ned a respite from Bob’s company. “I haven’t asked if Bob is home to stay, or whether he’ll return to his shop in the Antipodes. Our father is there. Papa never remarried, and he’s minding the shop for Bob. Bob nipped out to deliver an order one day and he saw this older fellow sitting on a bench, staring out across the water. After all the misery we’ve been put through, they just bumped into each other on the other side of the world. That was years ago, and all this time, they talked of looking for me.”
Rosalind snuggled closer. “You are overdue for some miracles, Ned, and there’s time to sort it all out. Bob didn’t come all this way only to jump on the next outbound ship.”
Rosalind was asking Ned for a respite too, from all that still required sorting out. “I want you to know something, my lady.”
