An Exotic Heir

by Meredith Bond

  “Lord Minto in a very thoughtful man and he has good intentions,” Mr. Ritchie said, losing his easy smile.

  “But?”

  He looked at her. A sadness had somehow crept into his eyes that had not been there earlier. “But, I don’t believe that it’ll happen.”

  Before Cassandra could probe him further, Mr. Ritchie spurred his horse forward. When he slowed again to allow her to catch up, he pointed down the street to their left. “Calcutta has many small winding streets, such as this. You should be careful where you ride, Miss Renwick, it’s very easy to get lost.”

  Cassandra reined in her horse at the corner. “Do you ever get lost, Mr. Ritchie?” she asked.

  His quick smile returned to his face. “Not often. I told you, I’ve lived here my entire life.”

  “Then tell me where this street leads,” she teased.

  He laughed. “It leads to Chandney Chawk Bazaar, where the less wealthy Europeans live, as well as many natives.”

  “Do the Indians live very differently from us?” Cassandra asked, deliberately including Julian among the English.

  Mr. Ritchie took a moment to answer, looking into Cassandra’s eyes so deeply a slight shiver ran down her arms. “Yes, we do, very differently,” he finally said.

  “We, Mr. Ritchie?” Cassandra took a deep breath, pulling up the courage to ask what had been going through her mind ever since she had found out about his heritage. “Do you consider yourself more Indian or English?”

  He was clearly caught off-guard by her forthright question. His face lost its good humor, but then he regained his equilibrium and said, “I am equally comfortable in both worlds, Miss Renwick, but accepted in neither.”

  He turned his horse away leading her back the way they had come. The ride back was silent and strained. For Cassandra, the magic and wonder of the morning had vanished. Her throat tightened with suppressed emotion.

  How could she have done that? She had completely ruined their ride. She’d gone too far. She knew that berating herself for her foolhardiness would do nothing to help the situation, but she just couldn’t help it. He was deeply upset, and she was the cause.

  At the mango tree near her parents’ home, Mr. Ritchie stopped and finally turned to Cassandra.

  “I thank you for your company this morning, Miss Renwick.” His voice was distant, but he was clearly trying to be pleasant.

  She longed to reach out to him–to hold his hand, look into his eyes and apologize profusely. She blinked a few times to clear her eyes.

  She did the best she could… the only thing she could do. Extending her gloved hand to him, she replied, “Thank you so much, Mr. Ritchie. I greatly appreciate you taking the time to ride with me. And… and for answering my impertinent questions.”

  Mr. Ritchie’s shoulders relaxed and his smile lost its forced quality and moved into his eyes. “Not at all.”

  Suavely, he bent over her extended hand and placed a light kiss on the back of her glove. “It was entirely my pleasure. I would be honored if we could go riding again sometime. Perhaps I could even show you some of those smaller alleyways if you are interested?”

  Hope burst into bloom inside of her. He had forgiven her! He understood that she hadn’t meant to hurt him. She didn’t know how he knew, but he did.

  “Oh, yes. I would greatly enjoy that,” she said, not even trying to control the broad smile she knew was covering her face.

  “I know you will not mind, Miss Renwick, telling me once again about these new colors which have become popular in London,” Miss Helena Scottsdale said, leaning closer to Cassandra.

  Cassandra forced a smile to her lips and tried her best to look interested. It wasn’t easy since at any moment she knew that Major Vernon would be coming in.

  Her mother had told her so about half a dozen times while she’d breakfasted. Cassandra had lost count of the number of times she’d been reminded to be warm and welcoming when he arrived so as to make up for her spot of anger of the previous evening. But she didn’t want to be warm and welcoming to Major Vernon. She’d tried to tell her mother this, but she just wouldn’t listen. She was still determined that Cassandra marry him.

  Only one thing kept her from completely losing her temper with her mother–Mr. Ritchie.

  She knew that if she lost her temper and said all that she was longing to say, her mother would not allow her to go out again except under her own watchful eye.

  And now, Cassandra wanted more than anything to see Mr. Ritchie. She was on a mission. She would learn more about India and Eurasians. She would do so in order to be better prepared to fight for their cause.

  So now she sat here being pleasant and dreading Major Vernon’s arrival when she would have to try to be witty and charming.

  Cassandra noticed at once when he entered the room. Miss Scottsdale clearly had noted the newcomer’s entrance as well for she sat up a little straighter and patted her hair to make sure every curl was in place.

  Major Vernon, for his part, seemed to have come to make amends. After making his bow to her mother, he went directly to Cassandra and presented her with a large bouquet of red roses, declaring, “I do hope you will forgive me, Miss Renwick. I had no intention of offending you last evening.”

  Miss Scottsdale sighed audibly. Cassandra was completely taken aback by his gesture and even went so far as to chastise herself silently for her disparaging thoughts about Major Vernon’s character.

  The color of the roses, however, had her sincerely hoping that Major Vernon hadn’t developed any romantic notions regarding her. She certainly felt none toward him.

  But rather than provide another opportunity for her mother to get angry with her, she curtseyed and took the peace offering, murmuring, “So kind, Major Vernon. Of course, I could not stay angry with you.”

  Lady Renwick fluttered toward them. “Oh my, what lovely flowers. How very kind of you, Major Vernon. Why, that was entirely unnecessary, my dear sir. I don’t wonder if it should not have been Cassandra who should apologize to you. How very thoughtful!”

  Cassandra bit her tongue to keep a rude retort from escaping her mouth. Apologize to him indeed! He had been the one who had been horribly rude to her, laughing at her and her desire to become better acquainted with the world around her.

  She kept her eyes lowered, however, so that he could not see the anger in them, and instead focused on Major Vernon’s boots—until she noticed them moving away. She stole a glance up and saw him being pulled away by another eager Mama to meet her simpering daughter.

  Miss Scottsdale watched as the Major moved away. With her eyes still on his broad, red-coated back, she said in nearly a whisper to Cassandra, “My, my Miss Renwick, I have never heard of Major Vernon bringing flowers or even an apology to a young lady before. And you have not even mentioned to me what happened last night. I thought we were friends!”

  Cassandra had not intended for all of Calcutta society to learn of her disagreement with Major Vernon. But now they surely would. “Indeed, Miss Scottsdale, nothing untoward happened. Major Vernon happened to rub me the wrong way and I let him know my thoughts.”

  Cassandra gave a shrug and willed away her anger. There was no point in holding on to it, surely, for it would only get her into trouble.

  She gave Miss Scottsdale a little smile and let her inner actress have free rein. “Fortunately, my mother stopped me just in time from really letting loose on him. I admit, I had not even realized that he was aware he had hurt my sensibilities. And indeed, I did not expect this!”

  Miss Scottsdale smiled a sad but knowing smile at her new friend. “Well, it is clear that Major Vernon seems to have a preference for one who speaks her mind. Although, I am sure, I would never have thought it of him.”

  “Nor I, Miss Scottsdale, nor I,” Cassandra agreed whole-heartedly.

  Was it possible that Major Vernon truly had feelings for her? She wondered if he was simply making this gesture so as not to risk her alienation. Or was he truly sorry f
or laughing at her? Whatever it was, it reeked of men like Lord Felbridge—too effusive in a false tone.

  Cassandra tried not to scowl. She could not easily avoid this man, especially with her mother hovering over him.

  Cassandra could not help but notice the frequency with which Major Vernon looked her way. After she had avoided his glance for the third time, he managed to give Mrs. Hurst the slip and sit down in the recently vacated chair next to her.

  Cassandra decided that she had to bite the bullet and feign civility. “Thank you again for the roses, Major Vernon. They, and your apology, were both very lovely, and really completely unnecessary. Indeed, I should be the one to apologize to you for allowing my tongue to get the better of me last evening.”

  “Not at all, Miss Renwick. I did seem to have provoked you. But,” he asked incredulously, “Are you truly interested in politics and such things?”

  Then, leaning forward and smiling, he continued, “I never would have believed such a pretty girl as you could be interested in such dull things.”

  Cassandra breathed deeply, willing herself not to get angry with this single-minded oaf. “Indeed, Major, I am interested in such things. Why is it impossible for you to believe this?”

  But Cassandra’s mother, spying their tête-à-tête, intruded quickly before Major Vernon had a chance to comprehend her barb.

  “Tell me, Major Vernon, do you intend on being present at the assembly next Tuesday evening? It was such a sad crush last month that I am tempted not to go at all next week, but to hold a little gathering here instead.” Lady Renwick gestured around the room as if her ‘little’ gathering could fit in the drawing room.

  “Certainly it will not be as large as Cassandra’s coming out ball,” she continued, “but just some of our closer friends for a little music and dancing. What do you think?”

  “What an excellent scheme, Lady Renwick!” Major Vernon immediately fell in with his hostess’s plan. “I completely agree with you about the assembly. They seem to be getting less and less discriminating about who they let in, rather than more. Why, I even saw that they had given vouchers to some Eurasians! I was quite shocked.”

  “As was I, dear Major, as was I. It is quite disgraceful, to be sure.” Lady Renwick gave a look to Cassandra as if to say I told you so.

  Cassandra bit her tongue until it hurt.

  As the Major and Lady Renwick chatted amiably, Cassandra looked more closely at him and wondered what had made him so bigoted. She then looked at her mother and wondered the same thing about her.

  She would never become like them, never.

  Their bigotry seemed rather like a disease that infected one the longer one stayed in Calcutta. Was her father the same way, she wondered? She did not think so, but she would need to speak with him to find out.

  She was jerked out of her reverie by her mother, who was saying, “A drive tomorrow afternoon sounds lovely, does it not, Cassandra?”

  “Hmm? Tomorrow afternoon? Oh, no, I am sorry, Major Vernon, I already have an engagement tomorrow afternoon.”

  “With whom? This is the first I have heard of it,” said her mother with a touch of irritation.

  “I am to go shopping with Gisela Brown. Did I not mention it to you? I am so sorry!” she invented quickly. Then, turning to Major Vernon, she added, “Mrs. Brown was so kind as to chaperone me on my journey here from England. I would just hate to disappoint her. You will forgive me and allow us to go for a ride the following day, will you not?”

  This was so sweetly said that even Lady Renwick was mollified. Major Vernon sketched her a bow. “Of course. You ladies and your shopping expeditions! I know that they are quite important.”

  “Oh, indeed, they are!” Cassandra agreed briefly, already beginning to think about how she could wipe that chauvinistic smile off his face. But then remembering her real reason for dissembling—the drive into the mysterious narrow lanes of Calcutta promised by Mr. Ritchie—she held her tongue and proceeded to be uncharacteristically docile for the rest of the morning.

  She could not risk her mother finding out the truth.

  Julian was holding the reins so tightly that his hands were cramping. If only Miss Renwick did not have to sit quite so close to him! But with the addition of her maid, there was very little space on the phaeton’s bench. It really was not made to hold more than two people.

  Fire licked at Julian’s blood, heating it to distraction. He could feel the length of Miss Renwick’s creamy white arm brushing against his and her knee bumping up against his.

  He should not feel this way. His conscience screamed at him and told his body to calm itself.

  He was here to woo her so that she fell in love with him. That was all.

  There were to be no reciprocal feelings. None.

  He saw that Miss Renwick’s eyes were slipping toward him with a pleasing frequency. She was just as aware of him as he was of her.

  That was good. That was as it should be.

  Was there anything else he could do, or should do, to promote this attraction? He tried to think of it in an abstract way, but instead his body flamed once again as she raised her arm to brush a lovely golden curl from her face and gave him a shy smile in the process.

  Julian concentrated on his driving. It needed his full attention now, for the streets were becoming more crowded as they moved away from the English section of town.

  “Mr. Ritchie, tell me a little of what we are going to see,” Miss Renwick asked so quietly that he had to bend towards her a bit.

  Her hair smelled wonderful! She smelled like roses and jasmine. He must get another opportunity to get close to her.

  Wait, she had asked him a question. What had she asked? Oh yes, about what they would be seeing. Goodness, he had to keep focused!

  “I am simply going to drive down some of the streets in the older sections of Calcutta, Miss Renwick. What you will see is simply life in India as it is lived by the Bengalis.”

  “Is it the way you live?”

  Julian felt his heart grow cold.

  Was she going to probe him again? He had hoped that she had finished with her inquisitiveness after their ride. She had seemed so sad after he had taken offense at her questions. But now it seemed that she was going to be doing the same thing again.

  What was it that she wanted–to bare his soul? To delve into the most painful experiences of his life?

  Why did she want to hurt him this way?

  “I am sorry, Mr. Ritchie. I suppose it is very wrong of me to ask such personal questions of you.”

  Well, she had interpreted his silence correctly, he acknowledged with surprise.

  “I do live in a traditional Bengali house because my mother is Bengali,” he said, hoping that that would be enough to satisfy her.

  “But your father is not.”

  Julian felt his hands grip the reins tightly once again, but now it was his anger that was on a short leash.

  “Miss Renwick, why do you persist in asking such questions?” he said, trying his best to keep his voice steady and calm.

  “I am terribly sorry.” She took a deep shuddering breath. He could feel it through her body. If he were not so angry with her prying, he would have been very tempted to put his arms around her–to hold her and comfort her.

  “I do not mean to upset you,” she said. “It is just that… well, I thought that if I learned more about you and the way you live and grew up–the way you have been treated and still are treated by the English–that I might… I might be able to do something to help you.”

  “Help me? How could you help me?” His chest began to loosen again.

  “I am not entirely sure. Perhaps I could speak with the governor-general, or with people in society. I want to do something, Mr. Ritchie. It is not right, the way people cut you. It’s not your fault your parents are from different cultures. And you should not have to pay the price for it.”

  Her voice had grown more steady as she had warmed to her cause and in turn it wa
rmed him.

  She wanted to help him.

  Julian almost laughed. Little did she know it, but she was indeed going to help him. She was going to help him get revenge on the people who had hurt him the most–her own parents.

  But he could not tell her that. He could not let her know of his plan.

  Chapter Seven

  That is very… thoughtful of you, Miss Renwick. I appreciate you sentiments, but truly you do not need to do this.” Mr. Ritchie drew his brows down in concern, but continued to look ahead at where he was driving. Cassandra just could not concentrate on their interesting surroundings, however, she was to intent on her argument.

  “But I do! If I do not, then nothing will change,” she said vehemently.

  “Even if you do try, still, nothing may change.”

  She did not say anything, but just looked blindly out at the street in front of them.

  Was he right? Was what she was trying to do impossible?

  Cassandra suddenly felt at a loss. All of her wonderful plans and ideas to change the way people treated this poor man–were they for nothing?

  Mr. Ritchie turned to her as much as was possible while still driving. “Perhaps, if you truly want to do something, Miss Renwick, you can learn more about India and encourage other Englishmen to do the same. At least then there may be some understanding instead of just blind prejudice.”

  Cassandra turned back towards Mr. Ritchie, struck by his words.

  “Look about you, Miss Renwick,” Mr. Ritchie continued, “India is a fascinating place. Although I have never been to England, I have read a great deal about it, and I know that there is nothing like this there.” He motioned with his hand at the street before them.

  Indeed, it was like nothing Cassandra had ever seen before. Men wearing long shirts and lengths of cloth loosely wrapped around their limbs walked down the street purposefully, some carrying huge heavy baskets filled with fruit or vegetables. Women in their brightly colored saris filled large brass urns at street-side wells and then disappeared into narrow doors.

  It was fascinating. Cassandra wondered if her mother had ever driven through this part of Calcutta before. She strongly suspected that she had not. She kept to her own world and tried to make that as English as she could.