An Exotic Heir

by Meredith Bond

  There were murmurs of appreciation from the men.

  “And all you have to do is stand there toss a few compliments the girl’s way while she throws herself at your feet. I say, I wish I had such luck,” Lieutenant Marcus said.

  “A sweet little thing, ripe for plucking she is,” Captain Lord MacDougal added to the sniggers of the other men.

  “Thank God she isn’t an antidote! Don’t know that I could have done it if she were,” Major Vernon’s voice said.

  “Oh come, for a position in the government and that dowry? You could have come up to scratch.”

  “Well, perhaps. Oh, well, yes, I could have. Who cares what she looks like?” He began laughing harder. “She could even look like Miss Prattlesworth and I would marry her.”

  The men appreciated this sentiment, guffawing at the idea. After a moment, Major Vernon added more seriously, “I do hope she gets rid of that idiotic giggle though!”

  “All girls have that. She’ll lose it—m’sister did as soon as she started having babies,” Lieutenant Marcus said consolingly.

  “Got to get working on your nursery quick,” another man said to a round of hysterical laughter.

  “I can assure you, gentleman, there will be no hesitation in that arena,” Major Vernon said, laughing.

  “Charge ahead, man, bayonet at the ready!”

  Cassandra quickly ducked back into the house, followed by the men’s hysterical laughter. She had heard enough. There was no need to put herself through any more torture tonight.

  Her head was truly pounding now. She desperately hoped that her mother had finished her conversation.

  As Cassandra stood impatiently while Gita unbuttoned her dress, the sound of the men’s laughter still echoed in her ears.

  Why had she ever allowed her mother to bully her into attending such amusements? Why had she not listened to her own sound judgment and stayed at home? She would never have been subjected to such humiliation.

  It was torture standing still while her corset was untied. She wanted to be moving, pacing, screaming, crying, anything but standing quietly, her emotions tied up inside of her.

  Gisela had tried to tell her that all men were not the same, but here was proof at hand that in fact they were.

  They all had only two things on their minds, worldly position and bedding women.

  She shrugged into her night rail. “Thank you, Gita, I will brush out my hair. Good night.”

  Gita gave her a little bow with her hands respectfully pressed together, and then quietly closed the door as she left the room.

  Lord Felbridge had position, he had wanted her kisses. She had merely been a toy in his hands, a lowly nothing for him to play with.

  Major Vernon had thought to get both wealth and position from her in one swoop.

  But she wasn’t having any of it. Hell would freeze over before she married Major Vernon, or any other man for that matter.

  She tore the pins from her hair, happily destroying the beautiful creation Gita had arranged earlier that evening. Dragging her brush through her tangled hair, she wondered what it was about men that made them so thoughtless, so selfish, so idiotic.

  Well, whatever it was, she was through playing these games. She did not care what her mother or Gisela said, men were worse than the scum on her boots!

  Chapter Nine

  The shopkeeper added another silk sari to the growing pile in front of Cassandra. She had asked to go sari shopping with Gisela earlier in the week, but now just had no heart for it.

  There was no point in buying beautiful saris since she never wanted to go into society again.

  “Oh, Cassandra, this is one that you must take! Why, it is beautiful. Just feel the silk! It’s lovely.”

  Gisela was trying to entice her, just as she had with all of the other saris the shopkeeper had put out for her inspection.

  The fabric in front of her was indeed very soft and lovely to touch, but the pale pink color did not excite her. None of the saris did, nor did anything else.

  Gisela had taken the lead with the shopkeeper, as he sat cross-legged on his spotlessly white divan, his wares arrayed enticingly in a riot of exotic colors and textures. Cassandra had just sat on the little velvet chair the man had provided, sadly looking at the saris spread before her and stacked in cloth-wrapped bundles behind him.

  Asking for softly colored, plain saris, Gisela had tried to bring Cassandra out of the sullens that had settled into her overnight. But it was not working. Cassandra still could not bring herself to find anything interesting today.

  “If you would give us a few moments to decide which ones she will take,” Gisela said to the shopkeeper. He gave a small bow and then left to see to the folding of another customer’s rejected saris.

  “What is it, Cassandra? You have been shown so many lovely saris and have hardly even looked at one. What is wrong, my dear?”

  Cassandra wiped away a tear that threatened to fall on to the delicate fabric in front of her.

  “Major Vernon. I overheard him speaking to some men last night. He… he spoke of me as if I was some prize to be won. He even said that he did not care what I looked like. My father would get him a good job in the government and I had a nice sized dowry and that was all that mattered.”

  Cassandra could not hold back her tears any longer. “He… he even said that he, he hated my, my giggle.”

  She felt around in her reticule for her handkerchief, but as usual, she had forgotten to put one in.

  A little hand came forward with a large white handkerchief in it. Sweet little Harry, who had accompanied her on her shopping trip, had come prepared. His little brow was furrowed with worry as he stood by her.

  “Miss, do not cry,” he pleaded.

  “No, really Cassandra, Major Vernon is not worth even one of your tears,” Gisela said, patting her arm consolingly.

  “He–he is just like Fel–Felbridge. Oh, Gisela, all men are the same!” Cassandra blew her nose and tried to stop crying.

  “No, they most certainly are not! Why, has Mr. Ritchie ever done anything to make you think that he is of the same stamp as Lord Felbridge?”

  Cassandra sniffed into her handkerchief. “No.”

  “No, indeed he has not. And he would not. He is an upstanding young man.”

  Cassandra looked back at the pale colored silks in front of her. They were indeed beautiful, but they were not right. Major Vernon was not right for her either, but nothing she could say to her mother would stop her from pushing him at her.

  “Anyway, I’m not entirely sure why you are so upset over what Major Vernon had to say. You do not harbor any feelings for him, do you?”

  “No,” Cassandra said, wiping away her tears.

  “No, I thought not.”

  “It is just that his actions have confirmed what I thought all along about men, Gisela.” Cassandra idly fingered the soft silk.

  “But is it not true, my dear. It is unfortunate that there are men like Lord Felbridge and Major Vernon, but not all men are like that. I certainly do not put Mr. Brown in that category.”

  “You truly believe that Mr. Ritchie is different?” Cassandra was still not convinced.

  “Yes, I do,” Gisela said emphatically.

  Was it true, was he different? At least he was not overly concerned with fashion and society, as Lord Felbridge had been. And he already had a position with her father, so he could not want that from her, as Major Vernon did. Could he truly not have any ulterior motive for wanting to be with her?

  Cassandra thought about it for a moment, shifting through the pale-colored saris and dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  A stack of saris behind the shopkeeper attracted her attention. They were brilliantly colored, the gold heavily embroidered on them shimmering in the sunlight.

  One in particular caught her eye. It was turquoise, the exact color of Mr. Ritchie’s eyes. It was different—so very different from the other insipid saris in front of her.

&nb
sp; Cassandra dried her eyes and motioned for the shopkeeper to come over to attend to them. Uncovering one pale blue silk with silver embroidered along the edges from the pile in front of her, she said, “I will take this one, but I want to see something brighter as well. These colors are too bland. May I see those?” She pointed to the ones in the case.

  The shopkeeper set aside the one she had chosen and pushed aside the rest for his assistants to refold. He then set out the stack she had pointed to. The colors reminded Cassandra of the brilliant gemstones found in the jeweler’s shop.

  Yes, this was what she wanted. She turned to Gisela, “You are certain that all men are not the same? It is so hard to believe, Gisela.”

  “It may be for you, because you have had two very unfortunate experiences. Believe me, Cassandra, I know. From all that you have told me, Mr. Ritchie sounds like a good man.”

  Cassandra looked through the saris the man had unfolded and spread before them. She motioned for him to show her the turquoise one.

  “He offered to take me to an ancient Hindu temple. It is about two hours’ ride from here,” Cassandra said, watching the luscious fabric unfold before her eyes. The man let the silk gently glide with a whisper onto the floor, where it lay glittering in the bright sunshine.

  It was truly magnificent.

  Gisela sucked in her breath.

  “It is beautiful, isn’t it, Gisela?” She turned to her friend, thinking that she too was in raptures over the sari.

  But she was staring wide-eyed at Cassandra herself.

  “He offered to take you to a temple? How fascinating! How I envy you, Cassandra! I would love to have an opportunity to learn more about India and its history.”

  Cassandra contemplated the sari for a moment, while the man unfolded more from the same stack for her inspection.

  “Well, then, why don’t you come? I was thinking that there would be no way for me to go. Certainly, my mother could never be fobbed off by another shopping story for an all-day outing. But if you come along as a chaperone, Gisela, then we can tell her honestly where we are going.”

  “But then wouldn’t she want to come along as well? And then we shall have a large party and Mr. Ritchie wouldn’t be able to act as our tour guide. You are so very lucky, Cassandra, to have such a knowledgeable young man willing to take you around Calcutta.”

  Gisela sadly fingered the silk sari in front of them. “Mr. Brown has not offered once to show me the sights of Calcutta, as I had hoped he would. He is very busy with his work. I hardly see him at all.”

  Cassandra placed her hand over her friend’s. “I am sorry, Gisela.”

  “Do you have anything not quite so magnificent?” Gisela asked the man.

  He took out another stack of brightly colored saris, but without the gold work all over them. Cassandra picked out a deep pink one, while Gisela pointed to another in pale yellow, both with gold only on the border.

  “I assure you, Gisela, even if we were to tell my mother where we were going, she would have no interest in joining us. She does not care to learn more about Calcutta, or indeed, anything Indian,” Cassandra said, trying to decide which sari she liked better.

  Gisela’s face perked up. “Well, in that case, we will certainly have to take advantage of Mr. Ritchie’s very kind offer, won’t we?”

  Cassandra smiled, beginning to feel happy again, for indeed, she could not stay upset for long.

  “Yes, and I will take this sari, the turquoise sari and one more in a different design,” she said, putting the pink sari on top of the pale blue one she had already chosen.

  Friday could not have approached any slower.

  Cassandra was still not entirely convinced by Gisela’s assurances that Mr. Ritchie was different from other men of her acquaintance. All the gentlemen she met seemed as unconcerned with her, her thoughts or her ideas as Major Vernon. They only gave meaningless compliments to her and talked about themselves.

  It was with much trepidation that she dressed for her outing with Mr. Ritchie. Knowing that it was going to be warm, she chose a thin white cotton gown with sunny yellow flowers all over it.

  She hoped the dress would make her feel as happy as it looked.

  A yellow ribbon was tied around the high waistline just below her bosom, and a matching ribbon was attached to her bonnet to tie into a pretty bow, rakishly set off to the side.

  The color of the ribbon gave a pretty pink glow to her cheeks. That was a good omen, she thought, as she checked her reflection in the mirror. Surely if one looked happy, one would be happy.

  Both Cassandra and Gisela found the drive to the temple to be fascinating.

  It was very easy to tell exactly at which point they left the city. There were no houses just outside of the city, only farmland of varying shades of green.

  Gisela pointed out the different crops, asking Mr. Ritchie to identify them. The only one he could positively point out was the rice, which was the lightest green in color and standing in pools of water. He was, however, able to give them some of the history of the area and a few amusing anecdotes of English-Indian miscommunication.

  The road itself was no more than a wide path built up between waterways. Every so often, there was open water where women could be seen washing clothes or rinsing out cooking utensils.

  Close to these open spots, there were generally some thatched huts, with woven mats for the walls. Julian called them villages, although the ladies thought that was being very generous.

  Trees lined the road, separating it from the waterways. They also provided a lovely shady canopy under which to drive. The journey was pleasant and the road empty, save for a few farmers with bullock carts loaded with vegetables or wood.

  After nearly two hours, the trees began to grow thicker and the water less frequent, and before they knew it they were in the midst of a jungle.

  A fork in the road stopped them, and Cassandra looked to Mr. Ritchie questioningly. He just smiled and said that one way led to the temple and the other to the guest house. As it was nearing mid-day, he suggested that they go to the temple for their picnic.

  “Picnic? But we have not brought a picnic!” Cassandra looked behind the bench for a picnic basket, but there was none. She had expected that they would take tiffin, the Indian word for lunch, at the guest house.

  There was such a mischievous twinkle in Mr. Ritchie’s bright turquoise eyes that Cassandra had to laugh. “You are up to something, Mr. Ritchie.”

  Saying nothing, he directed his horse down the smaller of the two lanes.

  After such a lovely drive with pleasant conversation, Mr. Ritchie had not only completely set Cassandra at her ease, but was also a charming companion and tour guide. She was extremely pleased to note that he’d paid as much attention to Gisela as he did to her.

  And not one flowery compliment had passed his lips!

  She was very happy with the day, and beginning to think that Gisela had been right—Mr. Ritchie was different than other men.

  When they arrived at the temple site, they found that there was quite a substantial picnic laid out for them—a table and three chairs were placed under the canopy of a nearby banyan tree. Mr. Ritchie had cleverly sent his servants out earlier that morning, so that they could set up everything before they arrived.

  Although they had not seen the temple yet, Mr. Ritchie told them that they were close enough to it that they could easily walk to view the structure. But they were not so close that anyone else who might have come to see the temple would disturb them.

  The shade of the tree was cooling, and the iced lemonade made Cassandra feel as if she were in heaven after their long and hot drive.

  As they finished their meal, Mr. Ritchie cleared his throat awkwardly. “Shall we walk to the temple now?” he suggested.

  Cassandra looked eagerly at Gisela. At her smiling agreement, they began to pick their way carefully through the overgrown path that led to the structure.

  “The temple dates from ancient times, and wa
s probably built over five hundred years ago,” Mr. Ritchie explained. “The kings who ruled this region at the time were worshippers of the god Shiva, a major male god in the Hindu pantheon.”

  They had emerged from the shaded path into a bright clearing in the jungle. Cassandra’s eyes, dazzled by the sunlight, just began to register the beautiful proportions of the building before them.

  “They built the temple both as a tribute to him and as their legacy for the ages,” Mr. Ritchie continued. “Over the centuries, it has fallen into disuse and is no longer an active place of worship. Today, it is simply a place to be visited by sightseers like us–more for its spectacular artwork than its religious significance.”

  The temple was smaller than she had imagined—certainly not as grand as the cathedrals back home. It was a square structure that was perhaps thirty feet high, and topped by an elegant spire that rose to just above the tops of the surrounding trees.

  As they drew closer, she heard Gisela gasp. It was then that her eyes were drawn to the artwork that decorated the walls of the temple.

  Every inch of each of the wall facing them was covered with marvelously detailed sculptures of people—row upon row, rising up to the top of the spire. Naked men and women, with no anatomical detail left to the imagination. Beautiful women in sinuous positions, with pinched waists, perfectly rounded breasts and flared hips.

  And the men… Cassandra’s cheeks were aflame.

  Stealing looks from under her eyelashes as they slowly approached the temple, Cassandra’s gaze was arrested by the sculpture of a man at the center of a frieze. He was startlingly handsome, with the fine musculature in his arms and chest lovingly detailed by the ancient, anonymous sculptor.

  And then her eyes swept down his body…

  In her eighteen years, Cassandra had never seen a naked man, although she had some basic knowledge of a man’s form. The reality and detail of the sculptures, however, was overwhelming.