A loud braying sound caught Cassandra’s attention as a large, hump-backed cow was forced to move out of the way of Mr. Ritchie’s phaeton. The men walking past, carrying the baskets of goods on their heads, called out their wares. Cassandra could not understand what they said, but it sounded very much like a song. It was actually a lovely cacophony of sound all around them.
And beside her, Mr. Ritchie’s strong arm held firm onto the reins. She could imagine that same arm encircling her–holding her with strength and comfort in a gentle grip.
She felt his warmth, sitting as close to him as she was. And when he leaned down to hear what she said, he smelled so wonderful–of sandalwood and soap. She had deliberately spoken softly a few times just so that he would have to bend toward her to hear what she was saying.
It was all very wrong, especially since she wasn’t even interested in men–not even the exotic and attractive Julian Ritchie.
But she just could not help it. Just sitting next to him made her feel good.
A man passed by, walking quickly with a huge load of vegetables in the basket on his head. Cassandra was forced to exclaim, “My goodness, look at all that man is carrying!”
“I am sorry, Miss Renwick, who?” Mr. Ritchie’s mind seemed to have been elsewhere.
Maybe he too had been having thoughts along the same lines as her own.
“That man who just passed us. He had such a heavy basket on his head! Surely he does not think he can sell all that while walking the streets.”
“Oh no. He is going to the bazaar.”
“Oh, how I would love to see that,” Cassandra said. She was beginning to think that perhaps Mr. Ritchie was right, and she should explore more of native India.
Especially, her heart said treacherously, if it meant being with him.
“I would be happy to take you one day,” he offered, just as she had hoped he would.
Cassandra’s heart gave a leap.
Gisela Brown had not minded playing Cassandra’s alibi for today. But would she mind doing so again?
Cassandra twirled around, her hand held securely in Major Vernon’s. Dancing was the one thing that made coming to these parties bearable. She did love to dance.
“Have I told you, Miss Renwick, how lovely that color is on you?” Major Vernon asked as they promenaded down the line. “It brings out the roses in your cheeks and makes your beautiful blue eyes shine.”
Cassandra laughed at his effusive compliments. He was forever saying such ridiculous things—it quite reminded her of Lord Felbridge.
In fact, Lord Felbridge’s compliments were exactly what had first attracted her to him. But now she knew better and Major Vernon’s praises left her untouched and even annoyed at times.
“You are doing it too brown, Major. It is simply the dancing that has put color into my cheeks and the sparkle in my eye.”
“And you are a very graceful dancer. I am always honored when you stand up with me,” was his quick reply.
Luckily, the movements of the dance made it impossible for them to further this useless conversation. Much more of it, and Cassandra knew she would entirely lose her joy of the dance.
Her next dance partner was not quite as adept at flowery compliments, and for that Cassandra was grateful. Reggie White was a pleasant, understated gentleman. He rather reminded Cassandra of old St. Nick with his round belly and rosy cheeks.
He was always a very happy person, filled with meaningless prattle that made Cassandra laugh. She was still giggling after their dance ended and he returned her to her mama.
“Thank you so much, Mr. White. I do always enjoy dancing with you,” Cassandra said while curtseying.
He bowed in return. “It is entirely my pleasure.”
It was then that Mr. Ritchie walked up to them, boldly ignoring the glare from Cassandra’s mother.
Cassandra felt her heart begin to beat faster. She gave him a broad, welcoming smile as he approached.
Mr. Ritchie was carrying two glasses of lemonade. Offering one to Cassandra and the other to her mother, he said, “Good evening, Lady Renwick. Miss Renwick, you looked in need of some refreshment.”
“Thank you, sir. I could not be more grateful. It is quite warm this evening, is it not?” Cassandra tried to behave normally, but just seeing Mr. Ritchie here had brightened her entire evening.
“Indeed. It is a trifle warm for November, wouldn’t you agree, Reggie?” Mr. Ritchie said, turning to the other gentleman.
“Yes, rather,” he answered, giving Mr. Ritchie a quizzical look.
“I believe you are correct, Mr. White, it is unusually warm.” Lady Renwick said. “I am certain Major Vernon would be happy to escort you for a stroll around the garden, Cassandra. If you will excuse us, gentlemen.”
“Oh, but Mama, I am certain Mr. Ritchie would be happy to do the same, would you not, sir?” Cassandra asked, smiling encouragingly at him.
“I would be honored,” Mr. Ritchie said, as he quickly regained his composure, which he’d clearly lost for a moment at her words.
Her mother scowled. “Yes, well, we will not impose upon you further, Mr. Ritchie.”
She handed him back her empty lemonade glass as if he were a servant.
“It would be no imposition at all, I assure you, ma’am.”
“My daughter should be escorted by one of her peers, Mr. Ritchie, not you.”
With this parting shot, Lady Renwick turned her back on the gentleman and practically dragged Cassandra away.
Cassandra had never been more embarrassed. In one moment her mother had completely spoiled her good mood. “Mother, how could you?” she said as soon as she could find her voice.
“What do you mean, how could I? I did only what should be done—I put that young man firmly in his place,” her mother said, looking around Mrs. Hurst’s ballroom for Major Vernon.
“But that is not right. He is my peer! And if he is not, it is because he is a better person than I, for he is able to deal with people like you.”
“Nonsense. You do not know what you are talking about,” her mother said dismissively.
Lady Renwick’s voice brightened. “Ah, there he is.” She waved her fan in Major Vernon’s direction. He was speaking with another young lady, but at Lady Renwick’s summons, he abandoned her and joined them instead.
Her mother gave the officer her most beguiling smile. “Major, my poor daughter is quite overheated after all that dancing. Would you be so kind as to take her for a stroll through the gardens?”
Major Vernon’s face lit up at the suggestion. He bowed to Cassandra, saying, “I would be more than honored to do so.”
“Well, I would not. I do not mean to be rude, sir, but I am not interested in going for a walk,” Cassandra said, her ire making her much more direct than usual.
“Cassandra, don’t be silly. You just said that you were very warm and would be happy to go for a stroll.”
“Yes, when I was speaking with Mr. Ritchie. Now, however, I am feeling perfectly well again and have no need to go outside. Thank you very much, Major.”
As Cassandra began to turn her back on the gentleman, her mother grabbed her wrist.
“Do not be rude, my girl,” her mother said, her eyes piercing into Cassandra’s.
Cassandra knew she was in trouble, but there was nothing for it now. She was not going to allow her mother to brow-beat her into going for a walk with Major Vernon when she would have much preferred Mr. Ritchie’s company.
Truth be told, Major Vernon reminded her too often of Lord Felbridge.
“It is of no consequence, Lady Renwick. If Miss Renwick does not wish to walk in the garden with me, I shall survive, perhaps…” he allowed his voice to trail off and gave her the saddest expression.
Cassandra could not help but laugh. He looked like a lost little puppy dog. “Oh, very well, Major Vernon, I will walk with you.”
He immediately perked up. “Good. I could not stand the thought that I’d been put out by a half-breed
.”
He put out his arm for Cassandra to take, but she had frozen at his comment.
“How dare you! Mr. Ritchie is ten times the man you are. He is kind and considerate and, and… Oh!”
Cassandra had never been so furious in her life. She stormed away from both her mother and Major Vernon. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she needed to get away from such horrible condescending, bigoted people.
How could he? How dare he?
She practically ran out of the room and stormed through the garden, whacking at helpless bushes with her fan, not keeping to the paths lined with pretty colored lanterns. She stomped across the well-manicured lawn.
Finally, when she reached the outside wall, she was forced to stop. Her breath was coming fast and her heart pounded in anger.
“It is not worth it,” a quiet voice just behind her said.
She spun around to see Mr. Ritchie standing there in the dark, his white smile standing out even more than usual against his brown face.
Cassandra leaned back against the wall and looked up at the millions of stars above them. Blinking back her tears of anger, she said, “It is just so unfair! How can they treat you so?”
She stood up again and looked directly at him. “How can you just stand there and take such rudeness? Why do you take it?”
Mr. Ritchie shrugged. “I suppose I’m used to it. Besides, what am I going to do? What could I possibly do to make them stop?”
He came forward, and then turned his back and leaned against the wall just as she had done.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “I used to think that being just like them would make me acceptable. I can out-English any Englishman without even thinking about it. My English is impeccable, I play cricket and ride—and yet still my skin refuses to turn white. And while it is still brown I will be looked down upon, no matter what I do.”
Cassandra’s heart felt like a stone weighing down inside her chest. “Why don’t you get upset by this?”
“I used to. Now I get angry. Very angry,” he said so quietly that a shiver of fear ran through Cassandra.
There was an awkward silence.
“It’s just not fair. It’s not right,” Cassandra whispered, her voice refusing to cooperate as she held back her tears. “People should just accept you for who you are.”
Mr. Ritchie laughed. It was a sad, hollow laugh with no amusement in it at all. “In a perfect world, Miss Renwick. Not in this one.”
He stood up and moved forward, gently taking her arm. “Come, let me escort you back to the ball. You should not be out here for too long. Your mother will get worried.”
As she allowed him to walk with her back to the house, Cassandra wracked her mind for some way in which she could help him.
“Have you thought that if you dressed more fashionably, people would accept you more readily?” she asked hesitantly.
“I have tried that,” he admitted with a little laugh. “Like everything else, it didn’t really make a difference. I would prefer to be accepted for who I am, not how I am dressed.”
Cassandra nodded her head, certain that he was right. If he was not accepted because of the color of his skin, just changing his clothes shouldn’t make a difference.
They slowed before they got to the more populated areas of the garden.
“Won’t you come in with me, Mr. Ritchie?” Cassandra asked when he stopped walking.
“No. It would not do for it to become known that we were out here alone. You go ahead.”
Cassandra nodded sadly, knowing that he spoke the truth.
“Oh, Miss Renwick,” he said, stopping her before she got too far.
He quickly caught up with her. “Don’t forget our outing to the bazaar on Saturday,” he said quietly, just in case anyone else was nearby.
Now this was the first happy thought Cassandra had had for much of the evening. Not that she had forgotten for one moment about the long-awaited outing.
How could she? It was what she was looking forward to more than anything.
As Cassandra was searching through her wardrobe on Friday afternoon, looking for just the right dress to wear to the bazaar, Gita asked hesitantly, “Miss, would you be interested in wearing a sari?”
Cassandra whirled around to face her ayah. “A sari? I would love to! But I do not own one.”
“I would be happy to lend you one of mine,” Gita offered.
“Would you? Would it fit me?” Cassandra was beginning to get very excited, but she was a good four inches taller than her maid and thinner as well.
Gita laughed gently. “Oh, yes, Miss. Saris only come in one size. They fit everybody.”
“That would be wonderful! Oh, I can just imagine Mr. Ritchie’s expression when he sees me in a sari!” Cassandra said, bouncing on her toes and clapping her hands together.
“I am not suggesting this to impress Mr. Ritchie.” Gita’s expression was much too serious.
Cassandra calmed herself. “Then why are you suggesting it?”
“Because it is not proper for a young English lady to go an Indian bazaar. Even girls from good Indian families do not go to the bazaar. It is just not done.”
Gita held her hand up as Cassandra was about to protest. “I know that you will not be turned from your desire to go, Miss, but that is why I want you to blend in with the other people there as much as possible. It is for your own safety.”
Cassandra realized then just how lucky she was to have such an understanding maid. Instinctively, she gave Gita a hug. “You are very good to me, Gita.”
The maid extracted herself quickly, but could neither hide the smile on her face, nor the tears in her eyes. “I will bring you the sari tomorrow, Miss.”
Cassandra had the good sense to leave her parents’ house in her usual dress and to then change her clothing at Gisela’s. She knew she would have to pass a number of people just to leave, and any one of them might mention her unusual dress to her mother.
Gita had brought along one of her best saris for the occasion. After the ayah had finished the complicated winding and pleating of the sari, Cassandra stared at her reflection in the cheval glass.
She was almost unrecognizable! The woman who stared back at her looked exotic and, dare she even think it, sensuous.
The brilliant blue silk clung to her curves, accentuating her figure even as it concealed it. The gold thread that had been used to embroider delicate flowers all along the border of the sari glinted as it picked up the highlights in her own golden hair. For modesty, though, Gita instructed Cassandra to cover her head and part of her face with the tail of the sari, showing her how to hold the end so that it would not slip off.
At four o’clock sharp, she met Mr. Ritchie, who was waiting for her in his phaeton on the street corner outside Gisela’s house.
At first, he looked right past her. Even when she stopped directly in front of him, he stared dumbly at her for a moment. Then, with a slow, incredulous smile, he jumped down to greet her.
“Miss Renwick? I almost did not recognize you! You look so, so…”
“Indian? Strange?” Cassandra met his smile with a shy one of her own.
“Ravishing! Beautiful!” Mr. Ritchie finally finished, his cheeks flushing a deep red. He suddenly found the ground in front of him very interesting.
Cassandra giggled, but then tried to look up at him demurely from under the end of the sari covering her blond tresses.
“Thank you. It was my ayah’s idea that I dress this way, so that I would not look too out of place at the bazaar. I see that you are also wearing native clothes, perhaps for the same reason?”
Mr. Ritchie was, indeed, dressed as many Indian men in a long, fine shirt of a pastel blue, with delicate white embroidery around the collar and down the front. This was paired with tight white muslin pants that sheathed his muscular calves like a second skin. Freed from his dated English clothing, he looked exotic and breathtakingly masculine.
Cassandra fel
t herself tingle with anticipation. She felt her heart beat faster as he helped her first up into his phaeton, followed by Gita.
Cassandra was lured by his tantalizing scent to lean toward him as they began to make their way through the narrow streets. As always, he smelled so clean and yet with a hint of spice that was pleasant to inhale.
They drove straight to the street where the local bazaar was held, but the traffic became so congested that they soon had to abandon their conveyance and proceed on foot like most other people.
Despite her dress, Cassandra received a good number of stares as she slowly walked next to Mr. Ritchie, amazed at all of the brilliant colors and unusual things that were for sale. Gita walked as closely behind as she could without stepping on her heels.
The street was crowded with people slowly walking up and down inspecting the fruits that the food sellers had carefully piled on large banana leaves on the ground. Cassandra crouched down on the ground in front of one and picked up a fruit she did not recognize. It was large and green with splashes of orange.
“That is a papaya,” Mr. Ritchie explained. “They can be very sweet.”
Cassandra replaced the papaya and then asked about a pyramid of round green fruit.
Again Mr. Ritchie explained, “Raw guava. They’re tart, but very refreshing on a hot day.”
The fruit seller sat and stared at Cassandra as if she had just descended from the sky while she asked Mr. Ritchie about all of the unfamiliar fruits.
But as she stood up to leave, his brows shot up and he said something to them in Bengali.
“He wants to know if you want to buy anything,” Gita translated for her.
Cassandra had not thought of buying anything, but now an idea occurred to her. It would be a nice thank you gift for Gisela to present her with some of the more exotic fruit. She nodded and pointed to the papaya.
Gita immediately stepped forward and began bargaining with the man. After some tough negotiations which involved Gita turning away twice, the man finally relented and sold them four different types of fruit to them for what Gita seemed to consider a reasonable price.
An Exotic Heir Page 8