Page 97 of Never a Duke
“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 theTantaluswould 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.
“TheTantalushasn’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.
