Chapter Sixteen

Yā haẏēchē tā bhāla’i haẏēchē, Riya’s mother had often said. Whatever has happened is good. And since this wisdom was offered only when everything was very bad, it was inevitably followed by Tāraparē ēṭi āra’ō bhāla karuna. Then make it better. Ma had not provided the solutions to do so, but she had listened while Riya argued that she could not make it better, everything was ruined, her life was over, and so on and so forth, until she stumbled upon the answer herself.

Sometimes the answer was to make amends for her own part in whatever wrong had occurred. Very often the answer was simply to go to sleep and wake up to a new day. She had therefore gone to bed with the expectation that in the morning, sanity would prevail.

Alas, she had awoken to find Ramtanyu had not made plans to depart immediately, as she had fervently hoped. To the contrary, he seemed determined to stay for as long as she did.

All was not good.

But she was Riya Mukherjee. She had saved herself, crossed an ocean, battled storms and sand and crocodiles. There was nothing she could not make better.

She stood with Ramtanyu, slightly apart from the others, and they conversed in their native Bengali. They had not had much time to speak privately, and she had so many questions.

“Did my brother ask you to come here? Has he forgiven me?” She knew it was unlikely, but she persisted in hope. Dada had not responded to her letters, but she couldn’t be certain he had received them.

“No,” Ram said.

“Did he know you were coming here? Possibly—”

“No is my answer to both questions,” he said gently. “It was my idea to find you. I informed him of my journey, but he had no letter to send you, no message. I am sorry.”

She looked away to hide her disappointment. “I understand.”

Ram pivoted slightly from her, as though the tournament had fully claimed his attention, but Riya knew his intent was to afford her privacy. He had always been kind. He would step aside to let a spider cross his path rather than trample it under foot.

“Why do you not join their game?” he asked. “Is it your preference or theirs that keeps you apart?”

She tilted her face to the sky as she pondered his question. “A little of both, I suppose. I do not like to draw their eye, for once they begin to look, they never cease. They are not cruel, but they don’t entirely know what to make of me. I am invited everywhere Miss Benton goes, as I am her guest, and I have formed bonds of friendship as strong as any I had at home.”

“And yet…” he said softly.

“And yet.” She gave him a rueful glance. “I was once invited to dine with Countess Davenport. She collects curiosities and greatly enjoys displaying them for her guests—the more foreign and exotic, the better. Here is a pineapple, she said. And here, a warrior’s mask from New Guinea. And there, a girl from distant India.”

Ram winced. “It is natural to make much of that which is unfamiliar.”

“Yes,” Riya agreed. “But it is still unpleasant. I am not a pineapple.”

They fell silent. There was a soft twang as Lady Freesia’s arrow took flight. It hit the target slightly off the center mark, putting her in second place behind Lord Devand. Strange, for Lady Freesia had already defeated Mr. Eastwood, Colonel Kent, and Eliza—although the latter had not offered much in the way of competition. Lord Devand had beaten Lord Abingdon, Alice, and Adelaide in the first round, none of whom were known for their marksmanship.

“Shall we make a wager of our own, Lord Devand?” Lady Freesia asked. “If I hit the bull’s-eye, I will win the tournament and a favor from Lord Sutton. I ask the same of you. You will complete a task for me, if I am victorious.”

Lord Devand cocked his head, amused. “It seems more likely that I shall be the one earning a favor from Sutton, and therefore you, as well. There, let’s shake on it.”

Lady Freesia showed no hesitation as they clasped hands. Neither did Lord Devand. Riya wrinkled her nose. What seemed like earned confidence in the former struck her as stupidly arrogant in the latter. Had he not been paying attention during the first round? Lady Freesia had hit the center every time—a feat Lord Devand had not yet managed even once.

Riya returned her attention to Ram. “How is your family? I hope they are well.” This was true, despite knowing how they hated her. The list of her enemies was long and populated by those who had once called her beloved. But she would not allow regret to weigh upon her heart, for down that path lay nothing but despair and misery. What was done was done; the mistakes of her past were as immutable as the stars in the sky.

“They are very well, thank you.” Ram cleared his throat. “They will be happy to learn that you are…alive.”

Riya laughed, and one corner of his mouth tilted up in acknowledgment. Ram couldn’t tell an outright lie, but he could dodge around the truth with the best of them. His mother might harbor hope that she developed incurably spotty skin and rancid breath, but she would never wish death on anyone.

Riya fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve. “How long before you can return home?”

“I suppose that depends on where home is,” he said cryptically. He looked sideways at her before turning his gaze straight ahead. “I have good news, I think. A college for Hindus has been created to teach English and other studies. Raja Ram Mohan Roy himself has asked me to teach. The Hindu College is in Calcutta, not a very far distance from our town, but I will have to find a new residence. It would be impossible to continue in my family home.”

“Ram! Of course that is good news!” Riya exclaimed. Her brow furrowed. “Are you not overjoyed? Do your mother and father object to you leaving them? But you will visit often, and this is what your mother has always hoped for you.”

He smiled slightly. “Ma is very pleased. She has already packed my belongings and informed her friends that her son has accepted a position at the Hindu College at the request of the raja. But I have not yet accepted.”

“Why not?”

He shook his head.

She tried again. “Is it not where you wish to be?”

“It is exactly where I ought to be, and where I believe I can do the most good. The English make dangerous friends, Riya. We would be foolish not to teach our children their language. Furthermore, under the guidance of Raja Ram Mohan Roy, there will be an expansion of ideas and learning. India is changing so quickly. I want very much to be a part of it, to guide its future and serve our people. It cannot be the British alone who decide our fate.”

“Then why have you not accepted the position?”

“What if my wife refuses to accompany me there? I must know her mind before I can decide my future, for it is her future, as well.”

Riya looked at him, startled. It was a surprise, and not an altogether pleasant one, either. “Ram… You are married?”

“Not yet.” He pivoted to face her fully for the first time.

His eyes were dark and deep and vaguely pleading. A shiver of apprehension raced up her spine. The breeze sharpened, rustling the grass at their feet and freeing a lock of hair from her braid. She tucked it back beneath her bonnet. His gaze followed the movement, tender and patient.

“What are you doing here, Ram?” she asked quietly. “Why have you come to England?”

“Three years ago your eldest brother and my father agreed that we would marry. Gifts were given. I will not claim my mother was entirely pleased, but she accepted that this was the path I intended to walk. But you ran away in the middle of the night.”

A hot flush crept up her neck. “I did not wish to humiliate your family, Ram. I had no choice but to flee. I thought you would be relieved to be free of my burden.”

“Did you?” He tilted his head, studying her. “But you know I do not change my mind, Riya. Therefore, you know why I am here.”

She shivered and wrapped her pelisse more tightly around herself.

“I have come for my wife, Riya. I am here to marry you.”