Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere

by Regina Jeffers

  Ashton smiled grimly. “As I suspected. Cashé, Samuel has overstepped the boundaries set up for your sisters. He cannot question my guardianship of Satiné or that of the Fowlers for Velvet. He had no legal right to remove Velvet from Thornhill’s home. As Fowler has assumed his father’s title, he has also taken over Velvet’s guardianship. In fact, there will be more stigmas to young Fowler marrying his ward than any public show of intimacy. Thornhill must marry Velvet in a speedy manner for everyone to save face, even Samuel Aldridge. Once they marry, everything will be forgiven.”

  “Then you believe Uncle Samuel will agree?” Cashé challenged.

  “I believe Samuel Aldridge will attempt to stop Velvet’s joining for he sees a way to line his own pockets, but I will take up Thornhill’s cause. Velvet, obviously, loves young Fowler, and a marriage based in love holds great sway with me.”

  “Did you say that Uncle Samuel has chosen a husband for you?” Satiné questioned.

  “Yes, Lachlan Charters and I have an understanding.”

  The baron sat forward again. “Has not Viscount Lexford also expressed interest? The earl led me to believe it is so.”

  Cashé flushed. “Viscount Lexford spent much of his time in London in company with my family, but I counted his attentions to be only part of his friendship with His Grace.”

  “Yardley appeared to think there was more to Lexford’s regard,” the baron shared.

  “Uncle Samuel would never accept the viscount,” Cashé claimed.

  The baron spoke seriously. “Cashé, do you not see a pattern? Samuel would give Velvet to a man without a title rather than allow her to marry a duke, and he would give you to plain Mister Charters rather than see you as a viscountess. What gentleman would refuse a title and a place in British society for his nieces? That makes little sense.” He paused briefly. “Tell me. Does Mister Charters hold a place of distinction in Aldridge’s church?”

  “Mister Charters is a church deacon.”

  The baron continued his questioning, “And he is several years older than you?”

  “Mister Charters is a widower; he has two small children,” Cashé confided.

  The baron nodded his head as if processing the information. “Again, as I suspected.”

  Cashé could not understand the baron’s obvious dislike for Samuel Aldridge. Somehow Charles Morton described a man Cashé did not know. She believed in her Uncle Samuel, but Satiné felt as strongly about the baron. They both could not be correct. Had Uncle Samuel basically “sold” her sisters to the baron and the Fowlers? And, if so, why had he chosen to keep her over her sisters? There were too many questions and too few answers.

  *

  “Would you care to explain what happened today?” Marcus and Lexford returned to Chesterfield Manor. They had seen to the incarceration of Jamot’s hired driver and had provided the local magistrate and dockside officers with an “edited” version of what happened.

  Marcus anticipated his friend’s censure. “It was nothing.”

  “It was something,” Lexford corrected.

  Marcus silently prayed for patience. How could he explain the turmoil? “I became upset when we could not reach Miss Satiné. I had promised the lady to protect her.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “And then Miss Cashémere acted on her own, placing herself in real danger.” As he said the words, Marcus wondered at whom he was really angry: himself for losing control or Cashé for acting impulsively. Did the girl not realize it was a man’s province to protect the woman? Every time he thought of Maggie and how he had failed her, Marcus cringed in agony–died a bit also.

  “Miss Cashé acted sensibly under the circumstances,” Lexford defended the lady.

  Marcus simply nodded his head. He would not fight his friend’s intended reprimand. “I have assured the baron that I will offer my apologies to Miss Cashé.”

  “Then, I thank you also for your magnanimity.”

  “Miss Cashémere, might you walk about the room with me?” Marcus bowed to her. By silent assent, they had avoided each other through most of the evening; even over the rather boisterous supper conversation, she and Marcus exchanged no discourse.

  He could tell that she considered refusing, but she said, “Thank you, Lord Yardley.”

  Marcus placed her hand on his arm and began a slow promenade about the music room. Her twin entertained everyone on the pianoforte. They strolled for several minutes without making conversation. Marcus directed her steps to a recess in the back wall. “Miss Cashé, I wish to extend my apologies for my uncouth behavior earlier today. I spoke out of turn, and I pray you will offer your forgiveness.”

  The girl raised her chin defiantly. “Is this your idea, Lord Yardley, or is it an edict from my uncle?”

  Marcus flinched. “Baron Ashton expressed his discontent with my actions, but I was aware of my abhorrent behavior prior to your uncle’s comments.”

  “So, you would have asked for my forgiveness without Uncle Charles’s prompting?” Her voice held cynical strands.

  He regretted making his apologies if it was to cause a scene. Marcus simply wished to terminate his connection with Cashé Aldridge. She brought out the worst in him. “I am not a heathen, Miss Cashémere. I understand what is acceptable in polite society. I was upset when we were unable to secure your sister’s safety. I feared for her life, and then you improvised, placing yourself in danger also. I reacted to the stress.”

  “I am surprised, Your Lordship, that you were successful as a government agent if you so quickly lose your control.”

  Marcus bit back the hateful words that sprang to mind. He considered telling her that she caused his bad behavior with her infuriating actions. Instead, he said, “I assure you, Miss Cashémere, that my standards were never in question.”

  “Then it is only with me that you act so rudely?” she demanded.

  Marcus’s ire rose quickly. “Shall you accept my apology or not?” he growled.

  Cashé’s hands fisted at her waist. “When your apology comes from your heart and not from your conscience, then speak to me again, Lord Yardley!” She shoved past him, returning to the chair she had vacated earlier.

  Marcus watched her go. He wished they were alone so he might teach Miss Cashé a lesson on civility. But what would he do? Images of turning the girl over his knee turned too intimate. “Bloody hell,” he groaned. “From where did that come?”

  *

  Marcus would have preferred to leave for Northumberland the following morning, but as the next day was Sunday, he postponed his departure. Then Fowler had announced his intention to marry Miss Aldridge as soon as possible. Ashton had championed the duke’s cause, and Fowler had sent to Linton Park for permission to marry his cousin in the estate chapel. Lady Eleanor had responded in the affirmative. All they required was the return of James Kerrington and Carter Lowery with Fowler’s daughter Sonali. So, Marcus tarried in Cheshire.

  As a group, they had attended services with Baron Ashton. Marcus placed Miss Satiné on his arm as they entered the chapel. Church members sat agape as the three Aldridge sisters assumed their places on the baron’s pew. The twins caused more than one double take, but Velvet Aldridge’s similarity created quite a stir. Add to that novelty the presence of a duke, an earl, and a viscount, and the gossips buzzed throughout the sermon.

  Marcus could not remember the last time he had attended Sunday services. It was not that he did not consider himself a religious man; he believed in an avenging God, but he quit praying when his prayers for Maggie had come on deaf ears. He had asked God to take him instead, but the Avenger had refused. He did not know of the benevolent being in which these people believed. Yet, he sat quietly, his own thoughts not adverse to those of the sermon, but also not in alignment with the vicar’s words.

  Seated directly behind the ladies, he searched the profile of each twin: the long sleek neckline, the soft white shoulders, and the heart-shaped jaw line. If he had not known which was which, Marcus would have thought it im
possible to tell Miss Satiné from Miss Cashé. That is until they opened their mouths. Cashémere Aldridge spoke with such negativity that it riled even the good-humored baron. The only one who did not seem to notice was Kimbolt. His friend had taken everything the girl professed in stride, almost as if he accepted Miss Cashé’s opinions as commonplace.

  “What did you think of the sermon, my Dear?” Ashton inquired of Cashé when they returned to the estate.

  “It was a noble effort,” she began, “but your Mr. Whistly is short sighted in his congregational responsibilities.”

  The baron smiled kindly. “How so?

  Cashé repeated what she had heard in her Scottish home. “Your Mr. Whistly still believes he can service the poor, but the gentleman does not understand that throwing money at the poor will not solve the problem. The poor always outnumber the needed funds. Plus, simply handing impoverished people money does not resolve their condition.”

  “And how might a congregation go about aiding those who most need it?” The baron appeared interested in what his niece had to say.

  Cashé puffed up with pride at being consulted on such a weighty topic. “At home, we have divided the parish into ‘proportions.’ The church elders and deacons visit every home to determine what each family can provide for itself and then dispense aid to close the deficit.”

  “So, Samuel Aldridge follows the tenets of Thomas Chalmers?”

  “He does, Your Lordship.”

  The baron laced his fingers before him. “An admirable application.”

  “Lachlan Charters and Uncle Samuel serve the parish.”

  Ashton nodded his head in understanding. “Is that not a revelation! Aldridge and this Charters fellow control parish funds meant for the poor.”

  “Uncle and Mr. Charters take their responsibilities very seriously,” Cashé assured her uncle.

  “I imagine they would. It rings of what I know of Averette.”

  Her Uncle Charles’s words betrayed nothing, but his tone spoke volumes. She debated on whether she should defend her Scottish uncle, but with most of those in residence set against Uncle Samuel, Cashé bit back her retort.

  “What occupies your time?” Marcus walked with Satiné in Chesterfield Manor’s upper gardens.

  Satiné rested her hand on the earl’s arm. “Oh, the usual for a lady: painting, embroidery, overseeing the house. Probably my most scandalous interest is horses. I love to ride, and I take satisfaction in recognizing quality in an animal.”

  “You should speak to the viscount. Lord Lexford prides himself on his stables,” Marcus observed. “Have you traveled much, Miss Satiné?”

  “Nothing of which to speak.” She took a seat in the arbor, and Marcus followed her lead. “I suppose you have seen much of the world, Lord Yardley.”

  “I have experienced more than I would have wished. Much of my time abroad was spent in the East–in India and Persia.”

  Satiné’s interest increased. “Is the lifestyle there as decadent as people say?”

  Marcus chose his words carefully. The lady was an innocent; she knew not what she asked. “It is quite different from what we know in England. Some would call India, for example, uncivilized, but I never thought so. People wear clothing appropriate for the weather. They eat foods available in their region. They worship their gods. Humans are very resilient. They learn to live and love wherever they are.”

  “I am not certain I would be able to tolerate such drastic changes.”

  Marcus smiled at her. “You should not have to experience a lifestyle so foreign to you. Leave the spices and the extreme heat behind and, instead, enjoy the best England has to offer.”

  Satiné stood. “May we return to the house, Lord Yardley?”

  Marcus followed her to his feet. He considered what the lady had to offer a man: She possessed the face of an angel and the disposition of one, as well. Satiné Aldridge was what he required in his life–stability–something he had not known for a dozen years.

  *

  Carter Lowery rode into the circular drive early Monday morning with the news for which they had all waited: Sonali Fowler was safe. Thornhill’s composure relaxed, and he rejoiced in the news.

  “And Kerrington is safe also?” Marcus implored.

  “As I explained to His Grace,” Lowery related, “the captain suffered two broken ribs, but he eliminated Talpur. That means Jamot is alone at this moment. Shepherd came to Devon to meet with Viscount Worthing. They decided to send Swenton and Crowden to follow Jamot’s trail. There is confirmation that the Baloch has a connection to a shipment of opium from the Orient. They seek the drug’s supplier.”

  “That is a bad business,” Kimbolt added. “I do not envy John’s and Gabriel’s mission.”

  Lowery nodded his agreement. “Neither do I.”

  Marcus reached for his gloves. “Kimbolt and I are to Lexington Arms today. I assume you have no desire to climb in the saddle and to join us.” He jokingly slapped Lowery on the back.

  Lowery’s obstinate look said it all. “Lord, no. I chased Fowler from Kent to Derbyshire–rode from Linton Park to Devon and then to Cornwall and from Thomas Whittington’s estate to here in a little over a week. I will pass on that pleasure for a day or two.”

  “Then, His Lordship and I will see you later in the week. Fowler plans a speedy union,” Marcus good-naturedly teased. “Kimbolt has some pressing business with his tenants, and I have promised the viscount my opinion on his latest Tattersall purchase.”

  Lowery mimicked Marcus’s tone. “Should I keep Miss Aldridge’s sisters company in your absence?”

  Marcus’s smile widened. “You will notice that Kimbolt’s disposition has improved with Miss Cashé’s presence.”

  “I never!” Lexford objected.

  Sir Carter countered, “Oh, yes, you did!”

  Kimbolt self-mockingly laughed aloud. “Well, maybe just a little.” The viscount stood to follow Marcus from the room. “Actually, you might keep an eye on Miss Satiné for the earl, Lowery. Our friend appears to affect the lady.”

  Lowery smiled knowingly. “So Fowler says. In your absences, I will enjoy both ladies’ companies.”

  Kimbolt looked up as Fowler and the baron entered the drawing room. “The earl and I will leave you to your diversions.” He bowed to his host. “Yardley and I return at the week’s end to escort you to Linton Park, Your Lordship.”

  “As the duke plans to leave on Wednesday, the ladies and I will welcome your company.”

  *

  Early Friday of that same week saw Marcus and Kimbolt riding beside the baron’s coach as it made its way to Linton Park. Fowler had arranged everything. By special license, he and Miss Aldridge would marry at the Linworth chapel. They anticipated Kerrington’s return, and he would bring Fowler’s daughter Sonali to her father. The only sour grape in the bunch was Lord Averette’s notice of the joining. The baron confided that he expected an ugly scene in dealing with Samuel Aldridge’s objections.

  Although he knew very little of the family history other than what he had heard since starting this assignment, Ashton, in Marcus’s estimation, appeared calm about the upcoming confrontation, which seemed a bit unusual to him. But, evidently, Morton had taken offense with how Aldridge had raised Miss Cashémere. Marcus had agreed with Morton’s opinion of Miss Cashé’s upbringing. The girl needed a more genteel attitude.

  The three Aldridge daughters–all products of the households in which they were raised–differed greatly. Miss Aldridge was a woman thought to be as delicate as fine china, but she had survived a week of hell and of fear, with what appeared to be no major ramifications. Velvet Aldridge had proved feistier than people had given her credit for being. Miss Satiné, on the other hand, reflected Ashton’s country values. She knew how to run a household and was an accomplished artist. She enjoyed a mental challenge and a robust ride across her uncle’s estate. And then there was Miss Cashémere. She spit out vinegar and brine as she repeated Lord Averette’s percepts. Ma
rcus did not understand the girl. One moment she expressed the most prejudicial responses he remembered hearing, and the next she showed the deepest compassion. Of course, her compassion was never directed at him. He received a full dose of narrow-mindedness.

  The three days he had spent at Kimbolt’s estate, Marcus had tried repeatedly to engage his friend on the topic of Miss Cashé’s appeal, but, for the life of him, he could not find the words. Marcus had reasoned it was really none of his business to whom Lexford paid his attentions. He would not welcome such interference into his own life, so Marcus had swallowed his objections to Kimbolt’s choosing the lady. As long as he did not have to feather his bed with Cashé Aldridge, his friend’s taste in women should not be a concern.

  Fowler had met them upon their arrival at Linton Park, as did Lady Worthing and Viscount Averette. Marcus looked on with amusement as Ashton caught Averette by the arm before the viscount had publicly berated his oldest niece. “Samuel, how pleasant to see you.” Ashton effectively blocked the viscount’s approach.

  Aldridge grudgingly gave Ashton a courtesy bow. “Good afternoon, Charles.”

  Marcus dismounted, handing off the reins to a waiting groomsman.

  With his larger than life presence, Ashton graciously greeted Eleanor Kerrington and then steered everyone into the house.

  “Uncle,” Cashé gave Aldridge a curtsy. “Are you well?” Marcus heard the tremble in her voice, and worry for the girl caused his heart to lurch.

  The man harshly grasped Miss Cashé’s elbow to lead her into the house. “As well as a man might be whose wishes and rights have been undermined by his family.”

  “I could not reach Velvet in time, Uncle.” Marcus, who walked behind them, observed fear crossing the girl’s face, and that fact did not set well with him. He wanted to know the source of that fear.

  Aldridge glanced at his niece. “You did your best, Girl. I could expect nothing more from a woman. At least, you thought to take a maid with you to protect your reputation.” Again, Marcus observed the girl’s disappointment. She, obviously, sought her uncle’s praise for her efforts to save her oldest sister. A thought struck him deep in his chest. Miss Cashé had wanted his praise of her daring in Liverpool, and, instead, Marcus had berated her. He swallowed his embarrassment at being no better than Averette, a man he thoroughly disliked.