She nodded her agreement. “At least, we did not tell the innkeeper that we were siblings. I assume Mr. Sampson knows your family. I heard him mention your father. I was unaware of your loss.”
Marcus stiffened. A very private man, he swallowed his comment. “My father was ill for some time.”
“But it was only a few months since his passing. Surely you must still be grieving,” she declared.
Marcus bit back his instant anger. The girl had no idea of what his life consisted before the earl died. “How I honor the earl’s passing is my own accord.”
She helped herself to some of the shepherd’s pie. “Yet, you do not wear a black armband.”
“The earl is aware of my breaking with propriety.” Marcus took a piece of bread and some cheese.
She characteristically put down her spoon with a huff. “You are the earl, Lord Yardley,” she insisted.
“I am a minor son, Miss Cashémere, and I am a fake.”
She began to protest, but one of his deadly stares stopped her cold. Cashé did not understand, but it really made little difference. After they reached Linton Park, she would never see him again so trying to solve this irascible man’s mystery seemed an effort in futility. Instead, she concentrated on the meal and on making plans to find her Uncle Samuel. She would not end the evening the way the day had started with an argument with Lord Yardley.
Within an hour, Edana helped her to undress in the larger of the two rooms assigned to them for the evening. Earlier, she had looked on as Lord Yardley had hired a man to ride to his estate and to bring back a small trunk. His Lordship had brought little with him and would need a change of clothes if they were to travel far. She noted that he paid the man very well to ride through the night. From what she could surmise, if they had hugged the eastern coastline, they would have come across his estate shortly after entering into England, but to save time, they had traveled west across the central border counties toward Harwick.
Observing him carefully, it had amazed her how efficient Yardley appeared when he had organized things, but how impersonal he became in his social interactions. The man did not even openly grieve for his own father. Cashé could not comprehend such a thing. She would give anything to have had her parents until she had reached Yardley’s age–an additional five and twenty years with her family. She would grieve for them, not as she did at age three when all she did was cleave to her grandmother’s skirt tail and cry. Not only had she lost her parents, Cashé had also lost her sisters in one fell swoop. Satiné had gone to Uncle Charles in Cheshire and Velvet to the Fowlers. They had both thrived in their respective households. They had left her all alone to learn to survive in a home where love had taken a permanent holiday.
Although Cashé always assumed Lady Averette had loved her, if for no other reason but the fact that she was Edward Aldridge’s daughter, her paternal grandmother had not believed in showing affection. Cashé’s grandmother had loved her eldest son to distraction. Kentigerna Aldridge lived up to her name. Kentigerna means “ruler” or “great lord,” and Cashé had experienced how the woman had ruled her household with an iron hand. Even Uncle Samuel had suffered under Kentigerna’s reign; in fact, he had not married Aunt Alice until after his mother’s passing. Cashé always assumed her uncle had not wished to subject anyone else to Lady Averette’s bitterness. Yet, however hard the woman, Cashé had spent a year wearing black in remembrance. She had grieved for a woman who never once showed her love, while Yardley had offered no such honor for a man he obviously respected. She could not conceive of such stubbornness!
Marcus attended to his own ablutions, but that was not what had upset him this evening. Being reminded by both Sampson and the girl of how he had stumbled into the earldom did not set well with him. Every day, Tweed Hall reminded him of how he had come into the position–how he had not deserved one “Your Lordship” or one point of deference. Like Sampson, he should simply be a “Mister,” not “Master of the Estate,” the highest-ranking aristocrat in the area. He smiled from the irony of how God had dealt him a hand he had never expected–a hand where the youngest of four children became an earl.”
*
“It appears, Miss Cashémere, that your uncle has taken the main roads across Northumberland, meaning Lord Averette will cross Nottingham and maybe even part of Lincolnshire.” Marcus escorted her to the coach. They had not broken their fast together; he had purposely sent a tray to her room, assuring that she did not lie abed half the day. He wanted an early start to their journey.
“And how can you be so assured, Lord Yardley?” Cashé asked sarcastically, a bit perturbed by his underhanded maneuver with the breakfast tray.
Marcus taunted, “It is my business to know such details, Miss Cashémere.”
“I thought your business was the earldom, Sir,” she hissed, stressing her words.
“Berwick is my title, but I have other interests.” He glanced over his shoulder to where the driver assisted the maid to the coach. “Do you suppose I might make a comment,” he whispered, “without your correcting or censuring it?”
“I do not...” she began, but quickly clamped her mouth shut. Through gritted teeth, she whispered, “Explain, Lord Yardley.”
Marcus’s hold on her arm tightened. “I will protect you and see you safely to Linton Park, but I will do so without an argument centering around every interaction between us.” He paused and waited for the girl’s response, but when none came, he continued, “I questioned your uncle’s staff before we departed, and I have done the same at each stop we have made. No one has seen Viscount Averette or the livery, which means His Lordship travels by a different route.”
She nodded before grudgingly saying, “Thank you, Your Lordship.” Marcus assumed that was the closest he would receive in apology. “Should we be able to overtake my uncle?”
“I doubt it,” he leaned closer where he might speak only to her. “Yet, by taking a more direct route, although a bit slower, we should arrive in Derbyshire within a few hours of your family.”
“Shall we reach Linton Park today?”
“Tomorrow.” He braced her entrance into the coach.
Cashé looked deeply into the earl’s noncommittal eyes. “Then we remain cousins a bit longer, Lord Yardley.”
“A bit, Miss Cashémere.” He closed the carriage door and walked purposely away.
Cashé watched him move, entranced by his maleness. She had been in his presence only three times prior to this journey. He had come to Linton Park to celebrate Viscount Worthing’s marriage to Eleanor Fowler and then at the Prince Regent’s party, along with the follow up celebration at Briar House. But at each, she had entertained Viscount Lexford’s attentions and had had very little discourse with the earl. Obviously, Lord Yardley did not have Lexford’s affability, but she had to admit he held a hidden intensity that she found quite intriguing.
Marcus rode casually beside the carriage. Occasionally, he had caught a glimpse of the girl, sitting very prim and proper on the forward facing seat. Her alabaster skin made the silky black of her hair more apparent, and he had never seen such beautiful eyes, but her attitude and her caustic tongue ruined every kind thought he had of her. Now, if he could find a woman with Miss Cashémere’s looks, but possessing a milder temper, he might become as besotted as his friend Aidan Kimbolt. Marcus realized his duty to the title–understood that he must marry and set up his nursery, but he would like to have that responsibility to be Trevor’s or even Myles’s. It was never his destiny to hold the earldom. Only by a fluke of nature and an unexplained tragedy had Marcus received the title. Even after four months of holding the position and the previous six months preparing for it, the earldom still felt foreign–felt as if he had committed highway robbery.
True to her resolve, Cashé Aldridge offered him no censure throughout the day. At least, not directly. She criticized the rough terrain, the many holes in Northumberland roads, the lack of proper springs in her uncle’s carriage; the weak tea served at t
he afternoon’s inn, and the lack of conversation to pass the time. Very little pleased her. Marcus considered riding in the coach, rather than on horseback, but he did not trust his patience with the girl. It was safer if he remained in the saddle.
“This is not much of an inn,” Cashé snarled as Marcus assisted her to the ground.
“It is nearly twenty miles to the next one if you care to continue on, Miss Cashémere.” He fought hard to keep the smirk from both his face and his tone.
She reluctantly took his arm. “No, Cousin, I think not.” She smiled through tight lips.
“Then let us make the best of it,” he cautioned. “Despite the roads’ poor conditions, we have made excellent time. We should reach Linton Park late tomorrow morning.”
“Do you instruct everyone in how he should act and what he should know, Your Lordship, or am I a pet project?” the girl hissed.
Marcus looked askance. “I assure you, Miss Cashémere, that I offer no offense.”
“Somehow, I do not believe that is so.” Cashé turned her head so he could not observe her need for his approval. It was foolish: this need to please a man she did not even like or respect. The innkeeper rushed forward to greet them. Not as crowded as last evening’s stop, the proprietor quickly showed them to his best rooms. As Yardley held the door for her, Cashé hid how his finding fault in her affected her. Admittedly, she did not totally understand it; no one else’s recognition of her worth had ever mattered. “I believe I shall take my meal in my room, Lord Yardley. I would prefer to turn in early.”
For some unexplained reason, Marcus had wished that she would change her mind. “As you wish, Miss Cashémere.” He bowed over her hand. “I will see you in the morning then.”
“Good evening, Lord Yardley,” she whispered as he strode away.
Later, Marcus had sat in the chair before the empty hearth. A nip in the air had told him they would soon need to light the fireplace nightly. Tonight, his thoughts remained on the hurt he had observed in Cashé Aldridge’s face. He had not realized that he had used his “professor” voice with her. Unfortunately, he had done so out of habit. He regularly instructed Trevor in what society would expect, and Trevor required constant reminders. Marcus had hoped he had not transferred that tone to others, but he, obviously, had done so with Lord Averette’s niece.
Maybe he needed to find a woman, or, at least, a group of friends with whom to spend some “normal” time. Trying to prove himself worthy of the title thrust upon him, he had devoured his father’s papers and ledgers for months. Perhaps if he socialized more, Miss Cashé’s immaturity would not bother him so much. As he retired, he resolved to treat the girl with more civility in the future.
Cashé stared at her reflection in the mirror. Lord Yardley’s censure had hurt. She had met people before who did not approve of her usual frankness, but it had never bothered her until now. She normally would assume such people lacked her natural astuteness, but Cashé could not say the same of Marcus Wellston; the earl was as intelligent as he was handsome.
“Well, you are nothing to me, Lord Yardley,” she declared as she straightened her shoulders and turned from the foggy reflection. “Lachlan Charters does not think me a misbehaving child. Mr. Charters finds me quite charming.” She crawled in the bed and blew out the candle. “After tomorrow, I shall never see His Lordship again.”
*
They had barely spoken since leaving the inn shortly after daybreak. Every time he looked at her, Miss Cashé purposely turned her head rather than to meet his eyes. Finally, he brought his horse along side the coach and leaned down to speak to her through the open window. “Linton Park’s gatehouse is just ahead.” He nodded toward the road.
“Thank you, Lord Yardley.” She busied herself with her reticule and looked away.
Marcus wondered what had happened; he could not conceive how anything he had said would bring such rancor–such a change in the girl’s attitude. Unsure what else to say, he simply touched his hat with his riding crop and nudged the horse forward to lead the coach onto the Linworth property. Three-quarters of a mile later, they had arrived on Worthing’s doorstep.
As he led her up the entrance, her anxiousness showed. “I certainly hope my uncle is here, and we have not missed him.”
Marcus could not resist adding, “As do I, Miss Cashé.” He saw her flinch, but before the girl could respond, the estate door swung open, and Worthing’s butler greeted them.
“Lord Yardley. Miss Cashémere.” Automatically, Mr. Lucas shot a glance over their shoulders to see if others were in the party. “Please come in.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lucas.” Marcus handed his hat and crop to the man. “Might Lord Worthing be available?”
The butler stepped back, evidently unsure how to respond. “His Lordship is out at the moment. However, I will inform Lady Worthing of your arrival. Please escort Miss Cashémere to the blue drawing room, my Lord. I will see to the refreshments.”
“Certainly, Mr. Lucas.” Marcus caught Cashé’s elbow to steady her on the stairs.
“Why did you not ask after my uncle?” she demanded through tight lips.
He taunted, “Do you not believe it proper to speak to the master of the house before asking after his guests?”
“I do not care for proper, Your Lordship. I simply want this trip to end,” she growled.
Marcus pulled her to an abrupt halt. “I did not take on being your escort, Miss Cashémere, for your sake. I did it for His Grace and for your sister. And, by the way, you might have considered thanking me just once in the last three days!” He stalked away, angry with her once again. Marcus wondered how many times that he had lost his temper with the girl. It was not like him. Normally, it took something devastating for him to react emotionally.
The girl caught her skirt tail and strode after him. “Why should I offer gratitude, Lord Yardley?” she barked to his retreating form.
Marcus turned on her. “Have you no sense of propriety? How do you call yourself a Christian and treat others so poorly?”
She breezed past him, entering the room in a huff. Then she came to an unexpected standstill, causing Marcus to curtail his chase. “How dare you question my Christian charity? At least, I worship regularly!”
Intentionally, he crossed to a cluster of chairs and sat. “And what do you learn in God’s house, Miss Cashémere?” he demanded.
However, before she could respond, Eleanor Kerrington appeared at the drawing room door. “Cashémere. Lord Yardley.”
Marcus scrambled to his feet and offered Lady Worthing a bow. “Lady Worthing, thank you for receiving us.” Marcus noted the girl came to her senses and executed a belated curtsy.
Lady Worthing gestured to the chairs. “Please be seated.” Once they were all situated, she continued, “How might I serve you?”
Wishing to stifle Miss Cashé’s tendency to speak out of turn, Marcus took the lead. “The fact that you did not ask immediately why Miss Cashémere and I traveled together tells me that you are aware of our situation, Lady Worthing.”
Their hostess inclined her head. “I am, Lord Yardley.” She accepted the tea tray the maid delivered.
Unable to remain quiet, the girl interrupted. “Then my uncle is at Linton Park? Or my sister? I insist that you make them aware of my arrival; I shall see my uncle immediately.” Tinges of their previous conversation, evidently, still lingered for she demanded and coerced. In response, Marcus clenched his fists at his side.
Lady Worthing leisurely poured tea, ignoring Miss Cashé’s attitude. “I am afraid,” she graciously served the cakes, “I have seen neither Lord Averette or my cousin since His Lordship and I took our leave of your family in London.” She directed the last remark to her stunned relative.
Miss Cashé placed her cup down hard to emphasize her point. “That is impossible! We trailed my uncle to Derbyshire!”
Marcus gritted his teeth in anger; yet, Lady Worthing smiled indulgently at her cousin. He admired the woman for keeping
her composure. “I did not say Lord Averette had not come to the neighborhood; I simply said your uncle did not call at Linton Park.”
“Go on, Lady Worthing.” Marcus overrode any objections Miss Cashé planned to make. He would not allow the girl to insult the Captain’s wife.
“Our day yesterday appeared quite routine, but things altered quickly. Viscount Lexford made an unexpected call.” Marcus glanced at Cashé to gauge her reaction to the knowledge that her former admirer was close, but the girl showed no interest whatsoever. He thought Lexford might know another heartbreak if he continued to pursue the girl. “Then my brother arrived seeking Lord Worthing’s assistance in rescuing Velvet. He held the information you sent him, as well as some additional facts from Mr. Shepherd. Before we could organize a liberation, Lord Hellsman arrived.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow, but neither he nor Lady Worthing vocalized the irony of Carter Lowery’s older brother Lawrence becoming involved. Lady Worthing continued, “Lord Averette had asked Lord Hellsman to intervene. As you are both aware, the viscount assumed His Grace arranged to meet our cousin at Linton Park. As we tried to convince Hellsman of the error of Lord Averette’s assertions, Sir Carter arrived to add to the chaos. The baronet had tracked Bran to Derby. It seems Mir’s men staged a double kidnapping. The one known as Talpur took Sonali to Cornwall; the other took Velvet toward Liverpool. Poor Brantley knew not what to do so my husband took control. Lord Worthing and Sir Carter stage Sonali’s rescue. They will set up at our brother Amsteadt’s estate in Devon. James sent Lexford, who has connections in Cheshire, with Bran to Liverpool.”
“And my uncle?” Cashé asked sarcastically.
Marcus noted Lady Worthing’s controlled expression. “It is my understanding that Lord Averette continues his search. Lord Hellsman has accompanied Viscount Averette to London.” Marcus quickly realized how Lowery had recruited his brother to mislead Averette.
Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere Page 3