Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (20 page)

Trevor appeared confused. “Why did the baron not raise Miss Cashé as a lady?”

“I should have explained. The three Aldridge sisters lost their parents when they were very young. Miss Aldridge lived with the Fowlers, Miss Satiné with Baron Ashton, and Miss Cashé with an uncle in Scotland.”

Trevor frowned. “I am glad we live together.”

“So am I.” Marcus frowned also. “The circumstances placed Miss Cashé in the worst situation.” Marcus thought of Fowler’s father, but the late duke had never come near Velvet Aldridge. Even with William Fowler’s depravity, Cashé had known a different, more lasting violation. Cashémere’s mind had been bombarded with hatred and censure every day of her life. “The lady suffered greatly with Lord Averette.”

*

“Uncle Charles,” Cashé sat with the baron and Satiné for afternoon tea. She and her twin had called a truce; neither had acknowledged the argument from two days prior. Cashé had accepted Satiné’s silence as an apology. “Would you object if I wrote to Uncle Samuel and Aunt Alice?”

“If you feel a necessity, then I would hold no objections,” the baron said warily.

Cashé read the question in his tone. “I will not ask Uncle Samuel to come for me if that is your concern. I have spent much time reasoning the why’s of this situation, and although it has been thrust upon me without regard to my own feelings, I have come to peace with it. Yet, I cannot pretend to be comfortable with not offering my farewells to Aunt Alice and to Gwendolyn. Besides, I would wish to have some of my personal belongings and clothing sent to me. You have been generous, and Satiné has shown true compassion in sharing her items, but I wish for my memories not to be stolen from me.” Cashé noted the baron’s frown at her use of the word stolen, and she had taken a certain pleasure in seeing her uncle’s composure ruffled. She still stung from how easily everyone had dispensed with her feelings–as if she had none in the matter.

“I imagine Samuel would welcome the request more so if it came from you.” The baron sat his teacup on a side table. “However, do not fret about the expense of a few extra dresses. I would stand it gladly to have my dear Chenille’s children in my home.” He stood to take his leave. “Have Mr. James frank your letter for you when you are ready. By the way,” he turned back to the sisters, “I have asked some of the family to join us for a few days next week...before the weather changes. Your Aunt Charlotte and your cousins are thrilled to reacquaint themselves with you, Cashémere. Satiné, if you will check the menus and arrangements, I would appreciate it.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

When the baron exited, Cashé turned to her sister. “What do you say to our trying a small switch or two when Aunt Charlotte and our cousins visit? Nothing elaborate–just having tea or sharing a few minutes to see if they notice the difference.”

Satiné’s composure faltered. “I am no longer certain this is a good idea.”

Cashé expected as much. What she had learned of her twin spoke of Satiné’s refinement but also of her sister’s weak resolve. “Then you will accept Lord Yardley when your heart tells you otherwise?”

“Why could we not simply tell the gentlemen the truth? There is no need for deception.”

Cashé fought the desire to roll her eyes in exasperation. “Gentlemen never realize what is good for them, and you must remember Lord Lexford and Lord Yardley have a long-standing friendship. Neither would interfere in the other’s relationship. We might lose them both if they thought we refused their regards. Men possess such weak egos.”

Satiné argued, “It seems that the earl has already interfered in the viscount’s life.”

Cashé immediately came to Marcus’s defense. “Lord Yardley is not at blame. I allowed and even encouraged him. I needed to compare the gentlemen, especially as I did not wish to lead Viscount Lexford on if my affections were engaged elsewhere.”

“Of course,” her twin observed, “it would be indecorous to treat His Lordship falsely.” Satiné lowered her voice. “I am unsure whether I might attract Lord Lexford. It appears that both gentlemen prefer you.”

Perversely, Cashé rejoiced in Satiné’s lack of confidence. To her, Satiné was everything she could never hope to be, and to observe her twin’s doubts had given Cashé the nerve to see this through. She moved quickly to sit beside her sister. “Dear Satiné, please do not make this a competition between us. Lord Lexford sees only my face, but yours is equal in every way. I have watched the two of you together. You and the viscount complement each other. For example, I despise riding, but you are an accomplished equestrian; and Lord Lexford plans to develop a line of thoroughbreds. He and I are mismatched. If you allow His Lordship to woo you as me, it shall prove it is you for whom he truly cares. Entice the viscount in my name, but secure his affections in yours.”

“His Lordship and I do seem to share many of the same interests,” Satiné agreed. After a short pause, she added, “Do you truly believe that such a plan will succeed?”

Cashé wanted to shout that she would accept nothing less than success, but she had recognized her sister’s tentative personality, so she said, “That is why we shall try it first in small doses on Aunt Charlotte and our cousins–walking through a room, answering a question as each other, enjoying afternoon tea–everyday actions. If we are caught, we can laugh and claim it a twin trick. Everyone expects twins to do as such as children, but because we were separated, the most we shall receive is a frown, a raised eyebrow, or a mild chastisement.”

“I would not wish to disappoint Uncle Charles.” Satiné wavered.

Cashé bit back her retort. “You will not disenchant the baron. He wants us to discover a sisterly relationship. This will prove him correct.”

“Well...I suppose we could try,” Satiné reluctantly concurred.

Before her twin could retreat from the scheme, Cashé said, “Then you must tell me more of Aunt Charlotte, as well as John and Rose. I have not seen our cousins since we were children.”

Cashé and Satiné spent nearly an hour making plans, and then Cashé excused herself to write her letter. A bit later, with trepidation, she approached her uncle’s secretary. “Mr. James, Uncle Charles said you would frank these letters for me.” She attempted nonchalance.

“Of course, Miss Aldridge.” The man took the two letters she held in her hand. He marked the first one with the baron’s authority. However, when he looked at the second, he shot Cashé a questioning glance. “You have not written the direction on this one, Miss Aldridge.” He extended his hand to her.

However, Cashé, intentionally, refused the returned letter. She feigned ignorance. “How silly of me! They are both going to my uncle’s home. That one is for his daughter Gwendolyn. The child must be highly disappointed with my not returning with Uncle Samuel. I tried to explain things to her and tell her that I did not desert her. If you will go ahead and post it, I will mark it to her attention.”

“Certainly, Miss Aldridge.” The man poured the hot wax to seal the pages and placed the baron’s signet symbol in the quickly drying liquid. “Should I post these for you?” he asked with a great deal of self-importance.

“That shan’t be necessary, but I appreciate your offer. I plan to walk into the village,” she assured him.

“It is nearly three miles, Miss Aldridge,” Mr. James protested.

Cashé smiled sweetly. “That is of little significance. I do not mind a long walk. I welcome the exercise.”

“As you wish, Miss Aldridge. However, if you should change your mind, I will order the carriage for your needs.”

Cashé squeezed the back of the man’s bony hand. “Your kindness is so noted, Mr. James.” Then she left him, trying to squelch the giddiness that had sprung to her step.

*

“Do you understand what I need of you?” Jamot asked the man he had hired to learn of Ashton’s daily habits. With some careful questioning around Liverpool, he had discovered Morton’s identity. He had only seen the baron once–at the blacksmith’s shop close to the empty warehouse in which he had held Velvet Aldridge. His inquiries had revealed that the man was the maternal uncle for the Aldridge sisters, and the baron had raised Satiné Aldridge, while Viscount Averette, the paternal uncle had taken in the middle girl Cashémere. Originally, Jamot had thought finding the Realm culprit would have been easy, but he had already spent a year in England, and he was no closer than he had been on the day he had arrived on English shores.

“I understand,” the out-of-work shopkeeper said.

“You hold a previous acquaintance with Morton?” Jamot confirmed.

The shopkeeper ran a finger under his tight collar. “I did business with him on a regular basis.”

“I want to know everything that you might discover. You will meet me here, one week from today with the information.” They sat on the steps of a deserted hunting lodge, which Jamot had used of late for his hideaway. “You are to tell no one of our connection.”

The Englishman nervously swallowed. “And I will be paid at that time?”

Jamot understood the man’s reluctance to do business with anyone of his skin color. The English had a natural dislike of anyone not like them. Their prejudices fueled his desire to prove Mir correct. “Ah,” Jamot pretended to comprehend. This man he hired as his eyes in this part of England desperately needed money because of an ailing wife and four small children. “You require some assurance of your trouble being compensated. Am I correct?”

“I...I did not mean,” the man stammered.

He had learned from dealing with the English over the years to assume their speech and their mannerisms. It helped to hide the fact that he was not one of them. Now, he pretended real concern for the man’s misfortunes. “It is of no consequence. We know each other not.” The Baloch reached into his pocket and withdrew ten pounds. He thrust the money into the man’s hand and closed the shopkeeper’s fingers about the paper. “Take this as a sign of our agreement.”

The man looked relieved. “Thank you,” he gushed. “I will not fail you.”

“I knew I could trust you when I first laid eyes on you.” Jamot lied. “You are a man of honor.”

*

He had returned to Berwick a little over three weeks prior, and each day he had talked himself out of saddling Khan and riding to Manchester to claim her. Marcus’s heart ached for something he might never have. He would not interfere if Kimbolt had chosen Cashé: Somehow Marcus would walk away. Yet, the thought ripped his heart of shreds. If that became the scenario, he would find a way to divorce himself from Kimbolt’s acquaintance. Marcus would not be able to tolerate seeing Cashémere as Kimbolt’s viscountess. Either way, destiny might cost him Lexford’s friendship.

“A post, Sir.” Marcus looked up to find his butler.

“Thank you,” he said as he reached for the letter. Marcus turned it over to see the baron’s insignia embedded in the wax, and his breath caught in his chest. “That will be all, Mr. Spear,” he mumbled, deep in thought. Last week, he had received an update from Kerrington on what Shepherd had learned of Averette. The irascible government contact had suspected that Averette siphoned off funds donated to the parish poor. They needed more specific information on Ashton’s knowledge of Averette’s perfidy, but their suspicions appeared true: The baron blackmailed Aldridge into leaving both Her Grace and Cashémere behind.

With a deep breath and obviously shaking hands, Marcus broke the seal on the letter and unfolded the pages. Then his heart lurched in surprise; the letter had come from her–from Cashé. Unconsciously, he brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply of the scent of jasmine–whether real or imagined, the fragrance would forever be implanted in his memory and associated with her. How she had wheedled her way into his very bruised soul, he did not know, but the lady’s beautiful face lingered with him.

Marcus sipped the claret he had set aside only moments before. Leaning back into the chair, he wondered whether he should be wary of what she might say. His first response when he saw the letter had been one of delight, but now his eyes searched the paper for words of endearment. If Cashé was to tell him that she never wished to see him again, he did not want to read the page. Other than Trevor, he had lost everyone in his life for whom he cared deeply. Marcus was not certain he could tolerate losing her. The thought shocked him because he had never thought of her in that respect. Was she truly his to lose? His eyes fell to the first line to read,

My dearest Marcus,

I am certain that receipt of this letter shall surprise you. I must admit to being quite devious in executing this sham. I have secured the baron’s permission to write to Uncle Samuel, which I did, but for this second letter to my cousin Gwendolyn, I asked Mr. James to frank it before I wrote the directions. So, maybe I should retract my salutation and instead say, “My dearest Gwendolyn.”

Marcus laughed softly. She was a most ingenious creature. He would need to keep that fact in mind if he was to claim Cashé as his own.

Now that you understand how I have broken with propriety, my Heart, will you continue to read these words–words from someone who misses you, or will my inappropriate bravado spur you to throw these pages into the fireplace?

Throw the pages into the fire? Never! They would remain with him forever. He would place Cashé’s words in a safe place–a place of honor–he would carry the letter near his heart, as he had once carried Maggie’s strand of lace.

I suspect I should inform you of my manipulations with Lord Lexford. My commitment to directing His Lordship’s attentions elsewhere are progressing. As I suspected, Satiné holds a tendance for Lord Lexford, and I have recruited my sister’s aid in securing the viscount’s interest.

Only Cashé, he thought. She was the one woman who would move a mountain if it foolishly got in her way. Maybe that was what he had recognized in her from the beginning–a certain boldness that both infuriated and enticed him.

Satiné and I have agreed to a switch of sorts. Except for our upbringing, few people can tell us apart. So, we have begun to teach each other. Satiné is offering me lessons on deportment, and I have shared my experiences in Scotland.