Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (22 page)

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.”

“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 findin’ 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.

*

“My Lord,” Cashé dipped a curtsy as she joined Lexford on the balcony before the baron’s other guests gathered for the evening’s supper.

“Ah, Miss Aldridge,” he said as he turned to her. “You look lovely this evening.” Kimbolt took her hand to kiss her knuckles.

Cashé swallowed the urge to jerk her hand away. Although this evening played into her overall plans, she felt disloyal to Marcus. “Thank you, Lord Lexford.” She stood beside the brick banister leading to the upper gardens. “It is good to have you in my uncle’s home again, Sir.”

“I would have called sooner, Miss Aldridge, but I thought it appropriate to allow you time to recover your family.” He sat on the ledge, making them closer in height. “Yet, you must know, Miss Cashémere, that my heart decried the action.”

Cashé forced a smile to her lips. “I fear our acquaintance shall suffer this evening. Uncle Charles plans for me to meet many of his dearest friends. That is why I sought you before I am called away to my duties.” She touched his arm lightly to press her point. “I had hoped that I might prevail upon you to call at the end of next week, once Aunt Charlotte and my cousins retire to Shropshire.”

A full smile lit Lexford’s countenance. “I would be honored, Miss Aldridge.”

Cashé bit back relief’s sigh. “I must warn you, Lord Lexford, that I have been taking lessons from my sister. You may experience moments when you think yourself speaking to Satiné.”

Lexford frowned. “I hope not too much so. I find I am quite fond of Cashémere Aldridge.”

“Yet, my Lord,” she said coyly, “I have taken note of how my sister holds your interest equally as well as I.” Cashé feared Satiné might forget her role, and she meant to counter her twin’s mistakes in advance.

“Be still, my heart,” Lexford taunted. “Perhaps the lady finds herself jealous of her own sister.”

Cashé thought, if he only knew. “You cannot claim, my Lord, that my face outshines Satiné’s, as we have the same face,” she reasoned.

Lexford scowled. “Obviously, there is a marked resemblance, but you wound me, if you think I might not recognize the difference.”

Cashé tried desperately to hide her amusement, but a smile broke her mouth’s line. “I would hope so, my Lord,” she said merrily, realizing he had not known Satiné had been she when they last met. “You must agree, my Lord, that you and my sister find a commonality, and I plan to make myself more aware of what interests you, Lord Lexford.”

“I am touched by your willingness to acclimate yourself to my world.”

Cashé realized her over zealousness; she did not want Lord Lexford’s regard to deepen. She quickly decided on a different tactic. “You must admit, Sir, that Satiné would make any man the perfect companion.”

“Absolutely,” he acknowledged. “I am certain Lord Yardley would agree.”

Cashé schooled her expression, but the idea of Yardley preferring Satiné did not sit well with her. “I love my sister, but I cannot conceive of her with the earl,” she countered. “If for no other reason than Northumberland being a much harsher area; Satiné might find survival the shire’s remoteness foreign to her.”

Lexford looked away, a recognized grief dulling his eyes. “I would not wish the earl to know another loss.”

Cashé heard Marcus’s voice saying something similar of Lexford. “I agree. Each of us deserves happiness wherever he finds it. I would sincerely wish you such contentment, my Lord, whether that happiness involves me or someone like my sister or even some other woman.”

Lexford’s gaze narrowed. “That is very magnanimous of you, my Dear, but I have no intention of looking elsewhere.”

Cashé realized she had pushed her own agenda too hard. “I never meant it as such, my Lord. My words only acknowledged that you and the earl have sacrificed a great deal for ideals in which you believe. It would be an aberration if your sacrifice did not lead to a fulfilling life upon your return home. As Viscount Worthing did with Eleanor and His Grace with Velvet, you must let nothing stand in your way. Choose what makes you happy.”

“That is a very mature statement, Miss Aldridge,” he observed warily.

Cashé thought it time to pull in her lines. She was using Marcus’s casting lessons, after all. “I, too, Lord Lexford, have had a less than stellar way, and I am determined to know contentment, and you must promise me that you shall seek the same, no matter which path you must follow.”

“Of course, Miss Aldridge. I would deny you nothing.”

Cashé looked over her shoulder to the open doorway. “We must join the others, my Lord. I am certain Uncle Charles is looking for me. Might I have the pleasure of your arm, Sir?”

Lexford stood and offered his support. “You never cease to amaze me, my Dear.”

*

Marcus collapsed into a chair in his chambers. He had fought beside his men and his tenants and the local villagers for hours, but they had managed to save the mill from complete structural ruin; however, he had lost two men in the blaze–two families who would know death intimately. Sometimes, he felt that his efforts brought nothing but evil to Tweed Hall. Exhausted, too weary to argue even with himself, Marcus rubbed his dirty palm over his face. “I need a bath,” he grumbled as he struggled to his feet. “And I need to call on the families of the deceased to assure them I will not turn them out.”

Tomorrow, he would lead his men in repairing the mill. He held no choice. The harvest rested in the surrounding barns. Winter would call within the next month. His tenants and the estate needed to grind the different crops. Marcus would likely have to work night and day to make things right.

“That is what happens when I covet what is not mine. It is God’s warning,” he chastised himself, but Marcus knew he could never turn his mind and his heart from Cashé. Even partnered with a touch of wariness, he accepted his fate whole-heartedly.

*

Jamot watched the blaze with some pleasure. He assumed Wellston and his household would rush to smother the fire he had started. He had wanted the earl and most of his men away from the house while he had made himself familiar with the manor’s design.

Amazingly, he had spent more than thirty minutes working his way through the empty hallways, not even meeting a maid or an elderly footman, before he had set the lock on a second story window and made his escape. He would return with the nightfall when everyone dreamed the exhausted sleep of a difficult day. He had already searched for the emerald in obvious locations as he had made his way from room to room. Tonight, he would search for the more secretive places.

*

Marcus had no idea what had awakened him. The house creaked and moaned, but every house did as such, so that was of no concern. Yet, he remained on alert. Over the years with Wellington’s army and as part of the Realm, he had learned to listen to his instincts, and those instincts told him something was amiss. He edged the coverlet away from his body and swung his legs over the bed’s edge. Reaching for his breeches, Marcus drew them on before slipping a shirt over his head.

Another board popped loudly in the hallway, and Marcus retrieved his gun from the nightstand. Someone moved through the empty passageway. A brush of a soft shoe on the carpet told him his suspicions proved accurate.

Marcus crossed the cold floor of his master chambers–quickly and quietly and eased the latch. Then his heart stopped: A shadow had entered Trevor’s room.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Marcus slid out into the darkness–clinging to the wall–surveying each dark corner and recess for other intruders. Yet, before he could surprise the interloper, a blood-curdling scream set him into action.

Marcus burst through the door to Trevor’s room, immediately diving forward and rolling to a squatted position. Gunfire and a guttural scream welcomed his entrance. Marcus, pointing his gun at a man he recognized despite the darkened room, came to stand in the room’s middle. Murhad Jamot held Trevor by the neck, squeezing his brother’s Adam’s apple. His sibling tried desperately to free himself, but the Baloch was too strong for Trevor’s pudgy body.

“Let him go,” Marcus demanded. “Your fight is with me, Jamot.”

The Baloch grinned sinisterly. “Ah, Berwick, it is nice to know you understand my presence here.” Trevor tried to break away, but Jamot tightened his hold.

Marcus shot a glance at his brother. “Trevor!” he barked. “Stop fighting him.”

The anger in Marcus’s voice quailed Trevor’s struggle, and Jamot minutely loosened his hold so his victim might breath again. Marcus silently gave thanks. He knew Mir’s henchman was capable of snapping Trevor’s neck.