Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere

by Regina Jeffers

  “There was not time. The ladies were in danger.”

  The leader of the group touched his hat. “Didnae ye find the man, M’ Lord?”

  “One man is dead inside. He fell to his death.”

  “Wot now?” he asked suspiciously, and Marcus noted how the others edged forward as if expecting trouble.

  Marcus recognized the general dislike of the British found in the southern area of Scotland. The countries had fought many a battle over the land. “We will speak to the magistrate.”

  Cashé stepped beside Marcus. “Is that you, Hamish?” she said to the dark-haired man on the left. “Hamish, it is I, Cashémere Aldridge, Lord Averette’s niece. You deliver grain to my uncle’s lands.”

  “I knows her,” Hamish quietly told the leader. “I sees her at Averette’s before.”

  Marcus lightly touched Cashé’s hand. She probably just defused a difficult situation with her knowledge of the area. “Miss Aldridge and her sister were the victims,” he explained.

  The man had one more question. “Wot be ye in Manchester, gel?”

  “My other uncle lives there,” she said simply. “Now, how about someone finding the magistrate as Lord Yardley has asked?” Predictably, Cashé had taken control. “It is nearly nightfall, and I wish to see my sister to safety.”

  “Yes, Miss.” Hamish hustled away to do her biding.

  Marcus looked carefully at the group’s makeup. They were honest men protecting their property. “I will stay behind to answer the magistrate’s questions, but the ladies have suffered greatly. I insist that my friends take them to the nearest acceptable inn. They should not be out in the cold night air with no coats or shawls to keep them warm.”

  The villagers eyed the group. “Ye be stayin’?”

  “I will stay,” Marcus said evenly.

  The villagers agreed, and Marcus organized the departure. “Crowden, take Miss Aldridge up with you. Swenton, you take Miss Satiné. See if you can find the ladies some clean clothing.” He lifted Satiné into Swenton’s waiting arms. “It will be over soon,” he whispered to the girl. Since her recovery, she had become very withdrawn, a fact that he knew would play poorly on Cashé’s composure. He handed Cashé up to Crowden. “You are to stay with your sister tonight: Satiné needs you.”

  “You need me,” she answered softly, and Marcus’s eyes locked with hers. “I shall wait up for you.” Louder, for the benefit of the waiting villagers, she said, “We shall be at the Sly Fox. It is two miles along the Harbor Road toward Edinburgh.”

  Unable to say anything else before the others, Marcus nodded his agreement. Feeling foolishly bereft of her presence beside him, he reluctantly stepped away. His friends were barely out of sight when the magistrate appeared.

  “Yer Lordship.” The man offered an appropriate bow. “Hamish, here, says ye have had some difficulties. I am Alastair Dougal, the closest thing to the law in this area. How might we be serving you?”

  Marcus gave Dougal an abbreviated bow. “This is a complicated story. Can we find some place to share it privately?”

  “Me house be jist o’er the way, if’n you have no objections to sittin’ with a Scotsman.” Dougal gave a toothy grin.

  Marcus rose to the test. “As my land previously sat in Scotland, I believe I have the right to call myself part Scot.”

  “Can you hold yer whiskey?” Dougal challenged.

  “I suppose that we will find out.” Marcus gestured for the man to lead on, as he caught Khan’s reins to follow.

  Two hours and three stiff whiskeys later, Marcus had explained in some detail how they had come together in Dougal’s “back land.” He had omitted the attempted rape of Satiné and the fact that Cashé had traveled with him. He led Dougal to believe that she had come to her former home under the marquis’s protection. He told Dougal that as Cashé’s intended that she had sent word of Satiné’s mistaken abduction, and he had traveled to Scotland to assist her with Charters.

  “So, thinkin’ to change the lady’s mind, Lachlan took the wrong gel?”

  “That is how this started,” Marcus confessed. “Mr. Charters would not accept that Baron Ashton had chosen my suit over his. Miss Aldridge will be my countess.”

  Dougal smiled knowingly. “Scottish lasses are not like those in London,” he teased. “I noted the affection of which you speak of the lady. Ye have found yer match.”

  “I hold Miss Aldridge in true regard.” Marcus stood. “We will be at the Sly Fox if you have other questions.”

  “After I takes a look at it, I be havin’ Hamish to escort Charters’ body home.” Dougal followed Marcus to his feet. “The man never was smart, but I be surprised that he goes so far.”

  “It was an impulsive act that cost Mr. Charters his life,” Marcus shared.

  Marcus noted how Dougal worked in questions in the midst of his side remarks. “And ye be sayin’ that this other man set off the explosion that captured the gels on the ledge?”

  Needing to end the interview, Marcus worked his way toward the door. “I believe that he is a drifter, supposedly a very dark-skinned man. I imagine that he thought he had found a way to make some fast money. Lord Crowden followed the stranger to an abandoned abbey, but he lost the man’s trail. You may ask His Lordship for a better description if you care.”

  “I be doin’ jist that, Yer Lordship. I be callin’ on your friends in the morning.”

  “I will tell them to expect you, Dougal. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to see to the safety of my future family.” With that, Marcus exited the man’s house. He prayed that the Scotsman believed his story. Marcus did not want to involve Shepherd in this.

  *

  When he had called at Charters’ house, the servants had turned him away, but Morton had recognized the stress among the man’s staff, and instead of leaving, the baron had found himself a place where he could watch the house. Turning up his coat’s collar against the cold, he prepared to wait it out. “Someone in that house knows something,” he said aloud. “And I mean to find out what that is.”

  Some three hours after nightfall, a flat bed wagon rolled into the drive, and Morton came alive. Before the worker had stopped the team, the baron moved toward the house. When the footman stumbled from the door to meet the driver, Morton was hiding in the shadows.

  “Wot have you there, Hamish?” the footman called.

  “Yer master.” Hamish pulled back the blanket to give the footman a look.

  “Wot happened?” The servant backed away from the gruesome sight.

  The one known as Hamish seemed to relish the role of town crier. “Some English lord be makin’ a loud noise ‘bout Charters takin’ some English gel, thinkin’ it be Miss Cashémere. Seems the lord plans to marry Lord Averette’s niece.”

  Hearing Aldridge’s title mentioned along with Cashémere’s name, Morton stepped from his hiding place. “What lord?” He pointed his pistol at the men.

  Hamish froze, his gossip stifled. “We be wantin’ no trouble.”

  “I just want to know what lord and where I might find him. Then I will leave you alone,” Morton assured them.

  “Name’s Yardley. He and Miss Cashémere and some others are at the Sly Fox on the Harbor Road, goin’ back toward Edinburgh.”

  Morton touched his hat and with a nod, he hurried to find his horse.

  *

  Marcus sat with his friends and Cashé in a private room in the inn. They had had a quiet meal as he had shared his interview with Dougal. “The man will call on us in the morning.”

  “I hope the magistrate is early. I wish to be on the road to Staffordshire.”

  Marcus shot Swenton a questioning look regarding Crowden’s sullenness, but the baron gave a slight shake of his head as a warning. “How is your sister?” Marcus inquired of Cashé instead.

  “I do not know. Satiné will barely answer me.” Cashé slid her hand under the table and into Marcus’s. “I do not know how to reach her?”

  However, before anyone at
the table could respond, a ruckus in the main room caught their attention. “I mean to see Yardley,” Morton argued with the innkeeper.

  Cashé was on her feet immediately. “Uncle Charles,” she squealed as she ran to the man’s waiting embrace. For infinitely long seconds, they simply enjoyed the renewal of family.

  “You are here,” Morton caressed her cheek before pulling her hard to him again. “I was so worried for you, Child.” He hugged her tightly. “Please tell me that you have found your sister.”

  Cashé eased out of his embrace. “Satiné is upstairs, but I am worried for her.”

  Morton looked up to see Marcus standing in the doorway. “So, you are here also, Yardley?”

  Marcus bowed. “Come, join us, Your Lordship,” he said to Morton before turning to the waiting innkeeper. “Please send some food and drink for the baron.”

  “Yes, Lord Yardley.” The innkeeper started away.

  “Mr. Wallace.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Baron Ashton will require a room also.”

  “Right away, Sir.”

  Marcus’s friends made polite conversation, but they quickly withdrew, leaving Marcus and Cashé to explain to Ashton what had occurred. “So, do you wish to tell me how you two ended up together?” the baron demanded. “The last I heard from Lady Worthing, you had traveled alone, Cashémere.”

  Cashé started to respond, but Marcus cleared his throat. “It is not as you insinuate, Your Lordship. My former batman found Miss Aldridge in a dangerous situation at an inn outside of Darlington. Mr. Breeson thought it best to bring Cashémere to me for her protection.”

  “Cashémere?” Morton’s eyebrow rose in question.

  Marcus smiled with satisfaction. “Cashémere,” he said confidently. “It is my intention, Ashton, to make Miss Aldridge my wife.”

  “Are you telling me, Yardley, that you have compromised my niece?”

  Marcus did not approve of the baron’s tone or of his degrading way of speaking about Cashé. Again, Marcus halted Cashé’s response. “Miss Aldridge’s traveling alone has put her reputation in jeopardy. Yet, Your Lordship, it is been my intention to seek Miss Aldridge’s hand since our days at Linton Park.” Marcus watched as the baron tried to cover his surprise. “And although I have not compromised your niece in the strictest sense of the word, Cashémere’s exploits, her staying unchaperoned in my home, and our traveling together speaks of a speedy marriage. But you should know, Sir, that I love Cashémere.”

  Ashton did not answer immediately. “And you feel the same, Child?”

  “Yes, Uncle. It is my wish.”

  Marcus noted that Ashton did not agree, nor did the man object. “And what of Satiné? Your sister had aspirations.”

  Cashé turned pleadingly to Morton. “You do not understand, Uncle. Satiné and I decided that Lord Lexford was more to her preference. I explained our switch in my letter to you.”

  “I read the letter, Cashémere, but I will not see Satiné slighted.”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “May I speak of a delicate matter, Sir?”

  Ashton looked carefully at his niece. “Before Cashémere?”

  Marcus thought it a bit hypocritical for Morton to speak of Cashé’s ruination to her face and then to want her removed when speaking of the same possibility for Satiné. “Miss Aldridge observed the situation of which I will speak, but if you wish her absence, I will understand.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Yes, Uncle.” Cashé took his hand to offer comfort.

  Marcus continued. “Charters kept Miss Satiné drugged with laudanum throughout most of the journey from Manchester. When they arrived at his home, the braggadocio placed your niece under lock and key in a small cottage close to his main house. When Miss Aldridge and I discovered the cottage, Miss Satiné was unconscious, and Charters was taking the most intimate of liberties with her.”

  The baron sucked in a deep stilling breath.

  “After Marcus subdued him,” Cashé added, “Charters confessed that Uncle Samuel had convinced him that defiling Satiné was the only way to avoid prosecution. Mr. Charters still thought it was I. Lord Worthing had previously told Uncle Samuel that Charters had taken Satiné by mistake. Uncle Samuel purposely set the wheels in action for Charters to take Satiné’s innocence.”

  Morton visibly recoiled. His actions told Marcus that Morton understood the implication–the unspoken assumption. “And did Charters succeed?”

  “We have no way of knowing, Your Lordship.” Marcus spoke softly; he had no desire to hurt the baron further, but the man needed to know the truth of what had happened. “Miss Satiné did not recover consciousness until an hour or more after we had found her. She would have no memory of the act, and Charters died before the girls’ rescue. We cannot question the man. He was apologetic for his action, saying he did not know the difference until he noted the lack of a birthmark on Miss Satiné’s neck. Your niece, Sir, was unclad when we broke into the locked room. Charters was in a position to complete the act.” He paused to allow the baron to absorb the information. “The whole situation has left Miss Satiné quite despondent.”

  Morton, sounding totally defeated, said, “Might you tell me what happened after you rescued Satiné from the cottage?”

  Marcus quickly explained about Jamot’s surprise maneuver, his chasing the Baloch and Cashé, Jamot’s crazy punishment, Marcus’s rope rescue, and what he had told the magistrate to cover some of the gossip.

  Afterwards, Morton sat dazed for several minutes. “I suspect that I should see Satiné,” he said softly.

  “Do you wish me to go with you, Sir?”

  Morton squeezed Cashé’s hand. “It might be easier on your sister if I speak to her alone.”

  An hour later, her uncle found Cashé asleep, her head resting in Marcus’s lap. They had remained alone in the same small private room. Marcus watched the dying embers of a fire while stroking Cashé’s hair. Morton silently slid into a nearby chair. “I am not certain, Lord Yardley, that I approve of your newfound familiarity with my niece.”

  “Then force me to take Cashémere to Gretna Green,” Marcus answered confidently. “I would have no qualms with saying vows over an anvil.”

  Morton shrugged away his vexations. “Satiné refuses to return to Manchester.” He rubbed his face with both hands to fight off the exhaustion. “She fears too many people know of her ruination.”

  “I assumed as much,” Marcus considered the baron’s words. “I have been thinking, Sir, what might be best to do after a situation with such devastating ramifications. If I were you, Baron, I would escort Miss Satiné on an extended holiday, say to Italy, for example. You must keep your niece away from prying eyes until you are certain that Miss Satiné is not with child.”

  Morton swallowed hard. “And what if Satiné is truly ruined? Even without her being with child, no gentleman would accept her with all the gossip. All Satiné ever wanted was her Society debut.”

  Marcus turned his eyes from the baron’s obvious anguish. “I believe you are in error, Morton. Miss Satiné has many fine qualities. Despite the gossip, a gentleman would welcome her as his wife, but if you cannot convince your niece as such, there are many Italian ducas and French comtes, and Spanish marquises, who would gladly align their titles with an established English family. Miss Satiné’s beauty will turn many heads, and traveling will provide her with the confidence to face the worst of British society with a raised chin.”

  “A lesson Cashémere learned in the worst of conditions,” the baron’s tone expressed additional regrets. “Once we have met with the magistrate, I wish to call on Averette. I would have you to accompany me, Lord Yardley. I cannot guarantee my sanity otherwise.”

  “Of course, Sir.” Marcus recognized the unspoken acceptance of his relationship with Cashé. He would be part of the baron’s family. “I thought that we might retrieve the coach Charters brought from Manchester, and then you and your nieces will be my guests at Tweed Hall. Y
ou can develop your plans from there.”

  “Thank you, Lord Yardley.”

  “Let me carry Cashémere to her sister’s quarters.” Marcus gently lifted Cashé’s head from his lap and deposited it on the settee’s soft cushion. “You would have been so proud of her, Sir.” Marcus looked lovingly on Cashé’s sleeping form. “Cashémere expertly fought off her attackers at the inn; she was singular in finding her sister, and it is thanks to her that Satiné lives. If I had removed Cashé first from that narrow ledge, Satiné would have plummeted to her death before I could return for her. And how Cashé fought to survive when the ledge collapsed was unbelievable. I thought her lost to me, but she clawed her way back–persevered over it all.”

  Morton said softly, “Cashémere is the best of her sisters. She has triumphed over the worst of conditions and has come out stellar.”

  Marcus knew he thumbed his nose at propriety, but he gently lifted Cashé to him. It was well after midnight, and no one but the baron would be the wiser. She stirred in his arms, and Marcus allowed her to curl closer to him. The baron followed silently behind him, so Marcus swallowed his words of endearment. Pushing the door wider to the room she shared with Satiné, he carried Cashé to the bed and left her beside Satiné.

  “Uncle?” Satiné mumbled as she woke.

  Morton went to her side of the bed. “Nothing’s wrong, Child. His Lordship and I brought Cashémere to bed. Be sure your sister does not sleep in her dress.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Marcus led the way to the door. “I will see you in the morning, Sir.”

  “I will be happy to leave Scotland behind.”

  Marcus could not agree. Scotland had given him the woman he loved, and even with all they had faced, he could not help but feel a softness in his heart for the country.

  *

  Cashé had insisted on accompanying her uncle and Marcus to confront Aldridge. Dougal had taken statements from Crowden, Swenton, and Hill. He had already visited the cottage and observed that the destruction was consistent with their tale. He made his sincere apologies to Ashton for the pain the baron’s family had suffered.