Kindred (10 page)

“Welcome back, Master Paul, Miss Adeline,” said a stately elderly man who took one of Adeline’s cases.

“Thank you, Rogers,” the siblings returned in unison as they took the stairs and went into the edifice.

“Good day, Mister Harkness,” the man extended to Cassian.

“Same to you, Rogers,” Cassian said, surprised the servant knew his name.

The group assembled in the foyer as the staff took their baggage upstairs.

Miss Penvenen elder appeared. She was dressed to go visiting.

“You made it in a timely interval, I see. Well, I am off to sit with Elizabeth Danning. Poor soul is not well.”

Cassian stepped forward. “Thank you for inviting me, Miss Penvenen.”

“Oh, do not thank me.” She cut a glance at her niece. “Thank Adeline. If it were up to me you would still be in Köln for Christmas.” She tugged on her gloves as a maid placed a gray cloak over her gray ensemble. “Personally, I do not think it prudent to have you about. Only provokes talk.”

“Talk Miss Penvenen? Why, I have only just arrived. What kind of talk?” Cassian wondered what was unfolding.

“But word of your arrival preceded you. Correct, Adeline?”

The girl walked back to the door and opened it as a another carriage pulled up.

“Don’t be tardy, Aunt Felicity. Time is money you have always told me. Your hired coach is here. Elizabeth is waiting on you.”

Felicity chuckled and marched over to Cassian.

“Mister Harkness, please forgive me. It is not that I dislike you. I do not know you well enough for that.” She sighed. “It is just that … No matter. Make yourself comfortable.” As she waved her arm, she proclaimed, “ Supper this evening at seven. I shall see you all then.”

****

After unpacking, Cassian spent the afternoon familiarizing himself with the house. He trod the halls and rooms and noticed that this place had the same sort of trappings that Twainhaven had, but they were much grander, older. Miss Felicity favored Chippendale furnishings to an extreme, with a sprinkling here and there of

Kent. Yes, this was Mahogany House, Cassian noted. Curiously, when he entered the library, the décor changed. It was done in Hepplewhite. The light, airy, painted satinwood pieces were lovely. He laughed to himself because Douglas had called the style “women’s furniture.” Doctor Twain had been visiting a patient last year. The sickly woman’s husband had pulled out a chair for him to sit on while he tended the

woman. It had been a Hepplewhite. Douglas sat on it throughout the call as if he were perched on a clutch of eggs. When he got home that day, Twainhaven’s residents never heard the end of it.

“No self respecting man would sit on that. It has no heft. No weight. I was afraid I’d break it each time I moved a cheek. You ladies would have loved it. Women’s furniture!” Cassian followed with an index finger the outline of a shield back chair. Decidedly feminine. Yes, Kindred would love this. He’d have to write Douglas and

convince him to buy a piece for each of the ladies. Cassian inspected the shelves, found a copy of Richardson’s
Pamela,
into the chair and read for a bit.

Chapter Thirteen

“Wot’s ‘appenin’ in there?” said one chamber maid to another in the hallway outside of Adeline’s room. “She’s been hollerin’ like that off an’ on all morning.” The second maid offered, “Let her aunt tend to it. I got me work to do.” The two women trudged down the corridor, lugging a full ash pail.

“I have been accepted back in the fold!” Adeline affirmed out loud as she lolled on her back in the middle of her bed. Her billowy night gown pooled around her hips as she pumped her legs wildly above her. The bed was awash in invitations. She picked up

handfuls and pitched them into the air. She laughed like a madwoman as they rained down all around her. She loved this sort of attention. Her and her brother’s association with Cassian had re-opened doors to her which had previously been closed. Did she feel guilty? No. Should she feel guilty? No. She did like Cassian, so she was not using him. Well, maybe just a tad. Was it her fault that everyone wanted to meet him? And why should she not benefit from it?

“He is attractive and will have means and a future. I would marry him myself, but his origins, his need to return to that God-forsaken land and that odd, mixed bunch he calls family… I just could not,” she had told Paul.

The invitations had been coming in droves for the last 2 weeks. Teas. Intimate suppers. Wassail parties. Balls. Horseback riding. People who had cut her from their lives when she had fallen from grace, were now clamoring for her presence. Adeline could barely keep up with answering them. One in particular caught her eye. She picked it up and rubbed the heavy, ribbon-festooned parchment against her cheek, then sniffed it. This one came from Taylor House. They used the best paper and ink. She tugged on the ribbon with her teeth, the seal cracked and it flipped open. It requested her presence at their annual Christmas ball. She, Aunt Felicity, Paul and a guest were allowed. A guest. How drole! They knew exactly what “guest” they wanted there. She laughed aloud again.

“Redemption is possible if one has the right atonement.”

Visions of eligible men danced in her head. She hugged the paper to her chest.

“Malcolm, heir to Taylor House and the title that goes with it, is still unattached. Not for long if I have anything to do with it,” she sniffed. Adeline hopped off the bed and went to stand before her glass. She stripped off her night gown. Looking full on, she cupped her vermilion tipped, pale breasts and squeezed them together. They were quite high and full. The personal joke between her and Daniel had been that when people asked what he admired about her, he would reply, “Her warmth and pertness.” Little did they know he referred to the place between her legs and to her chest. She had decided on a revealing
polonaise
the Taylor affair. It was daring, but she needed to separate herself from the herd. An extra dusting of powder would showcase her shoulders and bosom. Her hair had to be daring also. She smiled at her reflection as she pulled her gown back on. Adeline dived back into bed. After sorting each invitation by its importance, she pushed the minor ones off the bed. She sorted again, in order of the sender’s prestige and when the event was taking place. These were almost as good as money.

“No. Better.” She fingered each one lovingly. She was enjoying this currency too much to spend it all at once.

****

Tonight Cassian would attend his first ball. The George Nauls’ yearly event. They were of lesser aristocracy, and he was told that their house and its appointments would show it. Adeline had arranged their whirl of festivities to end with the most lavish affair—The Taylor House Annual Ball. He found it amusing that total strangers felt so comfortable walking up to him. They would remark on his hair and his skin, and invariably ask, “Is it true that you eat your dogs?”

His stock response was, “No, we eat our excess children.” The question poser would giggle nervously and change the topic, ending his perverse fun. He was apprehensive, but eager to make a good impression.

Everyone in the household would be going except for Miss Felicity. She was in bed with a case of the putrid throat. It left her unable to converse, the one positive side effect of the ailment. Fresh from his bath, Cassian stood squinting at the finery hanging on the clothes form. He would wear the elaborate get up at least two more times before his trip was over. Borrowed from Paul, he had never owned or had worn items as grand as these. The breeches were cream satin. The sleeveless, single-breasted waistcoat was heavily embroidered and teamed with an absurdly lacey, white silk shirt. The
justaucorps
outer coat was gold brocade. His clocked silk stockings, black leather, gold-buckled shoes and wig were placed nearby. Cassian fingered the frilly shirt sleeves, then scrutinized the wig. He detested it. He had tried to convince Paul it was not necessary, but Paul had said not wearing one on such an occasion was unheard of. The powdered accessory was supposed to be an improvement over one’s own hair, but Cassian begged to differ. It consisted of rows of horsehair, formed into rolls and locks, drawn into a queue secured by a black ribbon. He dried off with a length of linen, dressed and posed in the mirror. He laughed at his image and immediately pictured that Kindred would do the same. Kindred. The thought of her sent him searching through his valise. He found her lavender sachet, passed it under his nose, then tucked it in a chest pocket of his waistcoat. Scooping up an ebony handled walking stick, he left the room. As Cassian descended the stairs, Adeline rushed from the parlor.

“You look delectable.” She circled him, running her hands up and down his arms and across his shoulders. “Paul, look. Does he not do your clothes justice?”

“I am wounded to the quick, sister.” Paul clutched the front of his green silk
justaucorps
, in mock insult. “Am I not delectable too?” He surveyed Cassian. “The attire does suit you.”

“Thank you.” Cassian replied. “But I’ll never cotton to this wig.” He poked a finger under a back edge to scratch a spot. “Adeline, you look fetching.” She did shine in peach silk and powdered hair. “Shall we go?”

Chapter Fourteen

“So, who is the host again, Paul?” Cassian asked. “I have forgotten.” He had drowned his nervousness in wine and knew he would regret it in the morning.

“The man who was at the head of the table, Cassian. Master George Nauls.” Paul leaned into his anxious friend. “The fellow who greeted everyone at the door.”

“Oh, I remember now.” Cassian’s head swam and not just because of the wine. He had gone to four formal suppers in as many nights. He was feeling the effects of the rich fare. He had lost count of how many
fricandos
veal he had consumed, or
fricasses
turnips. These two-course-with-dessert meals were just too much to endure. After each course, the linen and utensils had to be renewed. Each course had at least ten dishes and the dessert course offered as many treats. His body was not used to it. He longed for Rozina’s simple food. He, Paul and the rest of the men remained in the dining room for

more drinks and cigars. The ladies had retired to the drawing-room.

“Paul, the host has stared at me all evening. He has not uttered a word.”

“Cassian, Adeline used to be a fixture here. She was friends with his daughter Emily.

“And what has that got to do with him staring at me?”

“Emily is deceased. She married and followed her husband to Virginia. She died in an Indian raid.”

Cassian felt the air suck out of him. “And you brought
me
?” He gulped the rest of his wine and jumped up. “I must leave.”

“Too late. Here he comes. Cassian, I apologize. I am humbly sorry.” Paul stood up too. “Adeline wanted so much to be seen here and to speak with Malcolm Taylor privately before his family’s big gala.”

“At my expense I see,” sighed Cassian. “She is reckless.”