Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere

by Regina Jeffers

  “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.

  And although Cashé had found Lord Lexford exceedingly handsome, she had never once pictured the viscount as anything more than what she had Charters. She had missed the viscount’s company when her family suddenly departed from London, but, in reality, Cashé realized she’d missed the excitement of the London Season more than she had the viscount–a fact she could not share with anyone. The viscount’s coffee brown eyes did not have the smoldering passion she observed in the earl’s slate gray ones.

  The small carriage rolled into the hard-earthen drive before The Square Bow Inn on the British side of the border. Because the storm had moved from north to south, the yard was well on its way to being full, probably. The earl had dismounted and had come to open the carriage door to assist her and her maid to the ground. “It might be best,” the earl whispered close to her ear, “if we register as brother and sister. Even with your maid in tow, it would be unseemly of us to travel together.”

  Cashé’s eyes grew in size. “I am not of the habit of offering an untruth, Your Lordship,” she hissed.

  He casually adjusted the angle of her bonnet, and Cashé felt the air rush from her lungs. He murmured, “I understand, Miss Cashémere; yet, I only make the suggestion to protect you.”

  Cashé searched his countenance for the truth of what he said. Finally, she reached to straighten his cravat. Although she told herself it was all for show, it was an intimate moment. “I shall agree to being your cousin, Your Lordship.”

  The earl smiled deviously. “Yardley.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Cashé glanced to where Edana waited for her.

  Assuring their privacy, he leaned closer. “My cousin would know my name. I am Marcus Wellston, Lord Yardley.”

  Cashé ducked her head in embarrassment. “Of course.” She bit her bottom lip. “Thank you, Lord Yardley.”

  He placed her hand on his arm and led her into the inn. Recognizing quality, the innkeeper rushed forward. “Yes, Sir.”

  “My cousin and I require rooms for the evening.” She observed how Lord Yardley’s eyes surveyed the common room. She supposed that he searched for acquaintances.

  “I have only two small rooms available, Your Lordship. I will be happy to serve you, but I must warn you one is off the kitchen and is a bit noisy.” The innkeeper smiled a toothless grin.

  “Yardley, this is unacceptable,” Cashé began, but he recognized the difference in her tone from when she chastised him. “I cannot sleep off the kitchen, and I certainly cannot condone the Earl of Berwick doing so.”

  The innkeeper dropped his smile. “The Earl of Berwick? My Lord, I will personally see to your accommodations. We will make the necessary adjustments. Might you and your cousin step into the private room? I will send in some of my wife’s best while I have my man bring in your trunks. There are two other gentlemen in the parlor, but I am certain they would welcome your company.”

  “Thank you. My cousin and I appreciate your solicitous service.”

  He returned her hand to his sleeve, and her heart skipped several beats. “I thought you refused to twist the truth,” he mocked.

  “I did not offer a prevarication,” she declared. “I said I could not condone my sleeping in such a room nor would I see you do so. If the innkeeper read something into my words, then that is not my fault.”

  The earl laughed. “I suppose it is not.” He held the door for her, and they stepped into the shadows. Before her eyes could adjust to the darkened room, someone called out, “Wellston!”

  Chapter Two

  Marcus’s head snapped around, searching for the source of the sound when his eyes fell on Lucas Sampson, a former colleague. Leaving Cashé by the door, Marcus strode toward the man. “Sampson!” he slapped his former friend on the back and shook his hand rather than to offer a proper bow. “My God, Man, it must have been nearly eight years!”

  Sampson gave Marcus a shy grin. “More than that. One day we were riding Northumberland’s back roads, wreaking havoc, and the next you were gone, with no word to anyone.”

  Marcus ignored the probe into his past. “It was time to do something besides carouse with you,” he mocked, trying to divert the man’s attention.

  Sampson took on a serious mien. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”

  Marcus glanced away as if seeing something the others did not. “His Lordship expected as much. The earl planned for all contingencies.”

  “And you have assumed the title?” Sampson joined Marcus where Cashé waited a bit impatiently.

  “I serve as Trevor’s regent.” Again, Marcus declined making additional comments.

  Sampson now stood before Cashémere. “Would you care to introduce me, Wellston?” Marcus did not appreciate Sampson’s close assessment of Miss Cashé’s ample bust line. His fists tightened in response.

  Marcus quickly noted his former friend’s interest and easily interpreted Sampson’s assumption that Marcus planned an assignation. “Lucas Sampson, may I present my cousin, Miss Aldridge.” He possessively returned Cashé to his arm, conveying his protection of the girl.

  Sampson smiled cheekily. “I never knew you possessed such attractive relatives, Wellston.” The bounder bowed properly to Cashé before giving Marcus a knowing look.

  Marcus realized the man still thought Cashé might be his mistress or a local girl upon whom he practiced an affair. To allay Sampson saying something inappropriate, Marcus shared, “My cousin’s family has been summoned to Linton Park. Unfortunately, her uncle with whom she resides was unable to accompany her; therefore, I have taken on the task.” Marcus liked the way he had worded the remark; except for the cousin part, he had told the truth. It was very much as it had been earlier with Miss Cashémere.

  Assuming Marcus spoke the whole truth Sampson stammered. “Linton...Linton Park? You are related to Linworth, Miss Aldridge?”
His lecherous gaze switched to respectability.

  Cashé had carefully observed the spoken and the unspoken interplay between Berwick and his friend. The earl had not approved of Mr. Sampson’s tone any more than did she. She easily recognized Yardley’s reproach; Cashé had heard it directed toward her several times earlier today. “Yes, Mr. Sampson. Lady Worthing’s mother and mine were first cousins. My older sister resided with Thornhill after our parents’ untimely deaths.” She raised her chin defiantly, daring the man to question her further.

  It was one of the few times that day that Marcus had admired the girl. She had effectively placed Sampson in his social strata by mentioning both the earldom and the dukedom in her explanation. Cashé Aldridge had announced quite clearly that she held powerful connections. Marcus took pleasure in seeing Sampson take a step backwards, literally, increasing his distance between himself and the girl.

  “Then I did hear correctly,” Sampson spoke again to Marcus, “that Lord Worthing took the Thornhill daughter for his wife?”

  “You did.”

  “Did you not serve with both men?” Sampson kept probing. “I had heard you served together in the East.”

  The continual questioning began to wear thin on Marcus. “It appears, Sampson, that you have an excellent source of information. If only the British government had had such connections during the war, we could have shortened the struggle by several years.” Before the man could respond, Marcus brought the conversation to an end. “You will excuse us, Sampson. My cousin and I are quite famished, and the innkeeper has brought our meal.”

  “Of course, Wellston.” Former friends were no longer equals.

  The lady accepted the seat to which Marcus guided her. “I apologize, Lord Yardley, if my presence keeps you from your friends,” she whispered as he bent to adjust her chair.

  “Believe me, Miss Cashémere, it is of no significance.” He glanced to where Sampson rejoined his companion. “I chose to leave behind what Mr. Sampson regards as important. I have no regrets.”