And then she remembered Mara, who, it seemed, would also be there, at least for the moment, unless certain marital expectations were set in place early on in their marriage, and she'd set them in place now and face the consequences with Damon, later.
Returning to the house, she changed into her riding habit, grabbed her crop and went to the stables where the syce prepared her mare for the ride to Mara's bungalow. As she cantered alongside the jute fields, all manner of winged creatures slapped her face, and flitted into her eyes, and slipped between her parted lips. And air that once seemed fresh and sweet during her rides was heavy with the musty odor of fungus, mold, and decaying matter mingled with the stench of fires of the dead burning on the ghats. Whether it would be with Damon, or alone, she'd leave this place that clung to her like a dark shroud clinging to dry bones...
…it's damned near impossible to keep India from seeping into our bones…
Odd how Damon's words came to her now. But he was right. India had seeped into her bones. The oppressive heat, the insects, the snakes, the brain-fever bird screaming incessantly at night until a person could go mad. Had gone mad. And like her mother, perhaps India would drive her to insanity too, if she stayed.
She looked ahead as the bungalow came into view, and saw Damon's horse tethered out front. This was not the way she intended to confront Mara. Nor did she relish seeing a couple of naked bodies writhing between silk sheets. And of course the sheets would be silk...
...I would have given you anything you wanted, a buggy and a pair of fine horses, priceless jewels, anything a prized mistress would demand to keep her warming my bed...
Elizabeth felt her temper rise. Well, if Damon wanted her to remain his wife, as he claimed, he could darn well provide her with buggies, and horses, and fine jewels. But as she climbed the steps to the bungalow, she knew it wasn't buggies and jewels she wanted. It was Damon. Only Damon. And she'd be happy living with him in a dak bungalow if it came to that, as long as he loved her, just a little bit. But there would be no mistresses. That's where she'd draw the line, and if it took a cat fight to get rid of Mara permanently, then let the fight begin.
Lifting her knotted fist, she knocked rapidly and with firm resolve. It seemed an eternity before Damon opened the door. She suspected he'd been rushing around to put on his clothes, so she wasn't surprised when he stood in the doorway wearing only his drawers. He looked at her, clearly baffled as to why she was there, and waited for her explanation.
Deciding that actions were louder than words, she swept past him and marched over to the closed door of what she surmised was the bedroom. Throwing the door open, she stared at an empty bed with rumpled muslin sheets. She looked around the room. There were no signs of female occupancy. No mirrored dresser with tortoise combs and silver-handled brushes. No oils and pomades and other female notions set about. No sheer negligees or frilly chemises or lace-trimmed drawers. All she saw was a room stripped of everything but a rumpled bed, a wardrobe with men's clothes, a straight-back chair with Damon's robe tossed over the back, and a pair of boots kicked off where Damon had removed them.
Damon's voice came from behind. "What is it you want, Elizabeth?"
"I don't know. I thought..."
"What? That I'd have a woman here?"
"Well... yes. No. That is..." She stared at the empty bed. "Then Mara's not still your mistress?" she asked, wondering how long the woman had been gone.
Damon put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. "She left three years ago and hasn't been back. Or any other woman. True, you complicate my life in ways I could not even dream up, but it's only you I want, only you since the moment I saw you at the horse fair, and nothing's changed. Can you possibly believe me? Is it so hard for you to understand that I love you and want you for my wife? Not my mistress. Never my mistress. My wife."
Elizabeth was still trying to adjust to the fact that all this time there had been no other woman. She looked up at him. "But the things you said on the steamer."
"Angry, hateful words said by a man who was frustrated to be in love with a woman who'd turned his world upside down, and was helpless to do anything about it. I love you, Elizabeth. In spite of the unforgivable things I said, all I want is to have you as my wife. I've wanted you as my wife ever since we repeated our vows on the steamer, but I only recently came to realize it. If it means selling Westwendham and living at Shanti Bhavan with you, then that's what I'll do, as long as I have you for my wife."
"But all I want is to be with you," Elizabeth said, while trying to absorb the words Damon said. Words of love... of loving her... and wanting her for his wife, and she knew this time the words had come from his heart. She reached up and touched his face. "And no, you don't have to sell Westwendham. I'm ready to leave this intolerable place, as long as I can leave with you." She was suddenly swept by a pang of regret.
It must have shown on her face, because Damon trailed a finger over her cheek, and said, "What is it, love? I can tell something's still bothering you."
Eyes stinging with tears of remorse, Elizabeth said, "I know it's not my fault that the opal's gone this second time, but if I hadn't taken it from you in the first place, you would have long since returned to England. I don't know how you can ever forgive me for that when I can't even forgive myself."
Damon looked at her soberly. "If you hadn't stolen my opal I would never have met a spirited gypsy girl who also stole my heart. I love you, Elizabeth. It never occurred to me to want a wife until I met you, and now I can't imagine my life without you, so if the Burning of Troy brought you to me, then it served its purpose in my life. Now, I'll hear no more about it. Ever." He smiled then, a slow smile that let her know everything would be alright, and this time, when his arms went around her and his mouth covered hers in a long, deep kiss, she knew their marriage would be forever.
***
High on a rooftop in Calcutta - two weeks later
A Bengal monkey held between his tiny wrinkled palms the treasure he'd taken from his master's pocket. Studying it with curious eyes, he tested it with his teeth and flicked his tongue over its smooth surface. Inclining his head to one side, he turned the thing over and inspected it thoroughly, then raised it with delicate dun-colored fingers. Catching the light, the thing came alive with flashes of fiery reds, and iridescent blues, and glittering golds. He let out a screech of pure delight and jumped up and down on the roof.
"Hanuman! Come! Bring!" his master bellowed the sharp words from the piazza far below. Hanuman saw the movement of fingers, but the snap they should have brought did not reach his ears. Or if it did, Hanuman didn't acknowledge it, so focused was his attention on the thing he held in his palms…
"Hanuman!" the word came again, but with a sharper sting. A small crowd gathered around the master, faces tipped up. Still, the master was evident among them from the twist of red about his head. "Hanuman! Come! Bring!" the words came again.
Angry words. Fighting words. Fists shaking.
Hanuman looked at his treasure, then at his master, and back at his treasure, which caught the waning sun and exploded into dazzling colors.
A screech of pure pleasure burst from his throat.
"Hanuman!" The word was harsh. Biting.
Hanuman screeched a shrill reprimand.
The master shook a fist. Both fists, and let loose with a string of expletives that leapt to Hanuman's ears with the fury of a raging fire.
Tucking his treasure to his chest, Hanuman peered down at the master one last time, then he launched himself from the building, his piercing reproach trailing behind as he sprang from rooftop to rooftop, moving across porticos, verandahs, and colonnaded mansions, and through bazaars crowded with knaves, prostitutes, and beggars as numerous as flies, and disappeared into the milieu of palki-gharries, landaulets, carriages and masses of humanity that together made up the rhythm of life, and the pulsing, vibrating, heartbeat that was Calcutta.
EPILOGUE
Westwendham – London,
England – 2 years later
Damon lay stretched out on the lawn as Elizabeth crouched over him, tattoo needle in her hand, while making a series of tiny pricks along a line in the graphite image she'd drawn earlier.
"How much longer is this going to take?" Damon groused.
Elizabeth paused momentarily to peruse her work. "I could stop right now but you'd have a very odd looking creature over your heart, one with two heads and six legs. But then, you know how I like to indulge in outlandish fancies."
Damon eyed her with suspicion. "This better not be one of your nymphs or sibyls."
Elizabeth laughed. "With two heads and six legs? I don't think so. But, then, there are other whimsical creatures all around us that would make an interesting tattoo. Maybe I'll deviate from the plan and see what emerges."
Damon drew in a long breath. "Whatever you come up with, you've got fifteen minutes to carry it out. The ground's getting hard."
Elizabeth dipped her needle into a tiny glass vial holding blue dye. "When I tattooed you the first time you were not in such a hurry. Is this what happens after two years of marriage?" she said while tattooing blue plumes over a series of graphite lines.
Damon smiled in memory. "That was five years ago, when I didn't have a chance in hell of hauling you off to bed like I wanted, and I needed time to lay out the groundwork."
"So that's why you're in a hurry." Elizabeth's hand holding the needle paused, and she looked into eyes that flared with sparks of amusement, and desire. Her heart thumped wildly as it always did when Damon looked at her the way he was. She leaned over and kissed him. "Your other choice is to live with a two-headed, six-legged creature over your heart, and we'll go back to the house and have a right lively romp in bed?"
Damon cupped his hand behind her head and pulled her to him and kissed her again, this time longer, and with considerably more passion. "Or we could head for the gazebo and you could finish your creature when we're done."
Elizabeth shoved Damon back against the grass. "An enchanting idea, lovey, but we'd end up smudging my graphite design and I'd have to start over. Besides, Aanya will be bringing Ethan out here in the pram when he wakes up from his nap, and I want to have your tattoo done and everything put away when they come."
Resting the heel of her hand against Damon's chest, she continued her task by pricking out the shaft of a long curved tail feather. "Incidentally, we'll be attending a Renaissance Masquerade ball in honor of my sister," she commented. "I already sent out to have your costume made. It should be ready for a fitting later this week."
Damon looked at her with suspicion. "The last time you had a costume made for me I felt like I'd been drawn and quartered by those bloody lacings."
Elizabeth laughed. "No lacings. I'll want you in good working order when we return from the ball since I'll be going as a harem dancer. And since you'll be going as Prince Rao Singh I'll be anxious to fulfill my duty when we return." She knew he'd protest mightily about his costume, clearing the way for what he'd really be wearing.
"Bloody hell I'll go as the prince! But you won't be showing up in scarves. Besides, you said this was a medieval ball."
Elizabeth dipped the needle into the vial with brown dye and began pricking short wisps of plumage. "It is, and I already have the costumes planned, and you'll be much more gallant than either a pirate king or a prince from the Punjab."
Damon let out a snort. "I hope I won't be a knight dragging around chainmail."
Elizabeth bit back a chuckle. "Close. We're going as King Arthur and The Lady of the Lake. Just like you, Arthur was also robbed of his birthright until he pulled the sword out of the stone and proved he was the rightful king. And I already found an Excalibur sword. You're tall and handsome and you'll make an exceptional Arthur."
"Alright, you're buttering me up, so what am I wearing?"
"The top half of an armor, and a pair of metal gauntlets on your arms, but no chainmail. You'll wear a loosely knit grey sweater and pants under the armor, both of which are being knitted right now, and tall black boots. I just hope you don't squeak when we dance."
"The Lady of the Lake was a sorceress," Damon pointed out.
"Well, I didn't want to be Guinevere since she had an affair with Sir Lancelot, so since a sorceress is close to a gypsy, I think I can play that role well. My gown will be in layers of silks and tulles in different shades of blues and greens, like I just emerged from the lake, and I'll have long scarves trailing after me, and I'll be carrying the sword."
"So I'll be squeaking and you'll be carrying a sword and when we dance we'll be all tangled up in scarves. Should be interesting."
Elizabeth smiled, surprised Damon hadn't protested his costume. He'd definitely mellowed over the years. She dipped the needle into the blue die again, and after making a series of pricks that completed the second of the two long blue tail feathers, she cast a critical eye on her work, and said, "I think that'll do."
"What is it?" Damon asked.
"A swallow."
"With two heads and six legs?"
Elizabeth laughed. "Not anymore. The rat's head now has a beak, his stubby legs are covered in brown feathers, and his tail is one prong of the swallow's long forked tail. Here, take a look." She held up the hand mirror so he could see. "It's designed after the figurine you gave your mother, and if you look closely you'll see a tiny line where the wing was mended so the swallow could fly here and land on your chest, bringing your mother's soul with it."
Damon's brows drew together in bafflement. "I never told you the figurine was a swallow. How did you know?"
"I found the figurine packed away in a box under our bed. You've had it all these years. Now, you have your mother's soul over your heart."
Damon touched his fingers to the tattoo. "It was my mother's most prized possession. I always intended to replace it with a new figurine, but she died before I could."
"Well, now you can wear it proudly over your heart. And I'm thinking you still should buy that figurine for your mother and we'll put it in a special place of honor, the way you described she kept the little figurine you gave her."
Damon pulled Elizabeth to him and kissed her tenderly. "My love, you're entirely forgiven for tattooing the rat, and since I'm still ready for that lively romp, and Aanya's not coming with Ethan yet, there's a gazebo hidden from view not far from here where we can cavort."
Elizabeth grinned. "An excellent idea." Hastily she gathered her tattoo supplies and returned them to their special box.
Taking Damon's hand, they scurried toward the topiary puzzle maze where they followed a winding path lined by tall trimmed hedges—with an occasional nook containing a fanciful creature in topiary, or a concrete bench where one could pause for contemplation—that would ultimately lead them to the glass gazebo hidden inside.
They could follow the maze with their eyes closed at this point, so many times they'd gone to the gazebo for the very same reason they were going now, because beneath its wood-frame glass panels was a double-wide lounge with plump cushions. They were also guaranteed complete privacy every day of the week except Sunday, when the topiary maze was available for everyone's enjoyment, including the servants.
Their romp was fun, and lively, and ultimately filled with passion, but after they'd come down off their highs, and while Elizabeth lay contentedly in Damon's arms, she said dreamily, "I adore it here where we can gaze up at the sky and watch the clouds, and listen to the birds, and even hear to the rain pattering against the glass on a warm summer day. I got the idea for the design when we were at Shanti Bhavan and I wanted to be alone in a private place, but I never dreamed I'd want you with me, nor had I planned on having a double lounge in my gazebo."
Damon laughed. "We've certainly put it to good use."
"I know." Elizabeth cuddled closer, and gazing through the glass panes above, she said, "What do you see in the cloud formations up there?"
Damon peered through the glass. "Some pretty interesting female curves, but not
as interesting as the curves I'm holding."
Elizabeth chuckled. "I don't know how you interpreted those clouds as female curves."
"Sweetheart, you're laying buck naked against me and we just finished having a right lively romp. My imagination's definitely single-minded."
"Meanwhile," Elizabeth said, "we'd better put ourselves together or we might find Aanya with Ethan finding her way in here while wondering where we are. And incidentally, Ethan's got a sibling on the way." She trailed her finger over the tattoo. "If we have a girl this time I want to name her Charlotte, after your mother."
"Lady Charlotte Carlisle of Westwendham," Damon mused. "It sounds right."
That evening, after Ethan was tucked in bed and sleeping soundly, and their small staff of servants had retired to their quarters, Damon joined Elizabeth in the library, where she was sipping a small glass of sherry, and said, "I've been thinking about the costumes for the masquerade ball and I have a better idea."
Elizabeth looked at him, annoyed. "The costumes for the ball are almost ready and I paid a hefty price for the metal gauntlets and the piece of armor for you to wear, and it's a little too late to change now."
"There will be other balls," Damon pointed out.
Elizabeth pursed her lips in disgust. "Not like this one. It's to be the biggest ball my father's having for my sister. But what do you propose, and it better be good."
"It is." Damon pulled open a drawer in his desk and removed a dark blue velvet box and handed it to her. "We'll go as Napoleon and Josephine and you can wear this around your neck."
Elizabeth looked at him with a start. Certainly the box didn't contain the opal. That would be impossible because The Burning of Troy was 700 carats. But when she opened the lid, winking back at her was a black opal, and when she lifted it out of the box and held it up on its delicate gold chain, it came alive with flashes of fiery reds, and iridescent blues, and glittering golds. "I don't understand," she said. "I know this isn't The Burning of Troy because it isn't big enough, but it's just as beautiful. Where did you get it?"
Twilight 0f Memory (Historical Regency Romance) Page 19