Chapter 20

Anthony entered the dining room early the next morning and considered the state of his affairs as he made his way to the sidebar where food sat in warming dishes. He had finally told Sophia the truth of his life, but they still were not engaged to be married. The timing was wrong, he knew it. There were still too many things at stake, too much unfinished business to rectify.

Of all the rotten luck.

He was grateful beyond words that he no longer was forced to hide anything from her. He supposed she might be wary, at first. He felt as though he must earn her trust again, and he was more than willing to do so. He would prove his fidelity to her every day, forever.

But for now he was forced to still pretend that his heart was unattached. If he allowed himself to examine his baser emotions, he knew full well that he wanted his ring on her finger as a primitive and overt way of staking his claim. She was a vibrant individual, someone who should never be dictated to or subjugated. The laws of the land favored the husband, but he didn’t, wouldn’t, own her. Even still, he couldn’t help but stew as he piled food on his plate and thought of the throngs of men always surrounding her. She was his.

He turned at movement in his periphery to see Sophia also looking over the food. She glanced at him askance with her lips quirked, and his heart tripped.

Mine.

He couldn’t halt the smug, self-satisfied grin that spread across his face as she curtseyed to him and bid him good morning. He strolled beside her as she added rice pudding and a small piece of naan to her plate, and then he held a chair for her at the table where they sat together and pretended not to be in love.

“You’re wearing lavender,” she murmured and touched a fingertip to the small sprig on his lapel.

“Do you remember what it means?”

She blushed. In all the time he’d known her, she’d never blushed at him. Because of him. “You’re thinking of me.” She bit her lip, her smile a combination of innocence and confidence.

He fought another wave of lovesickness as he realized they were finally continuing on the trajectory they should have been following two years earlier. She had always been straightforward, honest to a fault, and deadly accurate in her summation of people even after only a few moments observation. She had a sympathetic listening ear, a quick wit, and a broad knowledge base as a result of her rather unconventional upbringing and tendency to read or study whatever interested her. He had returned from the war with his faith in mankind jaded, but something about being with her had made him feel whole again—perhaps because her life had not been an easy one, yet she still radiated positive strength.

All of those things were reasons he had been attracted to her from the start. But this girl who now blushed, who glanced at him with a mixture of coy and shy, who looked at him as though they shared a secret—which they did—he felt himself falling harder still. He almost wished he didn’t know how wonderful it felt to finally kiss her, to feel her physical response and know it matched his own. To know that in truth he would propose and in a short time—a very short time—they would belong to each other, morally and legally allowed to know each other as well as two people ever would.

The dining room soon gathered more guests, and Rachael and the Denney family joined their table. Anthony made appropriate small talk, acknowledged Professor Gerald with a polite nod, and refrained from rolling his eyes when Sergeant Mailor and his three sheep friends joined the fray.

Clergyman Denney sat rather stiffly at the table next to Sophia, though he remained aloof to her attempts at conversation. She fell silent, and he eventually invited her to services the next Sunday. She politely accepted, and Anthony groaned inwardly. That meant that he and her other friends likely would attend also because Sophia would insist she not be the only one to suffer.

Mrs. Denney sat on her husband’s other side and quietly watched the people around her. Her gaze rested fondly on her own daughters, benignly enough on the Fishing Fleet ladies, and skipped her husband altogether. She seemed to shrink into herself when he spoke, as though his personality overpowered and devoured hers. The only person with whom she ever seemed to converse with any sense of ease was Lady Pilkington. Perhaps a conversation with the lady of the manor might shed further insight on Mrs. Denney’s friends and guests. Heaven knew he was running shy of options.

It was a weekend, which explained the influx of guests at the first meal of the day. The Residency was the social hub of the region, and Lady Pilkington outdid herself in her efforts to be certain the mansion was always in a condition to receive and feed guests. The woman herself entered before long to oversee proceedings, and with her trailed the Seadon women.

Sophia straightened fractionally, and he thought he detected a muttered “Ugh” from her quarter, but she recovered herself quickly enough and returned her attention to Beatrice Denney, who spoke softly and infrequently. Sophia laughed when Charity told an amusing anecdote about a monkey named Badmash who lived in Calcutta, but as the conversation around them shifted and flowed, he noted Sophia’s attention remained speculatively on Beatrice.

Dylan joined the meal and settled next to Lissa Vale, likely unaware of what he was in for. Or maybe he was aware. He was clever and quick, and didn’t miss much. He saw Dylan also glance at Mailor and the other soldiers and then he offered a quick nod at Anthony.

Anthony was to accompany Stuart back to the barracks for a quick, unobtrusive toss of the soldiers’ belongings to see if one of them, by chance, might be harboring a particular stolen document. Find the document, find the murderer. The reverse was also true.

Whenever possible, Stuart was also formally questioning each guest who had reportedly been seen the night of the costume ball, but the list was long and to date he had turned up nothing new. Thus Anthony and Dylan would begin at the barracks and systematically work their way down the list.

Late the night before, he had spoken briefly with Dylan about their next plan of attack, and they realized that with the crowd of people who constantly ebbed and flowed through the Residency, there were several people who would know of Sophia’s affection for young Charlie. A lady from London did not ordinarily spend time with children in a nursery—quite often their own mothers didn’t darken the door until bedtime. The fact that Rachael and Sophia were often seen playing with the children and spending time on the third floor singled them out as unique.

“My goodness,” Sophia was saying to Lady Pilkington, “I do not know how you accomplish it. Another party tomorrow evening?”

Charity Denney clapped her hands. “It is to be a midnight picnic! With dancing!”

Lady Pilkington placed a hand humbly on her chest. “As the wife of a prominent gentleman, such is my responsibility.”

“I do not believe I’ve heard of a midnight picnic,” Rachael said.

“Yes, please enlighten us, my lady,” Lissa said to Lady Pilkington.

Sophia breathed the slightest puff of air out of her nose and managed to convey what she could not utter aloud. Anthony’s lips twitched.

“Well, it is quite a glorious procession. When the moon is full, as it will be tomorrow evening, we travel to the ­temple ­ruins with all the accommodations necessary for the finest of meals, followed by dancing beneath the stars. I do not mind sharing that multiple happy young couples have fallen in love at one of my midnight picnics. Prince Ekavir is not well enough to attend, but his cousin and heir, Mr. Darzi, will be in attendance.”

“That sounds glorious.” Lissa flicked a glance at Anthony.

He surreptitiously reached under the table and clasped Sophia’s hand, which was balled into a fist on her leg.

Presently, Major Stuart excused himself from the table. “And Lord Wilshire,” he added as he stood, “you asked about your grandfather’s paperwork with the Company many years ago. I am happy to say I located it in some dusty archives at the compound. Should you like to see it?”

“Indeed, yes, thank you.”

Lissa’s brow wrinkled in a frown. “Your grandfather was an earl. Why would he have labored with the Company?”

Drat Stuart for not thinking of a less detailed ruse.

Anthony spoke quickly. “His course took much the same as mine did. My grandfather was a second son who inherited by default.” That much was true, at least. But as far as Anthony knew, his grandfather had never stepped foot in India.

He stood to leave and Lissa’s mother, Lady Seadon, addressed him. “Surely you will return to the mansion this evening? We have enjoyed playing games after supper, and it is not the same without a fair retinue of gentlemen. Major Stuart, shall we see you as well?”

“Of course, my lady, it is always an honor and a pleasure.”

Anthony bowed his head and left the table, a smirk crossing his face as Dylan caught up to him. His friend was as smooth as ever, said the correct things without fail, though it always amazed Anthony that nobody ever seemed to hear the thin thread of sarcasm that ran underneath.

He resisted the urge to look back at Sophia; he had intentionally avoided eye contact as he’d left the table. He did not have the luxury of allowing his feelings to show and he couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t.

“Thought you were out of your mind sitting next to that one at the table just now,” he said to Dylan in an undertone as they made their way down the hall. “She has claws.”

Dylan glanced at him, his smile wry as they exited the mansion and turned toward the stables. “She doesn’t want a thing to do with a cavalry officer, Wilshire. She has her eyes set on you. Consider it a favor on my part.”

“How so?”

“I shall endeavor to keep her occupied so you’ll preserve any chance you might have with the delectable Miss Elliot.”

Anthony flicked a glance at his friend as they reached the stables. Dylan requested his horse brought forward and an additional mount saddled for Anthony. “Delectable, is she?”

Stuart cocked a brow. “Is she not?”

“You needn’t feign innocence with me; I see through you.”

“The two of you seem to need a nudge. I do not know all of the details of your assignment this time around, but I do believe that you had best get things settled before Miss Elliot either comes to harm or leaves you for someone else.”

His throat felt tight. “It is my fondest hope, of course, that the first does not occur, and it is my firm belief that the second is no longer a concern.”

Dylan gave Anthony a sidelong glance. “You have made amends with Miss Elliot?”

“Indeed,” he said. “Though it is not yet official, so I would ask for your continued discretion and assistance.”

“Then I shall aid you as best I can. We’ll find Captain Miller’s murderer, and I’ll keep Lady Lissa from wreaking havoc.”

“How do you propose to accomplish that?”

Stuart smiled. He appeared casual, almost bored. “I’ll think of something, I’m sure.”

Anthony would wager his title that Dylan was already three steps ahead.

Sophia, Rachael, Charity, and Beatrice strolled down the crowded market near the quay and looked for trinkets for Rachael to purchase and send home for her three nieces and two nephews.

They chatted as they walked, and Sophia eyed Beatrice with some surprise at an unexpected turn in the conversation. “Your father approves of the match?”

With Beatrice’s permission, she had shared with Rachael Taj Darzi’s interest in Beatrice, figuring three smart heads were better than two.

Beatrice nodded. “He mentioned after breakfast this morning that he had noticed Mr. Darzi’s particular regard of me and suggested that the alliance could be advantageous to all. Mr. Darzi marries a British woman, securing an alliance, and I remain in India, which suits my desires.” She smiled and flushed.

The women stopped walking and clustered around Beatrice. Rachael frowned and broke the silence. “I do not understand Mr. Darzi’s intentions. There are prejudices on both sides that prevent such a union from being ideal. Your offspring, for instance. Assuming you produce an heir, any children who follow are ineligible for employment by the East India Company. Only British-born are candidates for salaries above a certain mark and station. The most your children could hope for would be to serve with a native Indian regiment, and being half-European, they would come under scrutiny from that side as well.”

Sophia lifted a shoulder. “That much is true, however, consider Professor Gerald. He is of mixed parentage and has done very well for himself professionally.”

Rachael nodded. “Yes, but he also attended school in England and has ties to an influential family.” She turned to Beatrice. “I also know his road has been difficult, at times. As a friend who cares about you, I want very much for you to understand the challenges beforehand. The Company, the military, society—they can be horribly unjust.”

Beatrice chewed on her lip. “I believe that is exactly the issue Mr. Darzi wishes to address. He has implied he hopes to see a reversal of the laws back to the early days of the Company when the two societies were not segregated and there were no stipulations on eligibility for high positions.”

“He is an idealist, then?” Sophia asked.

“Or an opportunist,” Charity grumbled, and Sophia’s attention flew to the younger sister. Charity had been unusually quiet during the afternoon, and her comment was oddly direct.

“Are you concerned?” Sophia asked.

She shrugged. “I want my sister to make a good match. I want so many good things for her.” She looked miserably at Beatrice, who glanced away with a frown. “I do believe he cares genuinely for her, but I am concerned about the old traditions that still linger at the palace.”

“You worry needlessly,” Beatrice murmured.

“What does your mother say?” Sophia asked Beatrice.

“She is in agreement with my father. She seems hopeful for it.”

“And yet our father is still insistent on my return to London.” Charity looked near tears. Sophia eyed her with sympathy, realizing the girl seemed impossibly young. Her light brown curls blew softly against her face, and the wind molded her pale pink dress against her slender frame. She looked one step out of the nursery, and, Sophia mused, she probably was. The gentlemen who might pursue her in London could well be decades older than she, but she was pretty, of child-bearing age, and had a dowry.

Charity chewed on her lip, her eyes liquid and bright. “Of course I want to be with Beatrice, whether here or in England, but even if I must go back alone, I do not wish to leave her here with someone who will not care for her. Being an Indian princess sounds lovely, but the current prince, the members of his court . . .” Charity’s lip trembled, and she wiped at a tear with her fingertip and folded her arms closely against her body. “At least Mr. Darzi is young, unlikely to die soon,” she muttered. “She wouldn’t have to worry about sati.”

Sophia’s heart thudded in alarm. She exchanged a glance with Rachael, whose eyes were wide.

Beatrice’s face was pale, her lips nearly bloodless. “Charity! The Darzi family do not practice sati!”

“Prince Ekavir’s father did, and that was only twenty years ago!” Charity dropped her arms to her sides with fists clenched.

Beatrice regained some of her color in slow degrees. “They have pledged with the Company to cease and desist. And as Mr. Darzi is committed to maintaining good relationships with the Company hierarchy and military, that is the last thing he would allow.”

Sophia frowned and looked at Charity.

“Why would you expect such a thing might be a choice for Prince Ekavir?” she asked quietly.

She shrugged. “The servants talk. Both in our compound and at the mansion. I hear things. Prince Ekavir’s wife is young, and some of the older servants have said she shames the family with her reluctance to . . .” Charity swallowed, and then she straightened and looked at her sister. “Her reluctance to be burned to death with her husband’s body.”

Her blunt statement hung in the air and remained undisturbed by the pronounced silence that fell over the four women.

“I shall mention these rumors to Major Stuart,” Rachael finally said. “Though not much happens of which he is unaware, I suspect.”

Sophia made a note to tell Anthony, as well. It seemed intrigue was destined to follow the man wherever he went. Now that she was aware of his position with the government, she realized that activities of diplomatic and cultural significance could direct his responses. Would he be bound to take action should cultural traditions of a princely state directly oppose any prior understanding with British officials?

Beatrice wrung her hands. “I do not want Mr. Darzi to suspect I have been gossiping about him or his family. He is a good man—I wish you all could see it!”

“This has nothing to do with what you’ve told us.” Rachael placed her hand on Beatrice’s arm. “I shall merely call Major Stuart’s attention to the servants’ whisperings.” She paused. “How ill is the prince? Does his family truly expect his death soon?”

Beatrice nodded. “Mr. Darzi is amazed Prince Ekavir still lives. I should not be surprised to receive word of his death before long.”

Rachael quietly blew out a long breath between pursed lips and tapped a finger absently against her leg. Sophia scrutinized Beatrice with intense concern, and Charity was a study in misery. They blocked the small thoroughfare enough that people were forced to go around them, and Sophia realized they could stand there all day in that frozen tableau unless someone took action.

“Rachael, let us find presents for your family, and we shall discuss this again later at the mansion.”

“Yes, let’s.” Rachael blinked and nodded definitively. She put an arm about Charity’s shoulders and turned her toward the awnings and shops with a gentle squeeze. “We shall find an answer to the problem,” she told the girl. “And in the meantime, I am in desperate need of advice. I’m told the toy you found for Charlie has been a smashing success and has made Sophia quite the heroine of the nursery.”

Beatrice trailed the other two, deep in thought, and Sophia followed, running her gaze along the displays as she walked. Rachael’s comments reminded her that she’d hoped to find another small horse for Charlie to give him in addition to Chestnut, who currently resided in Anthony’s bedchamber within a large clamp borrowed from the carriage house. Abdullah had found a gooey adhesive used to adhere leather in the stables, and he and Anthony had then carefully smeared it on the two broken halves of the toy. Anthony hoped it would be set by evening. It wouldn’t be perfect, he told Sophia, but it would be close.