Mr. Ritchie stood awkwardly just inside the door slightly behind her father. He looked, if possible, even more handsome than he had last night. He was dressed neatly, and carried off his slightly unfashionable clothes with unconscious flair. If his boots were not quite so dazzlingly shiny as they should have been, Cassandra did not care to notice.
“Cassandra is not a child any longer, so please do not address her as such,” her mother said coldly to Sir Lionel.
“Er, yes, yes, of course. Keep forgetting,” Sir Lionel said, now looking as awkward as Mr. Ritchie. However, he quickly regained his equilibrium and turned to present Mr. Ritchie.
“Er, Cassandra, you remember my clerk, Julian Ritchie?”
“Yes, of course. How do you do, sir?” Cassandra stood to curtsy to him.
“It is an honor, Miss Renwick,” Mr. Ritchie said, bowing to her formally. He stole a glance at Cassandra’s mother and then back, nervously holding a small package made up of a broad green leaf.
Lady Renwick could not have looked any less welcoming. Her mouth was pinched together and looked like she was physically holding back a scathing comment.
Cassandra’s hoped that her mother wouldn’t be so rude to the poor gentleman as she had been the night before. She tried to smile reassuringly and tell him with her eyes that she welcomed him even if her mother did not.
He seemed to understand, for he took a deep breath and, with a quick glance at Lady Renwick, he stepped forward holding out the package toward Cassandra. “I, I brought these for you.”
“Thank you,” she said. She opened the leaf and was greeted with an intense smell from the pretty little white flowers that lay inside. “Oh, these are lovely!”
It was different from anything she had ever smelled before—sweet and spicy at the same time and utterly delicious. She picked up one of the flowers and found that they were all attached along a string.
Holding it up she asked, “Do you wear them like a necklace?”
“Er, no. Ladies wear them in their hair.” He paused and then stepped forward even closer. “If I may?”
He gently took the flowers from her hand and then moved behind her.
As he wound the flowers around the knot of hair at the top of her head, she could feel the heat emanating from his body. An overwhelming desire to close her eyes and lean backward toward him overcame her, but she held herself straight and away.
There was something about this man—he was tall and broad, not in a frightening way like Lord Felbridge, but in a comforting way, as if he could protect her from the world with a wave of his strong arm.
All too soon, he came back around to face her, standing a proper distance away. His color was slightly heightened and she supposed hers was as well.
“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to make her voice work properly.
She wished she could move closer to him. It had been such a wonderful sensation being so near him, but the spell was abruptly broken when her father cleared his throat.
Cassandra blinked and suddenly became aware of everything around her again. How had she forgotten where she was, and goodness, that her parents were in the room?
“Sir Lionel, don’t you and Mr. Ritchie have work to which you must attend?” her mother’s voice sounded strained and clipped.
“Er, yes, well, that is, I do. Ritchie’s day off, you know,” her father said, and then quickly disappeared out the door without another word.
Mr. Ritchie’s eyes opened wide at Sir Lionel’s defection. His mouth opened as if he were going to say something, but Lady Renwick cut him off.
“Well, in that case, Mr. Ritchie, I am certain you have to be somewhere else.” she said pointedly.
Mr. Ritchie caught Cassandra’s eye. She silently pleaded with him to stay, but tried to show that she would understand if he did not want to. Her mother, however, could not have been any less obvious in her dismissal.
His blue eyes seemed to apologize to her as he said, “Yes, I am afraid that I do need to go.”
He paused and then a twinkle of mischief shone from his eyes. “I did, however, wish to be introduced to Miss Renwick... properly. It has been an honor.”
With that he bowed to the ladies and left.
Cassandra wanted to laugh. Not only had he stood up to her mother, but he had very cleverly given her the stab of his anger. Perhaps he wasn’t totally helpless after all.
Her mother, however, was clearly not pleased. “I told you, Cassandra, that man goes beyond the line of proper behavior. Putting flowers in your hair and being rude to his superiors!”
Yes, there is certainly much to be admired in Mr. Ritchie.
Julian stopped just inside the door to his house. He removed his boots with a great deal of care, so as to not scratch them further. Placing them next to a few pairs of women’s sandals, he walked down the hallway in his stockinged feet, humming a jaunty tune.
Entering the drawing room, he found his mother sitting with her back against a bolster on the thickly carpeted floor, savoring a cup of tea.
She looked up when he entered the room, and a broad smile spread over her beautiful round face. “Julian!”
“Good morning, Ma. Tea-time already?” Julian greeted his mother in her native language, Bengali, and then bowed down to touch her feet in the traditional Indian greeting to elders.
She accepted her son’s gesture by moving her feet so Julian could reach them better and lovingly touched the top of his head.
“Stop teasing me! I have finally sat down after seeing to the household. Now what mischief are you up to today?” she asked, gently putting down her tea cup.
“Mischief? Me? What makes you ask that, Ma?” he asked innocently. Settling himself on the floor at his mother’s side, he reached out and helped himself to a piece of sondesh, a Bengali sweet, from a tray in front of his mother.
His mother slapped his hand indulgently, but then moved the plate to within his reach.
Eyeing him with mock criticism, she switched to her faultless English and said, “Well, first of all you are dressed in your best day clothes, although I still do not like that waistcoat. You should really buy yourself some new clothes, my son.”
Julian’s smile faded. “These clothes are perfectly serviceable. I like this waistcoat, it shows off my eyes, doesn’t it?” He opened his eyes wide so that she could see how blue they looked with his blue waistcoat.
“Yes, it does,” his mother replied indulgently. “You look very handsome. So, tell me, where have you been visiting looking so nice?”
“Oh, just to the home of Sir Lionel,” Julian said as nonchalantly as he could. “Is there any lemonade? It is getting quite warm out.”
“Do not try and puff me off, Julian. I know you have been up to something!” his mother said, cocking her head back to give him a teasingly suspicious look.
“I am not trying to puff you off. I did go to Sir Lionel’s house,” he insisted, and then added with a grin, “And it is very warm out.”
He should have known that he would not be able to put one over his mother–she was too sharp. He laughed quietly to himself when he thought of all the times he had tried to hide something from her. She had always found out.
She rose and, slightly adjusting her flowing sari, moved to the door to ask a servant to fetch lemonade for him. Returning, she said with a little smile, “Perhaps I should ask not where you have been, but whom you have met?”
“Miss Renwick. And Lady Renwick, of course,” he answered honestly, but did not volunteer any more information than that.
His mother’s curved eyebrows rose, but the smile faded from her face. “Ah, Miss Renwick! Tell me more about this Miss Renwick.”
“She just arrived from England two weeks ago. I met her last night at the ball I attended,” Julian explained.
“I suppose that explains the nice clothes.”
He laughed and then took a drink from the lemonade handed to him by a servant. “Yes, well, I did want to make a good impression.�
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He paused as he put down his drink. “Lady Renwick, however, dismissed me almost the minute she saw me.”
His mother’s face sobered. “That woman!”
“Now, now, Ma, you know how she is. She has never been kind to me. She simply will not accept me, because…” Julian left his sentence unfinished. They both knew exactly why Lady Renwick would not accept Julian.
His mother’s face lost all good humor. She looked down at her hands. “It is not as if you were completely abandoned by your father, like so many,” she said quietly.
The anger that Julian had felt the previous night after learning of Reggie’s promotion burning in the pit of his stomach.
Julian sipped his lemonade, saying nothing. There was, after all, nothing to say that had not already been said before, and it only upset her when he became angry.
He tried to cool his temper. “Miss Renwick is a very beautiful young lady,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
His mother’s eyes snapped up to his. “Julian! You must not get any ideas,” she said, vehemently.
He knew that she didn’t want him to get hurt even more by these bigoted English, but it was too late. His entire life had been spent fighting to be accepted by the English, as one of them.
It would never happen. His mother had tried to tell him so numerous times. She was as sure of this as she was that her own heritage was impeccable.
But it was her heritage that caused him to be an outcast. It was not good enough that her family had been wealthy landowners for countless generations. The English only saw the color of their skin and thought less of them because they were dark.
Julian put down his lemonade and got up to pace the length of the long room. It was a meager attempt to control his emotions, and it did not work.
“Why should I not meet Miss Renwick? She is a very pretty and eligible young lady.” He could not accept his fate. He could not and he would not.
He bumped into the delicate in-laid wooden table on the other side of the room. He did not know why his mother insisted on having all this European style furniture in her drawing room, they almost never entertained and she didn’t use them herself.
The sofas, chairs and tables, all of the finest workmanship, had sat here unused nearly all of his life—remnants from his father’s influence and of his mother’s hope that someday her husband would return to her. Julian restrained the urge to do physical damage to his mother’s English furniture.
“Julian, you know very well why not,” his mother was saying. She had risen too.
Putting a gentle, calming hand on his arm, she looked up at him, her soft brown eyes filled with sadness. “Do not do this, Julian. Please, do not…”
Julian took a step away from her. He couldn’t look her in the eye. Once again she had discerned his intention without him having to say a word. Her ability to read him was uncanny–and annoying.
“I’m sorry, Mother, but it is something I have to do.” he said.
Before he left the room, Julian sketched his mother a very English little bow.
The events of the previous evening were the main topic in Mrs. Hurst’s drawing room later that morning, with Lady Renwick dominating the conversation.
Cassandra sat quietly in an overstuffed chair, feeling small and insignificant. This wasn’t unusual. She’d often felt that way when making morning calls in London–especially during her last two weeks there while waiting for the ship that would take her to Calcutta.
She pushed herself to the edge of the chair and held her back straight. So many years of sitting on hard wooden benches at Miss Stillwater’s with her back perfectly straight now allowed her to maintain her dignity with relative ease. She was grateful that morning calls in Calcutta were more easily dealt with, and suffered through, than they had been in London.
As far as she knew, no one here was aware of her relationship with Lord Felbridge. And she could only hope that no one ever learned of it—she had no desire to become the laughingstock of society here as well.
“It is not at all surprising that Cassandra should be the talk of town. She is certainly the prettiest girl in Calcutta, if I may say so myself,” Lady Renwick said, after fortifying herself with a sip of her tea.
The comment made Cassandra flinch and pay more attention to the conversation at hand.
“Oh, but Lady Renwick, you are so right! You are lucky to be blessed with such a lovely daughter, as am I,” Mrs. Hurst said, passing her a plate of lemon tarts.
Cassandra looked down at the teacup carefully balanced her hands. She wondered if Miss Hurst felt as embarrassed by this conversation as she did.
A glance in her direction immediately put that quandary to rest. The young woman in question seemed to take her mother’s compliment as if it was nothing but an obvious statement of fact.
Cassandra supposed that it was, since the girl was indeed very pretty. She was fashionably dark, with rich brown curls, hazel eyes and an excellent figure. And there was certainly no question that she knew just how beautiful she was.
“Miss Hurst is much prettier than I,” Cassandra said, trying to be polite by joining in the conversation. “And there seemed to be very few girls at the ball last night who were not engaged for nearly every dance.”
“But there are so few young ladies compared to the number of gentlemen. It would be surprising if they didn’t all dance. Why, even Miss Prattlesworth danced every dance—and she has squinty eyes and never stops talking!” Miss Hurst said, smoothing back her perfectly coifed hair. Cassandra noticed that she didn’t argue over who was prettier.
“Indeed, my dear, the shortage of young ladies does make things so difficult,” Mrs. Hurst agreed. “Why, I noticed that even you, Miss Renwick, were obliged to dance with that awful Mr. Ritchie. However did you manage to get caught by him?”
Cassandra looked at her hostess with a burning desire to give her a scathing response. Instead, she took a deep breath and plastered a smile on to her face. “I was not ‘caught by him’, Mrs. Hurst. I was honored that he asked me to dance. He is an excellent dancer and a very pleasant gentleman.”
Cassandra could feel her mother’s eyes boring into her. She was sure that would pay for her comments later. But for now, it did feel good to speak up for the poor man who was so wronged only because he did not hold a very high position. It was terrible to treat people with such cruelty, as she very well knew from personal experience.
Mrs. Hurst gave a very offended sniff. “Well, I only hope for your sake that you did not completely destroy your reputation with that bit of high-jinks. You should count yourself extremely lucky that your mother is so very well-respected.”
Cassandra bit her tongue to keep herself from making a sharp retort. She didn’t want to get into any more trouble than she was already.
Satisfied that she had won the exchange, Mrs. Hurst gave Cassandra a smug little smile. But her mother could not leave it there.
“Poor Cassandra does not yet know the ways of Calcutta society, Adelaide. I am sure that her little faux pas will be quickly overlooked.”
Mrs. Hurst’s smile began to look as if it were hurting her to keep it where it was, but she persevered. “Of course, you are right, Caroline.”
She then turned to her daughter, who did not even try to hide the look of smug contempt on her face. “Before you arrived, Miss Renwick, my dear Anne was considered the reigning incomparable of the season. Now, I suppose she shall have to share that title with you, won’t you my dear?”
Miss Hurst lost her smug look very quickly. At the pointed look from her mother, she pasted a smile on to her face. “Yes,” she said, as if the word had been pulled from her throat.
“Well, I certainly have no desire to take away your position, Miss Hurst.”
“My dear, you are not taking it away, you are simply going to share it. And besides, it is entirely fitting that you should do so–why, with your mother’s position and your natural charm and beauty, it is well deserved,” Lady H
urst said, giving Lady Renwick a toad-eating smile.
“And I am sure that, as your dear mother said, you shall learn how to go on soon enough. At least, let us hope that you do.”
After a full morning of visiting, when they had had to also stop at the drawing rooms of Mrs. Trotter, Mrs. Parkinson, as well as Lady Georgina Wright, Lady Renwick was ready for a nap. Cassandra, however, was restless. She’d had her fill of social calls when she had been in London and had been truly hoping to get away from the pressures of society in Calcutta. There was simply nothing she could do to convince her mother that she just wanted to live quietly for some time.
In the hopes of taking her mind off of her troubles, she walked into the cool darkness toward the back of the house. Her father’s library had a wonderful collection of books, perhaps she could find something that would increase her understanding of this strange land.
She’d enjoyed perusing the shelves the other night as her father had sat working at his large mahogany desk. Hopefully, she would find something stimulating again today.
She pushed open the closed door, but had to stop as her eyes were dazzled by the bright sunlight that flooded in through the large windows.
“Excuse me, Miss Renwick, is there something I can help you find?”
Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes adjusted and she saw Mr. Ritchie standing at her father’s desk with some papers in his hand. A warmth rushed through her at the sight of him. She was sure she must be blushing.
“Oh, I am sorry, Mr. Ritchie, I did not know you were here!”
She put a hand to her cheek. “I have just returned from paying morning visits with my mother. It…it has become very warm out,” she stammered by way of explanation for her bright red cheeks.
“Indeed, it becomes quite hot at this time of day.” He smiled at her, warming her even further.
“I just came in to find a book,” Cassandra said, moving to the bookshelves closest to the door.
“Ah, then I won’t disturb you.”
“Oh no, I am sure it is I who is disturbing you from your work.”
An Exotic Heir Page 4
