Chapter Fifteen
Green. Everywhere Julian looked there was green, from the rolling hillsides he passed along the road from Portsmouth to London, to the trees that lined the road even in the city itself. Julian was enthralled with the lush green beauty that was England.
What he couldn’t figure out was how all this greenery survived the cool, damp weather. He was very happy that he had brought his overcoat with him. He’d assumed he would need it on the ship, but never had he thought that he would need it during the day in the height of summer. But without it, he was much too cold.
He was equally dismayed by the fact that everything was much more expensive than he had anticipated. As he contemplated the very few coins left in his purse after paying for the post-chaise to carry him to London, he realized that his first stop had best be to the solicitors who were handling his father’s estate.
Through most of the swaying carriage ride, his mind had been full of images of Cassandra and how surprised she would be to see him here. Without a doubt, she would be thrilled to see him. He could clearly imagine her shock and how she would throw her arms around his neck, exclaiming at how he had followed her to England.
Surely, knowing of his deep love for her, she would immediately forgive him for initially having had baser intentions.
However, the closer he got to London, other worries began seep into his happy thoughts. What sort of reception would he be likely to receive from others who didn’t know him? It was certain that he would be treated with respect now that he was an earl. Wealth and title were all that mattered in society.
But small niggling doubt tickled the back of his mind. His asserted natural confidence to squashed it. He would command the respect that he knew he deserved–just so long as he didn’t make any major social slips along the way.
He awoke from his reverie to find the carriage stopping before the unassuming building housing the firm of Strump, Strump, and Whitiker. Not wanting to take any chances on being denied his inheritance, Julian had brought with him as many pieces of identification as he could find. He now carefully carried the precious, battered tin box with him into the building.
Four men were sitting at a row of tall desks, copying out documents in the small room. Each one stopped what they were doing to stare at him.
It was the way he looked, of course, he thought to himself. Upon landing, he’d realized at once that his clothing, which had even been a little out of fashion in Calcutta, was sadly out of style here.
He squared his shoulders, however, and approached the clerk closest to the door. “I am here to see Mr. Josiah Strump.”
The man, who was nearly as young as Julian himself, looked down his nose and sneered, “Do you ‘ave an appointment?”
“No, but you may tell him that the Earl of Huntley is here to see him,” he loftily informed the man.
The man sniggered as he climbed off his stool and said, “I’ll tell ’im.”
Julian nodded, gave the other clerks his haughtiest stare and then sat down in the chair provided for clients. He was the Earl and he would command respect, he told himself, ignoring the clerks.
Twenty minutes later Julian was still waiting, and beginning to lose patience.
He stood up and approached the clerk once more. “Did you inform Mr. Strump that I was here and waiting for him?”
“Yes, I did. ‘E’ll see you when ‘e’s ready.”
“That is unacceptable. He will see me now!” Julian strode past the clerk’s desk with the intention of going straight into the office into which he had seen the clerk disappear earlier.
The man, however, cut him off. “I’ll tell ‘im you’re still waitin’, Mr. er… m’lord.” With a shake of his head, he knocked gently at the door and went in, closing it behind him.
Julian went back to his chair and waited, tapping his foot.
Another ten minutes passed before an elderly man with bushy gray eyebrows finally emerged from the office. He came up to Julian and peered at him over his spectacles. “Lord Huntley?”
Julian stood. “Yes.”
The man held out a gnarled hand and said, “Josiah Strump.”
Julian shook his hand and then followed him back to his office.
Mr. Strump politely, if rather coldly, indicated that Julian should sit in the chair across from his large desk. He then sat down himself and stared at Julian.
“I am here about my father’s inheritance. I was sorry to have missed the man you sent to Calcutta, but he did not stay very long—less than a day,” Julian explained hesitantly, wondering why the man did nothing.
Mr. Strump cleared his throat. “Er, yes, yes. Well, he had other business to attend to. Other people to see in the country, you know.” He mumbled something to himself that sounded like “Quite amazing.”
He then seemed to recall himself to the matter at hand and unerringly pulled out a sheaf of papers from a huge and seemingly haphazard stack on one corner of the desk. Thumbing through the sheaf, he found one paper in particular and, with a wheezy sigh of satisfaction, sat back and got directly to business.
“I presume you have brought sufficient proof that you are who you say you are. Could I have a look at your papers?”
Julian unlocked his box and then handed it over.
“Er, thank you,” the solicitor said, beginning to shuffle through the contents. “Although I am sure that no one could possibly mistake you, could they now, heh?” As he perused the papers, he chuckled to himself at his own joke.
Julian didn’t know what the man was talking about, but watched anxiously as the solicitor pored over the many letters he’d brought with him. The longer the solicitor took, the more he worried he became that he had not brought enough, or possibly not the correct ones.
Mr. Strump, seeing his expression, mistook his concerns. “Surely you have seen a likeness of your father and noted your resemblance?”
Julian looked up from the box and into the old man’s keen eyes. “No, as a matter of fact, I’ve never seen a likeness of my father. I believe my mother has one, but she’s never shared it with me. I was too young when he left to remember what he looked like.”
Julian wondered what this had to do with his papers, but supposed that the man was just trying to be friendly, especially after his cold reception.
“Oh! Well, I can assure you, if it were not for your, ah, coloring, you would be his spitting image,” Mr. Strump explained, flushing an unbecoming deep red. His hands shook slightly as he shuffled the papers again and cleared his throat.
“Are the papers in order?” Julian asked, trying to remind the solicitor of his purpose for being there.
The solicitor looked at Julian, surprised. “Oh, of course, my lord. Yes, yes, these should be sufficient to prove you are who you say you, beyond a doubt.” The man put all the papers back into the box and leaned back in his chair once again. “That is not to say that you will not encounter any difficulties.”
“What sort of difficulties?”
“Ah, well, you see, er…” Mr. Strump cleared his throat and looked back at the box on his desk. “Well, of course, the problem is that no one really knows about you,” Mr. Strump began hesitantly. “Your father never…”
“He never told anyone about his marriage to an Indian woman and that he’d had a son by her,” Julian said quietly, looking down at his hands.
He had expected this. This was why he had never been allowed to come to England. His father had probably been too embarrassed to admit to his marriage.
Well, it was just something that he was going to have to deal with. It was going to be awkward, but so had most of his life been awkward. It was nothing new, nothing he wasn’t already used to dealing with. At least now he had a title and wealth, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.
He looked up, forcing a smile onto his face. “Well, I suppose in that case it is a good thing I look like my father. And certainly, once people know who I am, there should be no difficulties.”
“Er, ah,
yes,” the solicitor said uncertainly.
“Very good. Then there is only one other thing,” Julian said uncertainly.
Mr. Strump gave him a wary look.
“I, ah, was not able to bring a great deal of money with me on the journey. I needed, of course, to leave my mother most of what I had on hand so that she could continue to live comfortably until I’m able to send her more.”
Mr. Strump looked very relieved and even managed a small smile. “My lord, you should have no concerns about money. You are now quite a wealthy man. I can advance you all that you may need for the moment and give you the name and direction of your father’s banker.”
“Thank you.” He hadn’t thought it would be a problem, but he had not been entirely sure how the issue would be received. It was a great relief that it was so easily taken care of.
Mr. Strump jotted down a name and address on a piece of paper, then reached into the drawer directly in front of him and pulled out a small leather bag. He handed it to Julian along with the piece of paper. “I hope that this should suffice for the time being.”
Julian felt the heavy weight of the bag in his hand. He was certain he would not need nearly so much money in the immediate future. However, he pocketed the bag and stood up to leave.
“Thank you,” he said again.
“Of course, and if you need anything else, do not hesitate to ask. Your father was one of my oldest clients. I am sorry for your loss.”
Cassandra convinced Lord Hawksmore to sit out his promised dance with her that evening. As much as she loved to dance, she was still tired from her long journey. She knew that the duke would be happy to comply, as he was with everything she asked of him.
The past week had been thrilling for Cassandra. So far, her plan to become the toast of society was working like a charm. She had a string of beaus surrounding her at every party, and the duke was always sure to be one of them. Now all she needed was for Lord Felbridge to turn up, so that she could lure him to her side as well and then exact her revenge on him.
Lord Hawksmore and she had not been speaking for above five minutes, when a buzz spread through the ballroom. The duke stopped in mid-sentence and they both looked up.
Everyone was bowing low to welcome the Prince Regent. Prinny graciously stopped to speak with his host and hostess, standing not too far from Cassandra. From what she could see, he was all that she had heard and more.
He had such character! He spoke loudly so that everyone could hear, and was clothed spectacularly in a black coat with silver embroidery all over it and matching breeches.
Cassandra was, as everyone else, completely speechless in his magnificent presence. She was also very happy that she had elected to wear her own best sari-dress, the one made from the turquoise sari, which she had bought because it was the same color as Julian’s eyes.
How she wished Julian could have seen her in all her glory! His expressive eyes, which had been so filled with love for her, shimmered in front of her mind’s eye. There was not a day that went by that she did not think of him. The dull ache in her heart was a constant reminder of his betrayal.
And it constantly renewed her determination to play her game of revenge.
“One must be introduced to the most beautiful young ladies present, my lord,” Prinny was saying to Lord Roseberry, their host that evening.
There was a titter among the young ladies and their mamas, wondering who among them Lord Roseberry would introduce to the prince. Everyone wanted to be introduced, and more than one lady with a daughter in tow attempted to get Lord Roseberry’s attention by fluttering her fan, waving her fan broadly, or opening and closing her fan—any stratagem at all to catch his eye.
Cassandra could not help but laugh.
Lord Hawksmore leaned toward her. “Miss Renwick, I cannot imagine what you find so amusing! Please do enlighten me,” he said, smiling at her, eager to share the joke.
“It is just the fluttering of fans, your grace. The room has cooled down so quickly I am sorry I don’t have my wrap with me.”
Lord Hawksmore’s bark of laughter caught the Prince’s attention as he was about to be introduced to Miss Georgina Scott, the reigning comparable of the season.
Immediately, and without a backward glance, he abandoned poor Miss Scott, her hand still held out for the royal touch.
“Hawksmore,” the prince said, coming over to them. “You must share the joke. But first introduce us to this lovely Indian princess you have with you.”
Lord Hawksmore bowed to the prince and then introduced him to Cassandra, who was suddenly having the most difficult time breathing.
“From whence in India did you come, Miss Renwick?” His Royal Highness asked.
“From Calcutta, sir, where my father is working with Lord Minto.”
“Ah, Minto. Yes, yes, how is the old boy? Things going well over there?”
“Very well, sir, and Lord Minto is doing wonderful things, from what I understand. I had the pleasure of meeting him on quite a few occasions.”
“Good, good. We applaud your style, Miss Renwick, and your beauty. Will you dance?”
“Th-thank you, sir, I would be honored.”
With a nod from the prince, the orchestra struck up a country dance, and His Royal Highness led Cassandra out on to the floor.
Cassandra was certain she was going faint. Not only was she having trouble breathing, but now everything seemed to have become fuzzy around the edges. Still, she kept a smile on her face and followed Prinny in the steps of the dance.
If there was any question at all about her social position until now, it was most assuredly put to rest. If only Lord Felbridge could see her now!
She looked around the room, but he was still nowhere to be seen. She would have to ask around to find out if he was even in town.
In her giddiness at the prince’s attention, she nearly laughed. Lord Felbridge had said she wasn’t good enough for him, and here she was, dancing with the prince. If this didn’t prove how frivolous society was, nothing did.
Cassandra held her head up high and sought to entertain the prince as best she could. But she was surprised when he turned the tables and began to entertain her.
She laughed as he recalled for her the most recent witticisms of his good friend Beau Brummell. In fact, she was laughing so hard by the end of the dance, she nearly missed her cue to curtsey.
“Thank you, Your Royal Highness, for a dance I shall remember my whole life. You are exceedingly gracious,” Cassandra said, as she sank into a low curtsy.
The prince looked especially pleased with this, and gave her a slight nod of his head before going off to seek other amusements.
Lady Bradmore and Olivia were by her side within a blink of her eye.
“My dear, your reputation is made! You will be the talk of the ton for at least the next two weeks, if not longer!” Aunt Bradmore gushed.
“Oh Cassandra, how lucky you are!” cooed Olivia.
Cassandra was certain she wouldn’t be able to wipe the smile from her face if she tried.
Chapter Sixteen
Cassandra tried to peer over the head of the gentleman sitting next to her on the soft blanketed grass. Over the past week, she had been to more soirees, breakfasts and musicales than she could ever remember attending. Lady Bradmore had suddenly been swamped with invitations.
But there was still no sign of Lord Felbridge.
“Your eyes, like limpid pools of blue
Lure my confession I love you…”
Mr. Cawfield declaimed, reciting his latest poem, cleverly entitled “Cassandra of my Heart”.
Was Lord Felbridge somehow aware of what she was doing and deliberately avoiding her?
“Our two sweet souls should never part
Dearest Cassandra of my heart.”
He finished in a grand and deliberate manner, ending with a flourish, with his hand coming to rest against his bulging stomach.
Cassandra looked at his hand and raised her own t
o her lips to swallow back her laughter.
“Er…,” Mr. Cawfield quickly moved his hand up to his chest and flushed.
“That was lovely, truly it was. I am quite touched.”
The man stammered and turned an even deeper shade of pink. But before he could say anything Cassandra said, “It is so wonderful to see so many people here today, is it not, sir? Mrs. Price-Liste must be thrilled at the number of people in attendance. For a Venetian breakfast it is rather unusual, is it not?”
Mr. Cawfield looked around at the crowded garden in a rather crestfallen way. “Yes, quite.”
“You haven’t seen Lord Felbridge recently, have you?” Cassandra asked, as innocuously as she could.
“Er, no. Bit out of my league,” Mr. Cawfield said, ducking his head.
“Oh, yes, I understand,” Cassandra reached out and touched his arm. “I truly liked the poem, though.”
The gentleman immediately colored again. “Th…thank you, Miss Renwick.”
“Cousin, my mother has requested that you join her,” Olivia’s older brother, Charles, interrupted, looking pointedly at her hand resting on Mr. Cawfield’s arm.
She stood up immediately and Mr. Cawfield somehow ended up in a coughing fit. “You will excuse me, Mr. Cawfield?”
He nodded, unable to speak for the moment.
“I do hope that you aren’t deliberately encouraging that scrounger?” Charles asked with an exaggerated shudder.
“Oh, no. But he is so earnest in his adulation, I could not turn him away. And besides, he had written a poem for me.”
She received a side-long glance of disbelief from her cousin. Cassandra giggled. “It was very thoughtful of him. Not a very good poem, but very thoughtful nonetheless.”
“There you are, Cassandra. I did not know where you had disappeared to,” Aunt Bradmore said, even though she did not look overly concerned. Olivia was seated next to her on the pretty wrought-iron bench.
“Mr. Cawfield was reciting a poem he had written for me.”
“Cawfield wrote a poem, did you say?” They were joined by Charles’ friend, Mr. St. John Fotheringay-Phipps. Known to all simply as Fungy, he was the best-dressed gentleman of the ton–aside from Beau Brummell, of course. Today he was resplendent in a dark green coat and fawn pantaloons, with a neckcloth that must have taken hours to tie, so complicated was the knot.
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