Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One) (4 page)

“What is love but an an emotion to render a man weak,” Ren replied. “Lady Margaret would have been pleasant enough to create the required heirs upon, and well-educated in the duties of the station. I would have provided very well for her, and after a few years and a few children, she could have gone to the continent and taken a lover or two or whatever.”

“My friend, that is why you lost her to another. You didn’t love her, and she sensed a lifetime of drudgery, albeit a gilded type of drudgery, with you.”

“You do not understand our culture,” Ren replied, “for all that you studied in my homeland for five years.”

“And you, my friend, do not understand women,” Hakim stated, already starting to slur his words. “When you have as many as I do, you learn that to keep peace you must love each one for who she is. Never take her for granted, or compare her to another. Else jealousy sets in and your life is miserable thereafter.”

“So,” the physician said getting back to Ren’s aborted marriage plans, “the pain you are experiencing obviously does not come from losing the bride. So it must be from losing the relationship with your cousin. Is that right?”

Ren nodded. “He and I were close as children. By the time you joined our group at school, he’d already begun his downward slide.

“When he left University prematurely, he began to live a life of debauchery and gambling.” Ren rubbed his forehead in frustration and glanced at Ismael. “It is not as though we didn’t have our fun too,” he turned to Hakim and asked, “is that not right?” Turning back to the physician, he added, “But his was excessive. He’d disappear into the bowels of Town and not surface for weeks, months even. And when he did it was to ask my father for an advance on his allowance.

“After school I began to sail with my uncle, and didn’t see Thomas for a few years. It was while I was at sea that my father and stepmother died in an accident that many said was suspicious, but there was never any proof of foul play. Their carriage went off the road into a deep ravine.” He cleared his throat, the lump growing somewhat painful with the telling of the tale. “My stepmother was carrying another child. They were both wishing for a second son.”

Ren thought back to the pain of losing his father and stepmother, it wasn’t something he wanted to ever go through again. Unlike most of his set, he actually loved his father and respected him.

“All was going fairly well until a few months ago. Thomas sent a note that he needed to speak to me. I invited him to come to Haldenwood, and asked him to stay for the holidays because I was planning to announce my betrothal over Christmas. According to his letter, I expected him to arrive on a Thursday afternoon. He didn’t appear. I thought he was just delayed, and that surely he’d come. Two days later, he’d sill not arrived, and I went out on a stag hunt with a few of the local gentry. Someone shot at me as I rode through a field. I was not hit, but my horse was. I had to finish off my favorite stallion right there.

“My game-keeper immediately went to where the shot came from, and gave chase. He got a good look at the man as he rode away.”

“Tell me no,” Hakim whispered.

Now feeling a surprising lack of emotion, Ren nodded. “A few weeks later, as my grandmother was preparing for Lady Margaret’s family to descend upon Haldenwood for the holidays, we receive word that my soon-to-be-bride is very ill and unable to attend. I sent my family physician to see to her, and he returns with a most shocking tale. It seems she miscarried a child that was not mine. And what’s worse, in her fevered delirium, she called out for my cousin.”

The three men sat in silence for several long minutes, digesting the tale Ren had just relived for them. It felt good to actually speak of it all, knowing the men he told would never betray his trust. He’d not been able to speak of it so thoroughly before, because not long after the incident with Margaret, Ren had left England, without speaking of his emotions to anyone. Including his closest friend, Michael.

He inhaled deeply from his cigar, and exhaled as he spoke. “If something were to happen to me, Thomas is next in line to inherit.” He raked a hand over his face to wipe away the growing emotion. Once he had that under control, he continued, “I have my grandmother, and sisters, Elise and Sarah, to think of. Now I must see to finding another suitable bride to make a duchess. She must be pleasant to look upon, and accomplished in the skills necessary to do the job.”

Hakim laughed. “You sound as though you were purchasing a horse or hound. Was there no affection? I desire my wives a great deal, all six of them, as well as the thirty-two other women in my
harim
.”

“Even a man of your position should have a wife he desires. Not one that ‘will do,’” said the physician. “Find a woman you desire, take her to wife, then see to creating the heir. That is the order of things.”

“I have to agree with him there.” Hakim stated. “We are fast approaching thirty years. I’ve known younger men to die of natural causes.” He took another long swig of his wine. “Is there no other suitable female in all of England who is still virtuous?”

“If there are, they must still be in the schoolroom,” Ren replied sarcastically, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Spontaneous laughter erupted as Hakim re-filled his glass, and then Ren’s, finishing off the bottle.

“I dread going through all the pretense again to find the proper wife. You know I do not do the social games well.” He lifted his glass, and stared into the contents. “Yet, it seems I must again play the town dandy to find a bride. It tires and bores me.” Pushing back from the table, Ren prepared to rise. “But, ’tis just one of the necessary evils a man must endure, I suppose, to continue the family line.” Fed up with the topic, Ren turned to the men. “Excuse me, please. I must leave now, if I am to assist a certain green-eyed waif.”

Ismael looked puzzled and Ren explained.

Afterward, the physician turned to Hakim. “You know,” he said casually, “if he were Muslim he could buy his way out of his current predicament.”

Hakim and Ismael exchanged foxed grins, Hakim’s eyes becoming mischievously bright. “Of course! There’s your solution!”

“That is not an option,” Ren countered flatly.

“Your options,” Hakim asserted with a flourish of his hand, “are limitless. You are the Duke of Caversham after all. Think anyone would go against you should you legitimize a bastard born of a mistress?” Hakim took a sip of his wine, and made sure Ren understood him before continuing. “I think not, my friend.”

“Impossible. There are others to consider, my responsibility to my family, my duty to my title, my heritage, and social mores.”

“The Ren I know would not be concerned with the opinions of others,” Hakim replied.

“I simply wish to secure the release of a woman I’m sure was illegally procured.” Remembering the desperation on her face, Ren added, “If you had seen the look in her eyes you would agree.” He stood to leave. “She probably has a family at home desirous of her safe return, and I would take her back. If she were one of my sisters, I would hope for the same.”

Hakim and Ismael stood, intending to accompany him.

“If you come with me,” Ren lectured, “there will be no such discussion again. I am only about freeing a despairing waif.”

“I promise to be on my bess behavior, Your Grace,” the prince drawled. A servant filled a large flask with the port as Hakim instructed and handed it to him.

“You are going to have a hell of a cracked skull tomorrow.” Ren tossed back the remaining contents of his glass.

“Only because I have not imbibed since your last visit.”

Ren quirked an eye to Ismael for confirmation, and the physician nodded knowingly.

“Mayhap your green-eyed runaway will turn out to be a fantasy in the flesh,” Hakim said, linking arms with Ismael, as the two headed from the room. “A woman to stir the loins,” Hakim paused, exchanging a look with the physician, “and possibly the heart.”

“Oh, I doubt that,”Ren muttered, following the two from the dining hall.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

T
he crush of men packed into the plain stucco building on the outskirts of the souk made the large room uncomfortably warm, humid and stuffy. A heavy cloud of smoke hugged the ceiling, and appeared as a solid mass which threatened to fall onto their heads. Ren, Ismael, and Hakim stood at the back of the room, all seats long ago taken by early-comers.

Wishing to remain anonymous, they’d changed clothing, with no outward signs to denote their positions. During the ride, Ismael and Hakim informed Ren that because of his status as a foreigner he was unable to bid. Ren then delegated Ismael to transact in his stead.

“Understand, my friend,” Ismael said, “that selling concubines is an ancient custom. It existed long before you or I, and likely will forever. Most still practice the old ways. They do not take kindly to foreigners intruding and attempting to change their world, and that is how they view you.

“If it were common knowledge that you purchased a prepared concubine, only to liberate her, it would serve to stir the newly settled hostilities. Not to mention that the whoremaster, Ashraf, will have wasted his considerable knowledge educating the girl. He will feel disgraced, and he holds great power among the merchant and military classes. With little effort, he could hinder trade relations with your country.”

Ren inhaled from his cheroot, exhaled, then turned to Ismael and Hakim. “That is a good thing then, because I cannot have my name connected to the purchase of a woman,” he stated. “If such information should ever become public knowledge amongst the ton, it would create a tremendous scandal. I must think of the others in the family, not only myself.”

His friends nodded in agreement. Ren turned back toward the curtained dais, to await the beginning of the sale. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hakim nod knowingly to Ismael.

Ren leaned back and took another drag, confident that no scandal could occur, if he kept in mind that he had a title to uphold, and a family who depended upon him to behave with honor.

And he would do just that. He would return the desperate runaway to her family once he secured her freedom.

The three men held minimal conversation as one by one Ashraf’s women were brought out, relieved of their robes and turned about for inspection. Each one sold quickly. Snapped up by merchants, military officials, and other men of means establishing their harems, or adding to them.

“Your brother’s secretary and the general are together near the front,” Ismael whispered to Hakim.

“I cannot let him recognize me.” Hakim slid behind Ren. “I must stay out of his view, lest he tell my brother that I move among the commoners. That man has tried for years to fill my brother’s head with lies, and the last thing I need is for him to tell my brother that I am looking to secure the favor of the other tribes.”

“I was called to the general’s
harim
a few nights ago,” Ismael said, “to find another of his women beaten for failing to please him. This one was lucky, she didn’t die from the beating. The last woman died before I arrived.”

“Did the general kill her?” There were certain differences in their culture that still had the ability to shock Ren. The treatment of their women was one. He was amazed that the man faced no repercussion at all for beating one of the weaker sex to death.

“Likely so,” replied Ismael. “He has some peculiar fetishes and likes young virgins, particularly. Disgusting man either doesn’t realize, or doesn’t care, that they are the ones most frightened by, and least experienced in, the practice of his habits.”

Hakim said from behind Ren’s left shoulder, “Don’t worry, my friend. Your green-eyed beauty will not fall into his hands. We—” he looked to Ismael then back at Ren, “—will not allow it. I will be right behind you.” He motioned to a corner several feet away and slid into the crowd, needing to remain incognito.

Ren and Ismael had come up with a plan where, hopefully, the woman would not have to endure the humiliation of baring herself as these others were. Once he recognized her, he’d place a bid so exorbitant that no one would dare bid against him, especially the general. Perhaps by doing so, the old man on the dais would declare her sold without forcing degradation on her.

“Have you seen her yet?” Ismael asked.

Ren shook his head, and took another long swig from the flask.
Where was she?
He shifted, trying to get a glimpse behind the curtain.

“Where the bloody hell is she?” Ren hissed several minutes later after yet another young woman stood on the dais. He wasn’t sure why yet, but finding and saving that particular woman felt important for some reason. Perhaps it was her soulful, keen eyes. Because Ren got the impression she knew he understood her urgency.

He wouldn’t let her down.

“Relax, my friend, there’s still time,” Ismael said. “The truly great selections are saved for last. That, too, is where you are more likely to find a woman of noble blood, if she is one.”

Ren nodded while he contemplated his friend’s words. If the girl were a noble, there was more at stake. He would not simply be returning a peasant’s daughter to her family. If she were a peer, once she returned home, she faced a lifetime of ostracism and prejudice.
But at least she would be free
, his conscience reassured.