Kindred (11 page)

“I will send the coach back.”

“Please stay!”

“No.” He swung up into the conveyance. Once seated, he banged on the roof with his walking stick. “Drive!” Leaning back against the seat, he reached inside his waistcoat and retrieved Kindred’s head wrap. “You were right, love,” he sighed, as lavender

permeated the coach’s red velvet interior.

Chapter Fifteen

“Don’t just stand there. Help me with this.” Adeline struggled with her gown.

“Miss, I don’t know how it ties. How does it go on?”

“It’s a dress you idiot! It goes on like any other. Use you head.”

Adeline stood in the center of her room, arms outstretched while the maid encased her in her dress for the ball. She had pleaded with her aunt to pay their seamstress the extra the woman had requested to make the thing. Adeline needed to be noticed, to stand

out from the other girls. Adeline and the woman scoured sketch after sketch and finally decided on a robin’s egg blue and plum
polonaise
. Its plum colored overskirt billowed out from a narrow waist over enormous paniers. Split down the front, this gold tassel tipped skirt folded back on itself on either side like curtains, exposing the pale blue petticoat underneath. The tight, laced bodice possessed a recklessly low, square neckline and secured at the cleavage with a pink bow. The snug waist ended in a deep point in the front from which dangled a gold tassel. The elbow length sleeves terminated in puffed round cuffs which were accentuated with pink bows. Her elaborate hairstyle was a mix of real and fake hair. The high, powdered, pomatum plastered coiffure was a construction of curls and ringlets stretched over a wire frame. Random plumes reproduced the colors in her frock.

“There, I think I got it right this time, Miss.” The maid pulled the last lace through the bodice front, retying the bow. She powdered Adeline’s chest again and eyed her mistress’ bosom. The only portion not revealed were her nipples. “Miss, won’t you be needing something to fill in the …. ”

“No.” She snapped her fingers. “Shoes.” She took a seat at her vanity. The maid knelt and eased the satin pumps onto the girl’s feet. “My fan, too.” Another chamber maid knocked and entered, carrying a cloak.

“Miss, your aunt says to hurry. She hates being late.”

“I am behind because I helped her get dressed. Arrgh! Does not that crone know that one is never late to these affairs? One makes a fashionably tardy entrance.” Adeline snatched her wrap from maid number two and headed out into the hallway.

“Miss, you are a vision,” maid number one called after her.

“More like a sight, if you ask me,” whispered maid number two.

****

“Thank you, Great Spirit,” Cassian said aloud, relieved that tonight’s affair at Taylor House would be the last time he’d be obligated to go “out amongst ’em” as Rozina would say. Cassian stood naked before the clothes form, contemplating the costume he had been donning off and on for two weeks. He frowned. His eyes strayed to the powdered periwig on its stand. He frowned again.

“Torture device,” he mumbled, scratching his head as he turned the wig stand about with the other.

“Sir,” a servant called from the hallway as he knocked at the door. “Miss Penvenen elder says the coach will be here in three quarters of an hour. Please be ready.”

“Thank you,” Cassian replied. He heard the man’s rapid foot steps fade away.

“Yes, must not be tardy.” He padded back to the clothes form. “Or keep that rented coach waiting. Tick, tock. A pence here. A pound there. Adds up.” He examined closely, the embroidery on the waistcoat. The whole outfit was of singular workmanship, but it disguised the wearer. He tested the fabric once more. It was exquisite handiwork, but …. He glanced at his reflection in the looking glass.

“So am I.”

****

By the time Casssian reached the foyer, only Paul was there. Adeline and her aunt were already bundled into the carriage. He was wrapped in a black cloak from neck to toe. Not even his footwear was visible—he was wigless.

“Cassian? No wig? This is an even more formal occasion then was the Nauls’. Aunt Felicity will have a conniption. Adeline has already upset her with her attire. She told Adeline that if she did not catch a husband in that frock, she’d definitely catch a cold.” Paul rubbed his forehead.

“Paul, you fret too much. You will be useless to your patients. Miss Penvenen elder will have more than a conniption.” Cassian opened his cloak. “Care to wager a case of apoplexy?”

Paul’s eyes popped. “By all that is divine!” He fell against the wall.

Cassian re-wrapped his cloak and peeled his classmate off the wall. “Come, the hired coach awaits.”

Once outside, the two young men leapt over the snow mounds and up into the coach.

“It’s about time, gentlemen. I was prepared to leave you,” said Miss Felicity. She eyed Cassian. “Mister Harkness,” she pointed to his head, “you have forgotten something.”

“I do not feel I have.” He touched his pate. “Oh, the wig is upstairs.”

“Go finish dressing. I’ll send the coach back. We cannot wait.”

“No need, Miss Penvenen, I am fine the way I am.”

She fingered her necklace and looked out the window as she addressed him. “This is a formal affair. A
very
formal affair.”

“And I am dressed for it.” He pulled out his timepiece. “Miss Penvenen, we will be late.”

One could hear a flatulent flea in the coach.

She swiveled her head slowly and trained her sight on him. “This is not done, Harkness, but since you are … not from here, I will relent. Besides, time is fleeting.”

“First Adeline, now you. Youth,” she sniffed, then shouted, “Drive!”

****

Taylor House took its design from the beautiful, classical villas of Italy. It sat on the banks of the Thames, just a bit west of London proper. It did not impress, it overwhelmed. Of masonry construction, the front boasted a double staircase decorated with urns, which led up to a portico adorned with Corinthian columns. The plan comprised sets of irregularly sized apartments grouped around an octagonal, domed main room called the Rotunda. Immense side and rear gardens, now dormant under the snow, embraced it. As the Penvenens’ carriage passed through the stone entryway, the villa sat

straight ahead at the end of a gravel path. Footmen bearing torches, ran alongside the arriving coaches, lighting the way. As the conveyance pulled up to the structure, Cassian soaked in the features of the house, mentally noting how much it differed from Twainhaven. The latter was the lovely, sizable farm of a successful doctor. Its modest comforts made it hospitable. The former was the abode of a lord. For all it refinement, correctness and ordered style, it was stern. It possessed all the appointments a lord’s station required. Cassian had become the talk of the holiday social circuit. Maid to matron wanted to meet the “educated, well-mannered, devastatingly handsome savage from the colonies.” Both the town and country estates of the moneyed, stunned Cassian. This was a strange world of which he was leery and of which he was in awe. Multitudes of maids, butlers, footmen, cooks and groundskeepers made his head reel. The rich were different he mused, but there had yet to be found a term to describe how different the exceedingly wealthy were.

Footmen raced up to the carriage as it pulled to a stop at the front entrance. Paul and Cassian jumped out and helped the ladies after. They made their way up one side of the double staircase and entered the brightly lit foyer of the Rotunda.

Cassian noticed Adeline’s gown, or what there was of it, when a servant took her wrap. Happy hunting, he thought. When the servant approached him, he peeled off his cloak with a flourish and handed it to the man. The man fell back a bit.

“Goodness, what is this?” Miss Felicity asked, with nose wrinkled. “Return to Penvenen Manor immediately and change.”

“I am being myself.” Cassian stood regaled in his mother’s parting gift, a huge hunting knife strapped to a thigh. “This is what you wanted, Adeline. Correct?”

“This is not a costume ball,” said Felicity.

“That is why I left the costume in my room.”

Felicity had her fan out and waved it like a madwoman.

“Adeline, Paul. Speak to your friend.” Felicity perused the absorbed faces all around them. “He is making a spectacle of himself. And a fool of me.”

Cassian arranged his blanket over one shoulder and took Adeline’s hand. “I know that you have used me as currency to gain entry back into this society. Use it all tonight, Adeline. You get no more after this. Paul told me all about how much you needed to be at the Nauls’ party to see Malcolm Taylor, even though you knew George Nauls‘ situation.”

“Cassian, forgive me.” Her face turned red. “You do not know ....”

“I know all I need to know. Your brother tells me I have made you acceptable again. Whatever that means. Come, let us increase that popularity.” He pulled her down the steps into the packed Rotunda.

Christmas at Taylor House assailed the senses. The food displays were gargantuan as was the crowd. Cassian had heard that the Taylors were known for phenomenal surprises at their galas. He was sure from the excited chatter he elicited as he snaked his way through the octagonal salon, many thought it was he. Adeline stumbled to keep up as he dragged her through the horde.

“Cassian, I am sorry. Please stop.”

“When I find food. After that, go do what you had planned as far back as Köln when you first met me. Go snare Malcolm. Ah, there are the tables.”

He and Adeline stood in front of several tables laden with platters of roasted venison,
chynes
mutton, veal and stewed beef steaks. Platters of partridges, pigeons, roasted turkeys and geese sat at the center of another table. The salmon pies and carp were at the ends of the tables with the other twenty to thirty choices of foods. He noted Taylor House’s fixation on symmetry as far as the correct positioning of comestibles. Every platter had to have a corresponding one on the other side of the table. The more well-heeled, or households trying to impress, offered more courses.

A hostess’ dessert table had to best the main meal and was the crowning glory of the event. At Taylor House, the offerings were ratafia cakes, assorted tarts, all kinds of jellies and creams, fresh and dried fruit and nuts. A multi-colored, sugar and marzipan, Chinese temple wowed the guests. Wassail, port, sherry and wine flowed. Cassian scratched his head at the selections. Just as he sampled the veal, a high-pitched, female voice accosted him.

“Mister Harkness, I presume,” trumpeted Lady Taylor as she floated in his direction. She looked him up and down. “Are you a guest or are you the show? She presented a bony, wrinkled hand.

Cassian had no intention of kissing it. He made a short bow.

Adeline blanched. “Cassian, where are your manners?”

“Still in tact.” He grinned at Lady Taylor. She was swathed in the ugliest yellow creation he had ever seen. Next to Adeline’s.

“As much as everyone has been gushing that you are perfect, I knew there had to be at least one defect. I see that you have reverted.”

“Thank you, Lady Taylor,” Adeline blurted. “We are enjoying your hospitality very much.” She curtsied deeply. “Where is Malcolm?”

“Miss Penvenen.” She looked at Adeline as if the girl were something she had just scraped off the bottom of her shoe. “How long has it been since your family has received an invitation from this house? And as far as my Malcolm is concerned, he is none of your

concern.” She walked away to greet other guests.

“Thank you, again, Lady Taylor,” she called in a cheery voice, though her face held a frozen smile and her shoulders had slumped. She made a mental note to seek out Malcolm on purpose, he could thank his mother for that. Besides, she vowed the gown was not going to be wasted.

“And I am the uncivilized one?” Cassian remarked.

“No matter.” Adeline composed herself. “Oh, there is Malcolm.” She smoothed her bodice and steadied herself. “Go mingle, Cassian.” She pushed past him. “I have no more need of you.” She flitted away after her future, head held high.

Chapter Sixteen

Cassian rubbed his grumbling middle and returned to the buffet. As he walked the length of the table, he felt sick at the overabundance displayed. This one table could feed three families in his village for days if they fancied such foodstuffs. He wagged his head. As he reached for the veal again, a young female guest strode up to him. She had been in deep discussion with a small group of her peers before she broke from the pack.

“Pardon me,” she commenced, clearing her throat.

“Should I? What have you done?” Cassian replied without looking up.

“You are Adeline Penvenen’s guest from the colonies, yes?”

“Do you know anyone else who wears such attire?”

“I must ask. Is it true your kind absconds with women like me in your land?” She looked back over her shoulder at her supporters who giggled like simpletons.

“I see that it is my turn to say ‘Pardon me’?” Cassian carved a chunk of veal and wolfed it down. He held his fork in his fist and gestured at her. “Umm. Women like you?”

Timid, but eager for an answer to her question, she edged closer and whispered, “I hear your kind just cannot resist a woman … such as me.”

He was fully aware of what she meant. It was not the first time people had posed the question or variations of it. He had been asked it and many other ignorant ones since he had set foot upon European soil. Most times he pretended not to hear, others times he made up outrageous replies, which would send the inquisitive soul scurrying. So, here this one stood, all agog, waiting. His inquisitor was mere inches from his face, was inspecting him so closely that he felt he should hop up next to the salmon pie on the table.

“Abscond with a woman like you?” He frowned, retreated and continued to eye the food displays. “My kind? To where? Miss, I doubt
your
willingly abscond with you anywhere.”

Her mouth fell open.

He popped a bit of Stilton in his and leaned back in.