Duke of a Gilded Age (35 page)

Only a slight tenderness remained when Wesley tested his ankle that morning, so he returned his borrowed walking stick to Cavendish.

“I think you may safely pack this away.”

“Are you sure, Your Grace?” Cavendish replied. “You never know what rascals you may encounter at breakfast amongst the kippers.”

Wesley laughed. “If I should come across any rascals, I’ll dispatch them with my fork.”

When he left his cabin, he paused at the railing to admire the approaching Ireland coastline. Dubbed Emerald Isle in the poem
When Erin First Rose
by William Drennan, the island was an astonishing green, with rolling low hills and majestic, craggy cliffs seemingly carved out by the teeth of an enormous giant. Although Wesley remembered the poem, the words hadn’t really resonated with him until now.

“
‘The em’rald of Europe, it sparkled and shone, in the ring of the world the most precious stone
,’” he quoted. “What a marvelous sight.”

His mother emerged from her cabin and joined him at the railing.

“Good morning, Mother.” He nodded toward the coastline. “Nothing could be quite as beautiful as one’s first glimpse of Ireland.”

“Nor so sad as one’s last,” she replied. “I thought I’d never see it again. How peculiar are the twists and turns of life.”

“I wish Father could’ve been here.”

Lady Frederic squeezed his arm. “I think he must be watching over you, like a guardian angel.”

At that, Wesley’s heart lifted. “I hope so.”

The atmosphere inside the crowded saloon was thick with excitement and anticipation.

“I sense everyone is eager for the journey to be over,” Lady Frederic said, as she glanced around the dining hall searching for a place to sit. “Oh, there’s Miss Oakhurst.”

As they approached her table, Belle glanced up from the
Gazette
. Wesley hoped the particular warmth of her smile wasn’t wishful thinking on his part.

“Good morning!” She set her paper aside. “Please join me for breakfast.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Lady Frederic said.

Wesley took the chair next to Belle. She was wearing the same pink and white dress he’d seen on their outing in Central Park, and looked very pretty.

“The coast of Ireland is within view, Miss Oakhurst,” he said. “Did you happen to see it?”

“Yes I did, and it’s incredibly gorgeous.”

“Are you all packed?” he asked.

“I am, but I’ve yet to pack my father’s things. I’m going to be very busy today.”

“May I ask after your father?” Lady Frederic asked.

“He’s doing splendidly, but the doctor has forbidden him from lifting anything,” Belle said. “I dread the idea he must be moved at all, but it can’t be helped.”

“After Cavendish returns from his breakfast, I’ll send him to your father’s cabin to help you, Miss Oakhurst,” Wesley said. “The efficient soul has already packed up my things.”

“I would welcome Cavendish’s assistance, Your Grace. Thank you.”

“Mrs. Neal shall be very busy packing today too,” Lady Frederic said. “It’s a good thing we aren’t disembarking at Queenstown or we’d never be ready in time.”

“You’re in the
Gazette
this morning, milady,” Belle said. “Did you know?”

Lady Frederic’s eyes grew wide. “What?” She picked up the paper and peered at the headlines.

“It seems you were spotted talking with Captain Howe, on the bridge.” Belle gave Wesley a wink.

Lady Frederic’s eyes darted back and forth as she read, and her nostrils flared in annoyance. After she finished, she folded the paper up into quarters and placed it back on the table with a sharp tap. “How despicable! I’m most assuredly
not
smitten with our dear captain. I was merely asking him a question about nautical charts.”

Her cheeks had flushed a bright scarlet, and Wesley stifled a grin.

“Well, Mother, you said you’d be disappointed unless you were featured in the
Gazette
. What do you think now?”

“I don’t wish to speak of it further.” With her dignity drawn up around her like a cloak, Lady Frederic beckoned to a waiter to take her breakfast order.

The
City of New York
weighed anchor in Cork Harbor, Ireland, and a tender was dispatched from shore. As Captain Yarborough, his crew, and the passengers waited on deck for the tender to arrive, Wesley searched for Matteo. Over the big man’s protests, Wesley pressed a gold coin into his hand.

“
Un regalo per fortuna
,” Wesley said. A gift for luck.

An Olympus Shipping Company representative and an Italian interpreter came aboard when the tender arrived. The representative, Mr. Martin, explained that the passengers were to lodge at a hotel in Queenstown until another New York-bound ship could be readied. As the interpreter repeated the information in Italian, Mrs. Stilton brushed past with Princess in her arms.

“I’m staying on board this ship,” she said to Mr. Martin. “I
insist
on disembarking in Liverpool!”

Captain Yarborough plucked the dog from her. “
You
may stay, madam, but the dog goes.”

With the quivering Princess under his arm, the captain headed for the tender, resolute. Mrs. Stilton trembled with outrage for a moment before she followed him. The remaining passengers laughed and burst into applause.

For Wesley, the rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity. He had many people on board to thank and to bid good-bye. Fond farewells were exchanged with Mr. Ley, the Egermanns, the Van Eycks, and the Stengers. As the ship sailed into the River Mersey and approached Liverpool, however, it was only Belle’s company he craved. They stood on deck together, admiring the sailing ships and cargo vessels moored to the many interconnected and enclosed granite-rimmed docks. Warehouses lined the river, and Wesley was agog at the miles and miles of bustling commerce.

“Liverpool has an intimate American connection,” Belle said. “The Confederate Navy built their fleet here.”

“Really?” He shook his head in amazement. “I understood Liverpool was a port, but I had no idea how truly vast it would be.”

“That’s because the Mersey is so deep, so far larger ships can be accommodated. Also, the rail system in and out of Liverpool is extensive.”

Wesley glanced over at Belle, whose eyes were sparkling with infectious enthusiasm and pride for her country. She’d been away from home for over a month, and had nearly lost her father in the process of bringing the eleventh Duke of Mansbury back to England. A wave of gratitude swept over him. “Thank you, Belle.”

“For what?”

“You were expecting to find a sophisticated aristocrat in America and instead you got me—with my rough edges and all. Thank you for your help and friendship. I don’t think I could do this without you.”

She leaned toward him. “You aren’t what I expected, Wesley, but you’ve far surpassed anything I could’ve imagined.”

Belle’s lips curved into a sweet smile, and if there hadn’t been so many people around, Wesley would have kissed her. The moment passed, however, and the
City of New York
drew alongside its landing stage. When the ocean liner dropped anchor, a loud cheer arose from the passengers on deck.

“Welcome to England, Wesley Parker, Duke of Mansbury,” Belle said over the din.

Before any of the passengers were allowed to disembark, two Liverpool policemen came aboard to investigate the shooting. They interviewed Wesley, Cavendish, Mr. Oakhurst, the two captains, and Mr. Vane. Apparently satisfied with the answers they received, the policemen gave permission for the disembarkation to proceed. Passengers and their luggage began to stream down the gangplank like a giddy parade.

Mr. Oakhurst was furnished with an elaborately carved, three-wheeled invalid chair, and a crewman pushed him all the way to the street. Although Mr. Oakhurst was assisted into a waiting cab as gently as possible, a wince of pain flitted across his features. Wesley helped Lady Frederic and Belle into the cab, gave directions to Mr. Cavendish and Mrs. Neal as to the luggage, and climbed in himself.

“I hope you’re not too uncomfortable, Mr. Oakhurst,” he said.

“Nothing that a nice cup of tea won’t cure.”

As the cab lurched forward, its wheels rattled against the rough pavement. Belle nearly bit her lip with worry, but her father patted her arm with his left hand.

“I’m fine, Belle, really,” he said.

Lady Frederic glanced at the bandage looped around Mr. Oakhurst’s neck, supporting his right extremity. “Does that sling help at all?”

“Surprisingly, it does,” he said. “Mr. Vane lectured me most severely about keeping the arm still.”

“I wish you could sleep in your own bed tonight, Papa,” Belle said.

“And miss the turtle soup at the Adelphi? I think not.”

“Is their turtle soup good?” Wesley asked.

“World famous,” Belle replied.

“The hotel keeps turtle tanks underground, and they make quite a business of soup,” Mr. Oakhurst said.

“I’ll have to try some,” Wesley said. “Turtle soup sounds very British.”

Lady Frederic gasped.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” he asked.

She gave him a teary smile. “I just realized I’m home.”

The journey by rail from Liverpool to Mansbury the following day took many hours and required several transfers. By the time the Oakhursts and Parkers arrived at the small Mansbury train station, Mr. Oakhurst was visibly exhausted and quite pale. Wesley immediately engaged one of the waiting cabs to transport Belle, Mr. Oakhurst, and their luggage home. After Mr. Oakhurst was settled in the cab, Wesley turned to Belle.

“This is good-bye for now,” he said.

“I hope you find Caisteal Park to your liking,” she said.

“I’m sure that I will. I’ll visit you tomorrow, to see how you and your father are getting on.”

“With everything attendant to settling in, you may not be able to spare the time.”

He handed her into the cab. “I’ll make the time, I promise.”

As the Oakhurst’s cab drove away, Wesley felt almost a physical pain. Cavendish approached.

“A carriage is waiting for you and milady, Your Grace,” he said. “Mrs. Neal and I will be along with the luggage directly.”

“Thank you, Cavendish.”

Wesley joined his mother inside the cab, which then drove through town on its way to Caisteal Park.

“So this is where Father grew up? I can’t picture it somehow,” he said.

“He adored Mansbury. When Septimus refused to share his inheritance, Frederic felt he must leave altogether. It was simply too painful for him to stay any longer.”

Lady Frederic went on to tell Wesley a little about the town; Mansbury was a charming and prosperous place, founded centuries prior on either side of a narrow, meandering stream. Picturesque stone bridges served to unite the two halves of the town, and barefooted children could often be found playing at the water’s edge. Main Street was no Fifth Avenue, but its numerous, ivy-covered shops did a brisk trade in everything from bread to yarn. Clustered around the town, tidy farms raised sheep, goats, or cultivated grapes.