Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (29 page)

Marcus did not have to consider the matter. Breeson never asked for time away. If the man thought he must return home, Marcus would not question it. “How long will you need?”

“A week, Sir.”

“Are you certain that is enough?”

“Yes, Sir. Longer than a couple of days takes its toll on us all. I have been away too long to take orders from anyone but you, Sir.”

Marcus chuckled. Although he thought he would gladly take orders from his mother if only she were alive to deliver them, he understood perfectly. “Take as long as you require, Breeson.”

*

“May I be of assistance?” The butler held the door for Eleanor Kerrington.

“I am Lady Worthing.” She removed her bonnet and gloves and handed them to the man. “Lord Worthing asked me to come and assist my cousin. Might I see Miss Aldridge?”

The butler assisted Eleanor with her cloak. “The lady has not come down of yet, Lady Worthing.”

Eleanor shot a glance at the grandfather clock. “It is after ten. Is this typical of Miss Aldridge?”

Mr. Whitcomb blustered. “No, Ma’am; yet, Miss Aldridge saw Lord Worthing and his companions on their way well after midnight. I would assume the young lady required her rest after a trying day.”

Eleanor understood the man’s loyalty to the Morton household so she ignored his chastising tone. “Is there word of Miss Satiné?”

“Not of which I am aware, Ma’am.”

Eleanor frowned with the lack of information. “And Lord Lexford?”

“His Lordship has yet to awake, Ma’am.”

Eleanor sighed deeply in exasperation. “I will see Lord Lexford while you send someone to my cousin’s room to inform her of my arrival.”

“Yes, Lady Worthing.” The man reached behind him for a salver. “With instructions to deliver it upon your arrival, Lord Worthing left this message for you, Ma’am.” He motioned to a waiting maid. “Lucy will show you to the viscount’s room and then seek Miss Aldridge’s presence in your name.”

Eleanor inclined her head regally before following the maid up the main staircase. She carried her husband’s letter with her to read while she waited for Cashé to dress for the day.

“This be the viscount’s room, Ma’am.” The maid opened the door and stepped aside. Another maid scurried to her feet upon Eleanor’s entrance.

Seeing Aidan Kimbolt lying so helplessly upon the bed, Eleanor gasped. “The viscount looks so pale.”

“The housekeeper, Mrs. Lacey, say that be expected, Ma’am.”

“Would you ask the housekeeper to come to Lord Lexford’s room?” she addressed the attending maid. “I would like to hear what the surgeon had to say regarding His Lordship’s care.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Eleanor sat on the bed’s edge, taking up Kimbolt’s large hand. “I am here, Lord Lexford,” she whispered as she bent to kiss his cheek. Eleanor swept away the lock of hair drooping over his forehead. “I am not going to permit you to leave us, Aidan,” she declared. “Without you, my life would have disintegrated into Sir Louis’s evilness.” She stroked his cheek. “I never told you how safe I felt in your arms and how bereft I felt when we parted. I thought myself cleansed by your touch, and you restored my hope by sending me to James. So, you must understand, Lord Lexford, that I am determined to give you back your life so you might be as happy as I.”

Before she might say more, the young maid came rushing into the room. “Lady Worthing, oh, Ma’am!” She fanned herself with her open hand. “She be gone! Miss Aldridge be gone!”

Eleanor was on her feet immediately. “What do you mean...gone?” She took the girl by both shoulders, giving her a small shake.

“Gone, Ma’am,” the maid bit out breathlessly. “There be clothes everywhere, and Miss Aldridge be leavin’ these two letters on her bed.”

Eleanor snatched the papers from the girl’s hand. Scrawled across one was Baron Ashton’s name and the other held hers. Eleanor tore at the one addressed to her. Devouring the words, her hand shook, but she refused to allow the servant to see her concern. “Lucy,” she spoke evenly, “please have Mr. Whitcomb to attend me here.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And Lucy,” she warned, “do not speak of this to anyone else.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

When the maid disappeared into the corridor, Eleanor allowed herself a moment of dismay. “Oh, Cashé,” she whispered. “Impetuous, fiery Cashémere.” She glanced at the note again. “If you ever take control of your impulses, you will rule the world.” In some ways, Cashé’s actions appalled her: The girl had put herself in danger. Yet, Eleanor admired Cashé’s resolve to find her sister.

The Shadow had foisted the darkness upon him, but Aidan Kimbolt had clawed his way toward the light. He had argued with the Shadow. Had pushed aside his fears. Had managed to conceal the pain radiating throughout his body. Eleanor Fowler rested in his arms, and he had kissed her tenderly. The first time he had kissed any woman since.... Aidan did not wish to remember the pain. The devastation of his heart. All he wished to remember was those shared moments of intimacy with the woman Kerrington reportedly loved. He had not wanted her exactly, but he was sore to leave the warmth and the tenderness he had found with Fowler’s sister. How can I be whole again without that? He had asked himself, and the Shadow ominously responded, “You cannot.”

*

“Are you certain?” Jamot asked for the third time.

The timid shopkeeper, Mr. Stanley, shifted his weight from side to side. “That is what I heard. The baron went to London on business, but he left the sisters under Viscount Lexford’s care. But someone attacked the gentleman, and it is rumored that one of the girls is missing.”

“From whom does this information come?” Jamot formed the words carefully.

“From no one. I heard it myself at the inn. The magistrate questioned the innkeeper.”

Jamot automatically reached into his pocket to hand Stanley another payment. “Keep asking around,” he instructed. “I want to know everything. Inform me when the baron returns.” The man took the money cautiously. Jamot realized that Stanley hated serving a foreigner, but the Baloch took a certain satisfaction in having the Brit answer to his beck and call. “If anything else of note occurs, you come here first.”

*

As the post coach rolled along the country roads, Cashé stared out the window. She attempted to ignore her fellow travelers. She had worn her most common day dress. Luckily, she had anticipated people’s interest in her. Purposely, she had slurred her words and had pretended to be an upper servant off to tend an elderly relative. She had spoken as little as possible to the others. It would take, at least, four days of hard traveling to reach her destination. As the miles led her further from Chesterfield Manor, Cashé had prayed that her sister had not submitted to Charters’ rough ways. Satiné had never faced adversity before, and Cashé was not certain how an abduction might affect her twin. If Satiné could continue her pretense of being Cashé, her sister might survive this ordeal. The world would view Cashé as ruined, but there was no other way. She would see this through. She had to set things right.

*

Being rocked back and forth, Satiné woke on the floor of the carriage. The coach’s constant swaying had made her stomach lurch, and she had fought hard not to lose her breakfast. “Breakfast,” she formed the word without the sound. When had that been? she thought. And then the realization had hit her. Some man had attacked Viscount Lexford and had carried her off, thinking she was Cashémere.

The recognition sent her insides a reeling more than had the coach’s rhythm. What in the world could she do to make the man release her? She had realized despondently that this incident would ruin her reputation before she had ever made her appearance in London. However, if she could convince her abductor to free her, she might still salvage some shred of decency; and she could delay her presentation for another year to allow the rumors to die away.

Uncle Charles. Her uncle would search for her. That was a certainty. “But he was away from home,” she whispered. Was anyone looking for her? How long had she been unconscious? With an effort, she pushed herself up a seated position before leaning against the bench seat. The inside of the coach swirled about her, and Satiné gave herself a good shake to clear her mind. She had to find a means from this mess. “Surely, I can clarify the man’s misconception. When he understands that I am not Cashémere, he will permit my freedom,” she told herself, but as the coach rolled on, she doubted whether anything in her life would ever be the same.

*

Eleanor had read her husband’s letter and had completely understood the situation. Meeting with and demanding that the servants refrain from speaking of Lord Lexford’s injury, Satiné’s disappearance, and Cashé’s withdrawal to anyone outside the home, She had taken control of the baron’s household. All inquires were to come to her. After speaking to Mrs. Lacey, she had sent a note to Doctor Potter requesting his discretion in handling the viscount’s case. Finally, Eleanor had spoken directly to the magistrate. The man’s handling of the questioning of witnesses had opened Satiné’s reputation to censure. Depending on how quickly Lord Worthing was able to recover Satiné would determine what story they had spread throughout the neighborhood. Eleanor had plenty of practice in covering scandals, and now that she had powerful friends and family, she knew what to do to correct the locals’ bungling of the situation.

She sent a rider to seek her husband with news of Cashé’s plan to save her sister, but Ella did not expect that the young groomsman would catch Kerrington. The Realm members would not stop until they had found Satiné’s abductor. There was nothing else she could do except to tend Lexford and to wait for Ashton’s reappearance, more likely some time later tomorrow–maybe even the day after.

*

“What do you mean by no one is talking?” Jamot stormed across the sparsely furnished room.

Despite his fears, Stanley had informed Jamot of his lack of progress. “I have asked repeatedly...from everyone, and I keep hearing the same thing: ‘I know nothing. If you want to ask questions about the family, ask their cousin. The lady is staying at Chesterfield Manor and is overseeing the house in the baron’s absence.’”

Jamot tapped down his anger. “Who is this cousin?”

“Again, I am not certain. It is almost as if someone had warned everyone away from the story. I did confirm the fact that Viscount Lexford has not regained consciousness.”

Jamot stared out the small window. “And you say the baron is not in residence?”

“No. Ashton was in London...probably arriving in Cheshire some time tomorrow or the next day.”

Jamot nodded his understanding. Deep in thought, he added, “You need to find out more before you come here again.” Without looking at the man, he extended his arm for Stanley to take his payment. “I pay for information, not the lack of it, Mr. Stanley. Do you comprehend my meaning?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand perfectly.”

*

Following the most obvious trail to Scotland, Kerrington led his men through the night. From what Cashé had told him, Charters had never traveled outside of his home land, and Kerrington assumed the man would stay to the main roads; but after finding nothing at the first three inns at which they stopped, he had changed his mind. “No one has seen Charters,” he said softly when he rejoined his friends in the inn’s common room.

Gabriel Crowden shot a glance to the other customers. It was early, and most of the inn’s occupants broke their fasts. “What do we do next?”

Kerrington frowned as he followed Crowden’s eyes. “This Charters character planned more fully than I had initially expected. I thought this an impulsive move for the Scot, but he has obviously thought this through. It seems we must split up. Crowden, I suggest that you and Swenton continue along the main road. According to Miss Aldridge, Charters resides in Leith, about three miles outside of Edinburgh. I will take Lucifer with me, and we will cut across country. I had hoped to overtake the man before Miss Satiné’s reputation lay in shreds, but that may not be possible. We will meet up at The Sunset Inn south of Edinburgh.”

Crowden picked up his gloves. “Are you ready, Swenton?”

Kerrington caught his friend’s arm. “Is something amiss, Crowden?”

The always-private marquis paused. “Just family issues. Nothing I cannot handle.” He removed his arm from Kerrington’s grasp. “I will be outside checking the horses, John.”

*

The coach slowed to a stop beside what appeared to be a deserted barn. Satiné had climbed onto the bench seat and peered out the window. She momentarily wondered if she could jump from the coach and run for assistance before the man caught her again, but fog draped the fields and hedgerows. No other structures existed as she scanned the area.

Suddenly the door swung open, and the man who had carried her from her uncle’s land filled the space. “Come,” he ordered, reaching in and grabbing Satiné’s arm.

“You do not understand,” she protested while fighting his manhandling. Shoving her toward the barn, the man ignored her pleas. She had thought to escape, but a quick glance about the fields showed no houses or lights or even a friendly dog. “Please. Do not do this.” She feared what the man planned for her.

“There be cover over behind those trees.” He pointed to a nearby copse.

Satiné stood looking to where he indicated, and then it dawned on her what he suggested. “You expect me to...to...” She could not form the words.

“Ye be getting’ airs livin’ with the baron. Ye kin use the privacy or do without.” Her abductor unharnessed the horses. “When I finish, we leave. Make up yer mind.”

Satiné thought to argue, but now that he had suggested it, she needed to relieve herself. Dejectedly, she walked toward the tree line. Realizing there was no reasonable means of escape, she finished and returned to where the man changed out the horses. There was nothing around for miles. The moors and the peaks loomed all around with nary anything else in sight. Watching his methodical movements, it dawned on her that he had attached fresh horses to the coach. “You planned this?” she said with new realization.

The stranger glanced over his shoulder at her. “I keep wot belongs to me,” he stated matter-of-factly.