Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere

by Regina Jeffers

  Marcus, too, had taken note of the ease with which his friend addressed Satiné. He had based his hopes on the possibility. If he had admitted it, Marcus wanted a “happily ever after” for each of them.

  Cashé’s manipulations had impressed him. It was a courageous move, and he almost pitied Kimbolt. She had maneuvered everyone into doing her biding. Marcus recognized how even if Kimbolt saw through the switch, Cashé would make his friend aware of his misplaced ardor simply by exposing the plan to mislead him. He wished he could be there to observe Cashé in action.

  He thought of the birthmark and wondered if Lexford had ever taken note of it. It would be an easy way to discern which twin he courted. Marcus would not make that mistake. Only Cashé fit perfectly into his embrace.

  I am not certain, my dearest one, if I shall be able to inform you of the success or failure of this convoluted plan, but be aware, my Lord, of my sincerity in bringing Lord Lexford to know his heart and in allowing me to know mine.

  You once remarked on my comfortably asking you questions not suited to a lady of fashion, but surely you recognize that “comfortable” feeling, which exists between us, as something quite spectacular. I know little of the world, but in our separation, I have discovered a void of which I held no previous knowledge–a void only filled by your presence.

  Marcus, too, understood the void. He had experienced a powerful yearning also.

  I realize what I say here reeks of incommodious behavior, but I believe you will forgive me when I speak of our brief time together as a turning point in my life.

  It had been a turning point for him also. Since discovering Cashé, he had quit lamenting his losses, especially Maggie, and had begun planning a future.

  I was changed by our encounter, and I question whether Fate finally brought into my life someone who saw me–saw Cashémere–and liked me even with my faults. I pray this letter has not lessened your regard for me.

  Marcus recognized Cashé’s unspoken need to have someone love her. He had seen it written upon her countenance when she rushed into the Linworth morning room garishing her uncle’s letter. Marcus had wanted to protect her from the obvious loneliness; he had recognized a bit of himself in her anguish. Who did he have who loved only him? And he had missed her also: He had missed the sound of her laughter, the tilt of her defiant chin, the sparkle in those emerald green eyes, and the feel of her lips under his.

  I must bid adieu, my Lord. Until we meet again in London, I remain your faithful friend with a heart devoted to your well being. My daily prayers begin and end with a plea for your safety and happiness.

  In affection,

  Cashémere

  Although Marcus had understood Cashé’s carefully worded closing, the fact that she had not proclaimed her love bothered him. She had expressed her continued loyalty to him. Besides, he doubted that he would have made any such declaration if he had authored the letter. It was too early for declarations of love; yet, he had wanted Cashé to love him. Marcus had needed a balm for his heart as much as she.

  Rather than to return to his ledgers, he reshuffled the letter’s pages and began to read it again. He actually doubted he would be able to put it down–at least, not until he had memorized each word. “Ah, Cashé,” he moaned aloud. “Thank you, Sweetling, for realizing that I required something upon which to place my hopes.”

  *

  “Aunt Charlotte,” Satiné called as she led Cashé into the room. “We are so pleased to have you at your former home again.” Satiné kissed Morton’s sister. The moment caused Cashé to recall her own mother. How would Chenille Morton Aldridge look if she had not died in a freak accident? Except for her eyes, Cashé had never thought she had resembled the Aldridge clan. She and Satiné possessed a brighter version of their father’s features; but now as she searched the countenance of the woman who was her mother’s older sister, she saw Velvet’s eyes and the rich black hair they each possessed. Maybe she belonged with the Mortons, after all.

  It was Cashé’s turn. She dropped a curtsy and murmured, “Lady Resnick.”

  “Oh, give me none of that, Girl,” the woman enveloped Cashé in a tight embrace. “I am forever your Aunt Charlotte.” She set Cashé away from her to study the girl’s countenance. “My–my. You do so look like our Satiné and your mother, our Chenille.”

  Cashé could not resist a snide remark slipping out, “I suppose that would make me your Cashémere.”

  Her aunt barked out a laugh. “I suppose you are, Child.” She snaked her arm about Cashé’s waist before turning to the baron. “She has Chenille’s spunk.”

  The baron smiled indulgently. “That she does, my Dear. Our Cashémere possesses Chenille’s nature.”

  Cashé basked in their praise. She always wanted to belong somewhere. Although she had given them her absolute loyalty, she had never felt a part of Samuel Aldridge’s family. Now, her aunt and uncle’s references to her mother made Cashé wonder if that was the secret to her grandmother Kentigerna’s constant reprimands over Cashé’s too defiant personality. Was she too much like Chenille Morton, a woman Kentigerna had never thought good enough for Edward Aldridge?

  “What am I?” Satiné demanded, not happy–a bit jealous of the attention Cashé garnered.

  “Oh, Darling,” Aunt Charlotte caressed Satiné’s cheek. “You are our mother reincarnated. Is she not, Charles?”

  The baron looked lovingly at Satiné. “She very much is, Charlotte. Satiné embodies our mother’s elegance.”

  Charlotte turned Cashé toward the twenty-something year old man and woman waiting politely for their part of the reunion. “You must remember your cousins,” Lady Resnick continued.

  Cashé flushed. She had seen neither for a decade or more. “I assure you that I would not have known either.”

  The young man stepped forward to accept Cashé’s extended hand. “We are pleased to have you among us, Cashémere.” He brought her hand to his lips.

  “Thank you, John.” She smiled largely. “When last I saw you, you were off to school and thought yourself quite above the rest of us.”

  “I do not recall it that way,” he blustered.

  But his very pregnant sister interrupted. “She remembers it exactly. You were quite the prig for the first two years.”

  Despite being a bit envious of her cousins’ relaxed interplay, Cashé laughed. “I am pleased to see you, Rose.” She had missed so much of her life while locked away in Scotland.

  “All of me.” Rose Croft, Viscountess Simonson, lovingly patted her stomach.

  John assisted his sister to a chair. “Yes, all of you, Rose,” he teased.

  “Let us have tea and catch up on family,” the baron declared as he motioned to a maid to bring in the waiting tray. “Satiné, if you will serve, I would appreciate it. You are the most accomplished of hostesses.”

  Cashé noted how Satiné preened with their uncle’s words, while recognizing that the man knew her sister’s weakness for praise. Learning how each of them responded to the other was turning into a heady experience for Cashémere.

  *

  “Look who I found in the village,” the baron announced to the room as he led Aidan Kimbolt through the drawing room door. Cashé saw Satiné cringe with the viscount’s entrance. After a successful walk through during the morning hours, Cashé had convinced Satiné to attempt a longer switch over tea with their Aunt Charlotte. Their cousins had called on their paternal half brother, and the twins had thought, which really meant that Cashé had thought, with only their aunt present, that they might practice being each other. Cashé had assured her sister that even if they misspoke, Aunt Charlotte would be unaware of the error.

  Now, with Uncle Charles and Viscount Lexford as members of their party, they would need to tend to detail. Catching her sister’s hand, Cashé led Satiné in a curtsy. She could feel Satiné’s racing pulse and trembling fingers. “Your Lordship,” Cashé murmured and made herself look the viscount in the eye. Satiné barely whispered his name.


  Lexford came forward and took Cashé’s right hand and brought it to his lips. “Miss Satiné,” he said, “it feels an eternity since we have seen each other.”

  The fact that he had called her by the wrong name gave Cashé confidence, and she smiled largely at him. “Lord Lexford, we did not expect you until the end of the week.” She gave her sister’s hand a squeeze to bring Satiné to attention.

  “’Tis true.” He laughed softly. “But I called upon my man of business in Manchester and stopped to take a small meal at The Orange Frog, but your uncle spotted my horse and insisted upon my accompanying him to Chesterfield to greet his sister.”

  Cashé stepped slightly to the side and gestured to Satiné. “Of course, you will say your greetings to my sister first. I assure you that Lady Resnick will demand your undivided attention.” She giggled from the excitement and the absurdity of what they did. “Is that not correct, Aunt Charlotte?”

  Her aunt rose slowly to her feet. “As the baron has spoken so highly of the gentlemen who aided in our dear Velvet’s rescue, I am most anxious to form an acquaintance with the viscount.”

  “Remember, I warned you, Your Lordship.” Cashé giggled again.

  Lexford smiled indulgently. “Then I will claim Miss Aldridge’s hand before I devote myself to Lady Resnick’s inquiry.” He took Satiné’s extended hand, much as he had Cashé’s, but the viscount lingered a few extra second over Satiné’s knuckles. Cashé watched carefully as Satiné blushed and a spark lit in Lexford’s eyes. She had been correct about their natural connection. “You are looking well, Miss Aldridge.”

  “Thank you, Your Lordship.” Satiné’s color rose higher.

  The baron touched Lexford’s shoulder. “Allow me, Lexford, to introduce my sister, Lady Charlotte Resnick.” Charlotte offered him her hand while Lexford bowed again. “Charlotte, may I present His Lordship, Aidan Kimbolt, Viscount Lexford, of Lexington Arms in Cheshire.”

  “I have heard good things of you, Sir. You must know you will have a tender place in my heart for what you and Yardley and Thornhill did for our family.”

  Lexford nodded his head in acknowledgment. “It is what is expected of a gentleman,” the viscount insisted as he supported Lady Resnick to her seat. “Besides, Thornhill and Yardley and I have established a kinship many years ago. They would serve me in a like manner.”

  Charlotte Resnick smiled at her brother. “Charles used to have a similar relationship with five other gentlemen, but time and distance has weakened their bond.”

  The baron corrected, “Not weakened so much as delayed...my friends and I have all taken on families and titles and responsibilities, but our devotion to each other remains.”

  “We were seven strong,” Lexford confided. “Thornhill and Yardley and I share our memories with James Kerrington, Viscount Worthing; Sir Carter Lowery; Gabriel Crowden, the Marquis of Godown; and Baron John Swenton. We have been quite inseparable for nearly a decade, but both Worthing and Thornhill have married. Soon, I am certain we will mimic Ashton’s experience.” Neither the baron nor Lexford mentioned the Realm, but everyone understood the implications.

  The baron glanced at the girls. “Satiné, why do you not serve the tea?”

  Without thinking, Satiné began to pour before she realized they all looked at her askance. They saw her as Cashé. She blushed, but managed to say, “I apologize, Satiné, I did not mean to usurp your position in Uncle Charles’s household. In Scotland, serving tea was part of my domain, and I reached for the set before I thought.”

  Cashé expelled a deep sigh. “I have no qualms, dear Sister, in occasionally abdicating my responsibilities to you. Uncle Charles does not mind, do you, Sir?”

  “Of...of course...I have no objections,” he stammered. “I have depended upon Satiné to serve as my hostess for years, but I should have thought that you should also assume those duties. You are my family...our family. Forgive me, Cashémere, if I have inadvertently slighted you in any way.”

  Cashé bit back the tears as her twin answered in her stead. “I was never offended, Uncle Charles,” she whispered hoarsely. “You have given me a home,” Satiné confessed what Cashé had said only last week, “when no one else would.”

  Cashé bit her lip harder to stifle the emotions. “Let us not become maudlin,” she declared in a rasp. “This is a time for celebration. We are together.”

  “Here, here,” the baron agreed. “We will always be family.”

  Chapter 10

  “We did it!” Cashé declared with gusto when she and Satiné slipped into her twin’s room. “It was exhilarating!”

  “I was petrified.” Satiné sank into a nearby chair.

  “I thought we were surely caught when Uncle Charles brought Lord Lexford to tea.” The excitement bubbled over. “And you, dear Sister, were so clever. When you starting serving, I expected Uncle Charles to expose our scheme, but you acted quickly and distracted him.”

  “Look at my hand,” Satiné extended her open palm. “I am still shaking.”

  Cashé caught her sister’s hand and knelt before Satiné’s chair. “Yet, it proves what we surmised all along. The viscount does not affect me as a person. He could not tell us apart, and I know you felt his regard when he kissed your hand.”

  “It was quite singular,” Satiné gushed.

  “I suspect that we should not attempt a switch at Uncle Charles’s dinner party,” Cashé advised. “But during the evening, I will suggest that His Lordship call upon the household soon. When he does, you must make him lose his heart to you, not to a face, which happens to resemble mine.”

  A frown crossed Satiné’s countenance. “What if His Lordship turns against me because of our deceit?”

  “It shan’t happen. Even if Lord Lexford discovers our perfidy, the man will never turn his back on love. Lord Yardley confided that the viscount had suffered a loss when he first returned to England. The viscount seeks a love match.”

  Satiné sighed heavily. “As do I.”

  *

  “When did ye last hear from Miss Cashémere?” Charters calmly asked Samuel Aldridge. He had made himself call on the viscount before he chose his recourse.

  “We received a letter just yesterday.” Averette did not hide his disdain.

  Charters, likewise, did not hide his disgust. “Ye would not be tellin’ me if’n I did not ast. Ye be less than willin’ to keep me informed of late.”

  Aldridge walked around the desk. “What do you want, Charters?”

  “I wish to know when my intended plans to return to her childhood home.” Charters sat forward to press his point.

  Aldridge snarled, “Do you wish to read the letter yourself?” The viscount reached behind him to lift a stack of correspondence from his desk.

  Charters did not give an inch. “Ye may summarize.”

  “Cashémere is with her maternal uncle Charles Morton in Manchester, and she and her sister Satiné are preparing for a London Season.”

  “And why would Miss Cashémere be needing a London Season if’n the girl be promised to me?” Charters grumbled.

  “I am not making the decisions for my niece at the moment,” Aldridge confessed.

  “Then who be doin’ so? This other uncle?” Charters cracked his knuckles.

  Aldridge resumed his seat. “That is the situation.”

  “Kin ye not do somethin’?”

  Aldridge’s anger showed. “It is not within my power at this time. The Duke of Thornhill, Viscount Worthing, and my brother by marriage hold the power in an English court, especially over an Englishman living his entire life in Scotland. I am in a no man’s land when it comes to my nieces.”

  “I thought ye be sayin’ the girl simply be needin’ some freedom. Now, it be soundin’ as if’n Cashémere not be returnin’ ever,” Charters accused.

  Aldridge swallowed hard. “I am afraid that is the gist of the situation. Ashton has assumed Cashémere’s care. I have no recourse.”

  “Then ye be fin
din’ a way to repay Charters,” the man spoke of himself in the third person. He rose to his feet, his business finished. “I will be expectin’ payment soon,” he warned. Then he strode from the room, not looking back.

  Outside, Charters’ servant scrambled to bring the man’s horse around. “Ye be gonnae home, Sir?” he asked, giving the man a leg up.

  “For the moment,” Charters disclosed. “But I be havin’ other plans t’morrow.”

  *

  Marcus sat on the nearest hillside looking down upon his estate: at his grounds men attending the landscaping and at the busy stable yard, and he had thought of her, as he had, at least, fifty times per day. Of late, he had envisioned Cashé on his stairway, by the open window in his drawing room, and waiting by the door for his return home. “God, it is a long time until the new Season,” he grumbled, as the image of her faded. “Can I exist without seeing her for another four months?”

  Over the last few days he had considered riding to Manchester on some business pretense just to be close to her–just to call at the baron’s estate and have tea in the same room as her. He would ride however many days it would take just to be in her companion for a few hours. He suspected himself quite addicted to the woman, even though, he had actually only held her in his arms four times–at the tarn, on the dance floor, in her chambers, and in the Linworth stables. His heart knew each moment well. “Dare I chance it?” he questioned.

  Before he could decide, the stable yard’s increased activity caught his notice. The head groomsman ran toward the servant quarters, and Marcus looked in the direction that one of his tenants pointed. A plume of smoke rose in the early morning, graying the sky with a curtain of ash. “The mill,” he said in recognition, and immediately he slapped Khan’s flanks with his heels and raced to the site.