Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (2 page)

Marcus glared at Miss Cashé, before taking a stilling breath. “Could you please explain, Viscountess, where I might find your husband or Miss Aldridge?”

The woman turned first to Cashé, indicating the girl should sit. “Neither my husband’s niece nor I know the answer to that question,” Lady Averette said calmly.

Marcus thought this the most bizarre mission Shepherd had ever assigned him. He ran his fingers through his hair. Taking another calming breath, he said, “What might you tell me, Ma’am? I give you my word as a gentleman...” He heard the girl snort, and Marcus leveled a warning glare on her before he continued. “As a gentleman...that it is not my intention to bring shame upon your household.”

The viscountess again motioned Marcus to a chair. She sat beside Cashé, taking the girl’s hand. “Are you telling us, Your Lordship, that the Duke of Thornhill did not send you to Edinburgh?”

Marcus wondered how much he might honestly share with Averette’s family, but these women were also Fowler’s family so he attempted a version of the truth. “Although His Grace now knows of my mission to your home, I did not come at his bidding.”

“Then who sent you?” the girl demanded before her aunt placed a calming hand on Cashé’s sleeve.

“That I am not at liberty to say, Miss Cashémere, but I will tell you that I received word that a former enemy of the men you met at Briar House after the Prince’s party had planned to exact revenge on Fowler by hurting your older sister. As I live in Northumberland, I was dispatched to intercept the attack.”

The viscountess’s hands trembled. “Velvet did not leave to meet His Grace?”

Marcus quickly put together what she said. “Miss Aldridge left this house?”

“Yes.” The woman whispered.

“When?” The word exploded in the room.

“Yesterday morning.”

“Oh, my God!” Marcus was on his feet and pacing. “Tell me the rest.”

The viscountess reluctantly obliged. “A servant observed my husband’s niece in the orchard. The man went on about his duties, but within a quarter hour, he saw a carriage racing from the area. When Gillis reported what he had seen to my Samuel, we conducted a search. Unfortunately, we were not successful in locating our niece. My husband, Sir, believes his family has left our home to meet Thornhill. He gives chase.”

Marcus had heard from Carter Lowery how distraught Fowler had been at Miss Aldridge’s departure, but he knew Bran would never lure Velvet from her uncle’s home. To claim the woman he loved, Fowler might “storm the castle,” so to speak, but he had never set up a secret betrayal. It was not Fowler’s style. “Lord Averette will not find your niece with His Grace.”

“How can you be so certain, Your Lordship?” Miss Cashé charged.

“Because Shaheed Mir has other plans for your sister.”

“Such as?” she demanded, but a slight shake of his head said she would not want to know. Before he could say more, she stood before him. “You have to help her,” she asserted.

Marcus wanted to remind the silly chit that was why he had ridden all night through a rainstorm. She stated the obvious. “We must determine whether Mir’s agents have your sister. Have either of you noticed strangers in the area?”

“We ran a foreigner from the stable,” Lady Averette shared.

“When was that?”

“A week or so ago. He claimed to be seeking work. Lord Averette did not like his looks so he sent the man packing.”

The girl caught Marcus’s arm. “A dark man followed Velvet and me when we shopped two days ago. We noticed because he asked Edana if he might buy her a butter tart. When she refused, he continued to ask about the household.”

“Damn!” Marcus grumbled.

“Your Lordship, I must insist that you not curse in my uncle’s house,” Miss Cashé reprimanded.

Marcus blinked in confusion, unaware he had uttered an expletive before a lady. “I apologize, Miss Cashémere.” He walked away toward the window, taking up a position to see the gardens. “Did you see this man?”

“No, Sir, but we might bring in Edana to describe him.”

Marcus considered it, but he suspected it would be a waste of time. “I am assuming that Miss Aldridge had at least a two-hour lead on Lord Averette,” he said to the expanse before the house.

“Closer to three,” Lady Averette shared.

“So, we are not certain whether His Lordship actually followed Miss Aldridge.”

Miss Cashé asked, “What do you mean, Sir?”

Marcus turned to look at her. “My informant says that Mir’s man plans to go to Liverpool and wait for a ship. Could Lord Averette have known that? I am certain the rain will eliminate any chance of his actually following the coach in which the man has Miss Aldridge.”

“I doubt it.” The girl appeared very nervous.

“Explain.” Marcus waited for more information.

Cashé looked about sheepishly. “I heard Uncle Samuel order his driver to set a course for Derbyshire. My uncle assumed that the duke would lure Velvet to Eleanor’s home at Linton Park. It would not be that long of a journey–not like going all the way to Kent, and Uncle realized Viscount Worthing and Eleanor would be happy to give both Velvet and Fowler refuge.”

“So, your uncle chases his prejudice while your sister is in real danger?” Marcus could not resist this bit of censure.

“My uncle protects my sister!” she defended the man.

“Actually, Miss Cashémere, I suspect His Grace, as well as several other of our acquaintances protect Miss Aldridge.”

“I thought you said His Grace had nothing to do with your being here!” Again, the girl was on the offensive.

“I said,” he emphasized the words, “that His Grace knew nothing of this when I began my journey, but I am certain he has received notification; and knowing Thornhill’s affection for your sister, he must be on his way to Liverpool.”

Miss Cashé looked to her aunt for confirmation. “Then we must find my uncle and see him to Liverpool as well.”

“Surely, you jest, Miss Cashémere?”

Again, her fists came to her waist. “I do not, Your Lordship! We must find my sister before His Grace can ruin her.”

“Miss Cashémere,” Marcus mocked, “your sister’s reputation is already ruined: She travels alone with a foreigner. However, it is her life of which you should be concerned.”

Lady Averette finally reacted. “But if Samuel can aid in Velvet’s release, we might still hush up her absence. Other than our servants, no one knows, and they are a loyal lot.” Marcus doubted that the Averettes could control the gossip, but he kept his opinions to himself. “We will spread the rumor that Samuel and his niece have traveled to Derby because Lady Worthing has taken ill. If my husband can return with Velvet, no one will be the wiser. Lord Averette is most concerned for propriety.”

“I could go,” Cashé declared. “I could go after Uncle Samuel.”

Lady Averette reached for the girl. “It is a great responsibility.”

“We will tell everyone that the earl came to escort me to Linton Park. Lady Eleanor, obviously, is my family also.”

Marcus suddenly realized what they planned. “I beg your pardon. I must follow Miss Aldridge’s trail.”

“Then I will go alone,” Cashé declared.

“Miss Cashémere, that is foolish. The roads are too dangerous for a woman alone.”

“We can trust no one else, Your Lordship.” Lady Averette turned her eyes on him in supplication. “If we are to save Velvet’s reputation, my husband must be involved.”

Marcus realized their determination. “Then I will follow Lord Averette.”

Miss Cashé stood before him, her damnable chin lifting again. “Uncle Samuel will never believe you. He is aware of your relationship with His Grace. You must take me if you expect him to accept your words.”

Wellston wished he could curse again. The exclamations seemed to clear his thinking when he felt the frustrations. He tried to analyze what he might achieve if he went toward Liverpool first. Miss Aldridge and Murhad Jamot had, at least, a four and twenty hour advantage. “Might Lord Averette have access to his bank if we must ransom Miss Aldridge?” he asked.

“I shall give my niece a blank draft to take to her uncle,” Lady Averette assured him.

“Might your maid accompany us?” he needed to clarify what he should expect.

“I shall take Edana with me,” Cashé declared.

“I would go,” Lady Averette excused herself, “but Gwendolyn would be devastated. Plus, we must keep up appearances.” Marcus did not understand that type of attitude. He would give away every thread of propriety to have Maggie back. He would stare down Society for the pleasure of Maggie’s laugh.

Marcus planned their departure. “We must be on the road immediately. We have much time to make up. Is there a coach the ladies might use or should I see to renting one?”

“You may take my husband’s small coach,” Lady Averette declared. “We have another that the servants might use if we need supplies or for emergencies.”

“And a driver?” Marcus pressed.

“I shall see to it, Your Lordship.” Lady Averette caught her niece’s hand. “You must hurry, my Dear. I shall send up the maids to help you pack.”

Cashé started for the door. “Miss Cashémere,” the earl called, “do you recall what your sister wore yesterday?”

“A light blue gown.”

“Are you certain.”

“Absolutely, my Lord.”

Marcus nodded. “Might you bring an item belonging to Miss Aldridge among your things? If we must use the hounds, it would be helpful if we must track your sister.” Thankfully, the girl acknowledged the sensibility of what he had said before excusing herself. “I will see to my horse and assure myself of the coach’s soundness. I hope to use some of the back roads to save time.”

“I understand, Your Lordship.” Lady Averette led him to the door. “We will be ready within the hour.”

The rain had stopped, but the earlier downpour had washed away some of the trails he might have chosen, but Marcus figured they could reach the border by nightfall. He had hoped by using the lesser-traveled roads that they could make up a half-day or more on Lord Averette’s pursuit. Although he was admittedly often inebriated and traveling with a pack of rabble-rousers, Marcus had traveled this part of Scotland many times in his youth. He had attempted to kill the pain of losing Maggie, but Shepherd had pulled him from that life and slammed him smack into the middle of political intrigue. Thank God for Shepherd’s insights. Otherwise, Marcus would be dead, and there would be no one to see to Trevor.

“Your Lordship,” Miss Cashé’s head appeared at the coach’s window, “when might we be stopping?”

Marcus maneuvered his horse closer to the carriage. “At dark, Miss Cashé.”

“Could we not stop earlier?” She snarled her nose as she glanced at her maid. “Edana is not feeling well.”

Marcus ducked his head to see inside the coach. The maid appeared embarrassed by the attention, but he noted no discomfort on the woman’s face. “There’ll be no place to stay before then.” He directed his statement to Cashémere, who, obviously, placed her own discomfort on the maid. “Hopefully, your maid will be able to withstand the rough road a bit longer.”

“Your Lordship, I insist,” she began, but a glare from Marcus stopped her short.

“When it is safe, Miss Cashé, we will stop and not before then.” Marcus nudged the horse ahead, ignoring her orders. He was not often rude to anyone, but something about this girl set against his nature. His friend Aidan Kimbolt, Lord Lexford, affected Cashémere Aldridge. The viscount had been absolutely intolerable after Miss Cashé’s withdrawal from London. On the Calcutta trip, Kimbolt snapped at everyone and was often angry for no reason, but Marcus could not see it. She was pretty enough–coal black, silky hair and mesmerizing emerald eyes, but she ruined every kind thought with her shrewish tongue. He certainly was not about to take orders from some immature female.

Cashé watched him ride away; she found the Earl of Berwick to be the most infuriating of men–his rudeness irritated her beyond belief. However, she could not forget his body’s heat when he caught her before him or his strength when he clasped her arms to her side. His strong, muscular arms had held her tightly in place, and Cashé still flushed with the remembrance of her back pressed against his chest.

She could not help but notice his dark, deep-set eyes or his aristocratic nose nor his powerful chin line. He resembled a Roman orator; she could easily picture the earl in a toga and addressing the Roman Senate, but those thoughts brought on images of an improperly clad Marcus Wellston, and that bothered her more than she understood.

Never once had Cashé had such a thought. In fact, her Uncle Samuel would have had her doing some sort of penitence if he knew. So, Cashé forced her musings away, but each time she turned her head to glance out the window at the countryside, she would see Berwick and be reminded of her errant thoughts, or she would not see him and be reminded.

Cashé had only accepted the attentions of two men in her life: Lachlan Charters and Aidan Kimbolt. Charters, her uncle’s preference as a suitor, had called often at The Ridge to sit with her. Everyone assumed Charters would make his intentions known when she turned nineteen in four months. If Uncle Samuel and the church approved, they would marry before she reached her twentieth birthday. Charters were nearly twice Cashé’s age, having lost his first wife some four years prior. She would have a ready-made family as Charters had two children.

The man certainly did not possess either the earl’s or Lord Lexford’s physique, but Charters was a pleasant-enough looking man, and, more importantly, Charters was a leader in their parish. Cashé had thought it best to choose someone with the same religious beliefs.

When she had traveled to London in the late spring, she had met the earl’s friend Viscount Lexford. The viscount, like the earl, held a previous acquaintance with both her cousin Brantley Fowler and with Eleanor’s husband, Lord Worthing. Uncle Samuel did not totally approve of her keeping company with the viscount, but her aunt had convinced him that Cashé would be more willing to choose Charters if she had an opportunity to enjoy other men’s attentions. Besides, they had chaperoned her every encounter with Lexford. Only once, at the infamous Vauxhall Gardens, had she come close to being alone with the man, if one can consider him alone in a crowd.