An Exotic Heir

by Meredith Bond

  “We’ll see whether he’s accepted as readily here as he was in India,” Lord Felbridge retorted, before turning to leave.

  Cassandra had never felt so confused. Why had she just defended Julian? What was it to her whether he was accepted or not? Yes, she had thought to try to find a way to make him more accepted in Calcutta and now she had the means to help him become accepted here, but why should she?

  Because he does not deserve such treatment, she answered herself. No one does.

  She continued to saunter down the path with Mr. Corstairs, not paying any attention to what he and Lord Hawksmore were saying to each other.

  She remembered how Julian had told her that English society would never accept him because of his skin color. Perhaps he thought that now that he had a title, he would be accepted anyway.

  But it shouldn’t make any difference to her. Why should she care what he wanted? She refused to admit, even to herself, that it did matter. In fact, that it mattered a great deal.

  No, she firmly told herself, the real reason she should do her utmost to make Julian socially accepted was because it would help her plan. If he were not invited to any ton parties how was she going to make him fall in love with her as he had made her do? She would never see him, just as she had not in the past two weeks.

  No, she needed him accepted into society. She needed him at hand in order to give him back a taste of his own medicine.

  With her mind made up, she noticed Lady Wynworth sitting just outside of the guest house. She had been speaking with Lady Merrick, but now was being called away.

  “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I believe I will join the ladies,” Cassandra said quickly.

  Her escorts were perfectly content with this, as they were by now deep into their own conversation.

  “Normally, I would not allow you to completely ignore me, as you have been doing,” she said with mock severity. “But this time, I will allow it, as I particularly wish to speak with Lady Wynworth.”

  The gentlemen were about to launch into profuse apologies, but Cassandra held up her hand, gave them a laugh and a wave, and turned to grab the seat Lady Merrick had just vacated.

  “My lady, you are looking very comfortable here in the shade. Do you mind if I join you?” Cassandra asked as she sat down on the other end of the sofa.

  “Why, of course, Miss Renwick. Are you having a pleasant afternoon? Did I see you walking with both Mr. Corstairs and the Duke of Hawksmore just now?”

  Cassandra gave a little embarrassed laugh. “Yes, they were so kind as to escort me from the archery range. I was being taught how to shoot.”

  “How lovely for you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cassandra said. “Although not nearly as exciting as your ball. I hope I do not sound too eager when I say that I am so looking forward to that evening.”

  Lady Wynworth gave a little condescending smile. “Of course you are, my dear, it is quite natural.”

  “I imagine that no one would miss it,” she said with enthusiasm.

  “I am quite pleased with the response I have received so far,” the lady conceded.

  “Is the new Indian lord going to be in attendance, ma’am? I imagine that the party he attends first will become quite the rage!”

  Lady Wynworth’s eyebrows climbed up a notch on her forehead. “What makes you say that, Miss Renwick?”

  “It is just the feeling I get, I suppose. The gentlemen were just talking of how they were planning on casting their ballots for him to join White’s. And I have heard quite a number of other people talking about him as well.

  “It’s certain that all too soon, everyone will be fighting to have him attend their parties. He’s so exotic and unique why, who ever heard of an Indian-English peer?”

  “Indeed,” Lady Wynworth looked thoughtful as Cassandra’s words sank in, hitting their target right on the bull’s-eye.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Julian sat alone in his new drawing room, sifting through a pile of notes. Not one of the guests he had invited for dinner had accepted.

  He couldn’t understand it. He’d invited some of the same gentlemen who had come to his last dinner party, and a few new gentlemen whom he had met while walking in Hyde Park. So why had none of them accepted his invitation?

  One simple answer—Fungy and Merry. Last time they had done the inviting. This time Julian had done it on his own.

  He’d sent round notes of invitation to a dozen men, hoping, even believing, that they would come. But they had all kindly declined the invitation. Previous engagements were the most common excuse, although some did not give any excuse at all but simply stated that they would not be present.

  Julian sat back on the sofa. How was he going to get admitted to White’s if no one would even attend a simple dinner party he hosted? And if he did not get admitted to White’s, it was certain he would never become a member of the beau monde.

  Without being a member of the ton, he would never get to see Cassandra socially, nor would she even consider marrying him, not when she had some of the most prominent members of society vying for her hand. And then his life would lose all meaning. He might as well return to Calcutta if he couldn’t marry Cassandra—at least there he had the love of his mother.

  Julian shook his head. Well, there was no point in sitting here feeling sorry for himself. He had to do something.

  He suddenly remembered Lady Jersey’s upcoming soiree, which Fungy had mentioned as one of the most notable upcoming social events. Most critically, Beau Brummell would be sure to be there. If Julian could secure his approval, there would be no problem about becoming a member of White’s.

  But how was he to get an invitation to one of the season’s most sought-after crushes, when his mantle was bereft of letters of invitation to even the most prosaic social events?

  Julian gave himself another mental shake. He certainly wasn’t going to get an invitation by sitting alone in his drawing room.

  He had just stood up when his new man servant came in bearing a letter. “This just arrived for you, my lord,” the man intoned.

  Julian took the letter. “Thank you, Russell.” Breaking open the seal, he was shocked to find an invitation to Lady Wynworth’s ball two nights hence. She apologized profusely for the lateness of the invitation, but hoped he was free that evening.

  Julian began to laugh. She hoped that he was free? He had nothing else on his calendar, nothing at all, so yes, he supposed he was free.

  His luck had turned.

  But there was one thing he had to make certain of before he accepted this invitation. Was Fungy free to advise him on what he should wear?

  If this was to be the beginning of his social career, he knew that he had to be dressed impeccably to ensure that it wasn’t the end of his career as well. He still didn’t trust his own instincts with regard to fashion. To look right, he needed Fungy.

  Cassandra surveyed the ballroom with a languid air. She was getting much better at this, or so Olivia had told her.

  She had worn another one of her beautiful sari-dresses–this one made of the pale blue silk sari Gisela had picked out for her. It wasn’t nearly as magnificent at the turquoise one, but it was more appropriate for a young, unmarried lady. She noticed another lady with a similarly styled dress, but as it was not actually made out of a sari, it did not have the same appeal. Cassandra supposed she should feel flattered, though, that someone went so far as to copy her.

  The beginning strains of a country dance were just starting when Lord Felbridge approached her. After properly acknowledging Lady Bradmore and Olivia, he turned toward her.

  “Miss Renwick, that is a most interesting gown,” he said, examining her dress rather closely.

  “Thank you, sir. Only last week the Prince Regent admired another dress I have in a similar style.”

  Lord Felbridge looked at her disbelievingly. “Oh come now, you may have had some social successes, but that is doing it too brown, Miss Renwick.”

 
Cassandra raised her chin and snapped open her matching fan. “Believe what you will, my lord.”

  She then turned away from him and nearly walked into Julian.

  Her heart stopped for a moment as she looked up into his dark handsome face and piercing turquoise eyes. She was nearly overwhelmed by his musky sandalwood scent, and then he smiled his brilliant white smile and she knew that she was completely lost.

  She quickly called herself to order, however, and noticed that Fungy and Lord Merrick were watching her reaction.

  Pulling a smile on to her face, she curtsied. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  They all bowed to her and in unison said, “Good evening, Miss Renwick.”

  Their perfect timing brought a quick smile to her lips.

  It was then that she noticed that something was very different about Julian. She looked at him for a moment, trying to figure out just what it was.

  Julian raised his eyebrows and looked at her quizzically and then looked down at himself. “Is there something wrong, Miss Renwick?”

  Cassandra could feel her face heat with embarrassment. “Oh, no! No, only…”

  She then she realized just what it was—he was dressed in the first stare of fashion. In fact, she had never seen him look so fine.

  “You look complete to a shade, Julian, er, my lord.”

  He did. His new, beautifully cut dark clothes set off his coloring magnificently. But more than that, from his carefully tousled hair to his new dancing slippers, he looked like a pink of the ton.

  What had happened to his claim that fashion did not matter, that he wanted to be accepted just for himself? Hadn’t he said as much when they had met in the garden one evening in Calcutta?

  Julian bowed elegantly. “I wish you would continue to call me Julian. All this ‘my lord’-ing grows tiring after a while, doesn’t it? And, thank you for noticing my new wardrobe.”

  He then leaned forward and said for her alone, “I had rather hoped that you would.”

  He gave her the same sweet, secret smile she remembered so well, as if to tell her how much he cared. And in a flash he was the old Julian—her old Julian—again.

  She could have sworn her heart had flipped over in her chest. She gave herself a shake. She should not allow this man to have such an effect on her!

  He then blinked and the look in his eyes disappeared, only to be replaced by a twinkle of mischief.

  “It is all Fungy’s doing, you know,” he said a bit more loudly.

  Cassandra looked over at Fungy, who was preening a bit. “Well, yes, but shouldn’t tell, Huntley,” he said, as if sharing a great secret.

  “Fungy is much too modest,” Lord Merrick said, laughing.

  “Yes, indeed. Fungy, you should be proud of your creation,” Cassandra said, joining in Lord Merrick’s laughter.

  “I am! Only Huntley really shouldn’t go about telling everyone—not the thing. Must say, I was rather relieved when Huntley came and asked me for help. Clearly couldn’t have done it on his own. No offense, old boy, but you’ve got no fashion sense at all!”

  Julian and Merry laughed, but somehow, Cassandra could find nothing to laugh at.

  Why did he suddenly want to be so fashionable? She hoped it was merely so as to make a good first impression at his first ton party.

  “I am so sorry, Miss Renwick, I did not forget you, I assure you!” Mr. Corstairs said, cutting in.

  “Oh, Mr. Corstairs, no, I didn’t think for a minute that you had,” Cassandra said, suddenly remembering that she had promised this dance to him.

  “Fungy, Merry, how do you do? I do beg your pardon. Shall we?” He put his arm out for Cassandra to take, which she did automatically.

  But she had noticed that he had not acknowledged Julian, or, in fact, even looked at him.

  Cassandra was led away to dance, wishing that she could say something cutting to Mr. Corstairs for having snubbed Julian in that way. But she could find no way to do so without earning his enmity.

  After their dance, she found that she was engaged for the next few dances, as was normally the case. Still, she could not help but look around for Julian whenever she had the chance.

  She would invariably find him standing by himself, or with either Fungy or Lord Merrick watching the dancing. She was sharply reminded of her coming-out ball in Calcutta, the first time she had seen him. Then too, he had simply stood alone, watching.

  And now, as then, when he would approach someone to be introduced, he was cut more often than he was not.

  When she saw Lady Bertram turn her back on him, Cassandra’s heart wanted to break. Lady Jersey had looked like she wanted to do the same thing, but since Fungy introduced them, she had no choice but to stand looking very disapprovingly at Julian. Lady Jersey nodded coldly, letting everyone know that Julian was one gentleman who would not be receiving vouchers for Almack’s.

  Cassandra had to forcibly remind herself time and again that she hated Julian. She should not be feeling sorry for a man who toyed with her as he had, she sternly reprimanded her heart.

  But he looked so lonely and forlorn! She hoped that, like in Calcutta, he would not allow society’s reaction to bother him. He had been so brave and strong then in the face of prejudice. Surely he could do the same here, even though she knew he was hurting inside.

  It really was a shame, she thought, if he had worn his new clothes in order to be accepted by society, it clearly wasn’t working. She hoped that there was another reason for his sudden interest in being fashionable.

  Lord Felbridge was just leading her from the floor when there was a flurry of activity as the Prince Regent made a grand entrance.

  She and Lord Felbridge watched with equal fascination as Prinny made his way through the crowd, stopping here and there to kiss some lucky lady’s hand or have a word with this lord or that. One young girl nearly swooned when His Royal Highness gave her cheek a pat. He just chuckled and left her to the ministrations of her concerned mama.

  “Ah, my dear friend from India!” the prince greeted Cassandra. “Wearing another stunning creation from your sari wardrobe, I see.”

  He kissed the air above her hand and then looked to see who she was escorted by this evening. “Flatridge, isn’t it?” he asked vaguely.

  “Felbridge, your Royal Highness, an honor, sir,” Lord Felbridge bowed obsequiously.

  “Yes, yes. Well, you are a lucky fellow, Felbridge, to be escorting this lovely young thing,” he said.

  Lord Felbridge bowed once again but stole a sideways glance at Cassandra.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Royal Highness, but have you met the Earl of Huntley? He is also from India,” Cassandra said quickly.

  The prince looked slightly bemused at Cassandra’s temerity. “No, is he here tonight?”

  “Yes, sir, although I am not certain exactly where.”

  “Well, one will meet him when one comes across him, no?” he said, and then moved on.

  Cassandra watched His Royal Highness greet the next couple a few feet away from them, before turning back to Lord Felbridge.

  His mouth was hanging open and he was just gaping at her. Cassandra tried very hard to control her giggles, but some escaped as she thought of the phrase ‘you could knock him down with a feather’–for that was exactly what Lord Felbridge looked like.

  Very quickly, he pulled himself back together. “My most profound apologies, Miss Renwick. I see now that I was very wrong earlier when I did not believe that Prinny had complimented you on your gown.”

  Cassandra tried her hardest not to look smug, but she was afraid that some of what she was feeling seeped through her expression. “It is quite all right, my lord. I’m certain it won’t happen again.”

  She turned and walked back to where her cousin and Aunt Bradmore were standing. A quick glance behind her, however, showed that Lord Felbridge was looking at her with a new light in his eyes.

  Clearly he was putting two and two together. Her numerous admirers had caught his attent
ion, else he certainly would not have sought her out himself. And now, with the notice of Prinny, surely he was beginning to see what a mistake he had made in considering her a nobody.

  Cassandra felt like putting a little skip in her step—things were working out exactly as she had planned. Felbridge was so predictable.

  “The prince stopped to speak to you, Cassandra! What did he say?” Olivia wanted to know immediately as Cassandra reached her side.

  “He was kind enough to remember me as his friend from India,” she said, and then immediately lowered her voice. “But did you see Lord Felbridge’s face afterwards?”

  Both she and Olivia began to giggle behind their hands.

  “Cassandra, he is speaking to Cousin Huntley!” Olivia whispered urgently, tugging on Cassandra’s arm.

  She turned around and, indeed, there was the prince looking rather serious as he spoke with Julian. His Royal Highness nodded his dismissal and Julian bowed low as Prinny moved to take Lady Wynworth’s hand.

  As the music began, the prince led Lady Wynworth out for a country dance. And once again, Julian was left standing by himself, watching people forming sets for the dance.

  Without even realizing what she was doing, Cassandra found herself approaching him.

  “Julian, would you dance with me?” she heard herself saying.

  Julian eyes widened and then narrowed again with pleasure. He bowed to her. “I would be honored.”

  He then held out his arm for her and they joined the others making up the dance.

  It was the first time he had danced since coming to London, and how fitting it was that it was with Cassandra the most wonderful, beautiful young lady at the ball.

  He’d been quite surprised to find how closely the balls in Calcutta matched this one. From the decorations to the people, even to the way he was being treated by all of the other guests.

  Nothing had changed, he thought grimly. What would it take for people to see him as anything other than a man of mixed blood? Clearly, his new wardrobe was not working as an entrée to society. Honestly, he should have known.

  It had, however, elicited a response from Cassandra and had thus achieved its purpose.