“Perhaps another series of letters is called for,” Christian said. “I am sure the publisher of Minerva's Banquet would print them.”
That publisher was over at a tree, instructing her husband to pluck a little girl out of it. The child had just learned to walk, but had managed to get as high as her mother's head in a blink. Elliot laughed while he pried the imp loose. Phaedra literally tore at her hair in exasperation. Nature, in a fit of humor, had blessed Phaedra with a daughter as willful as herself.
“I will write them, but they will do no more good than your speeches in the House of Lords, Christian,” Leona said. “The devil is busy, and we do not have enough angels.”
No, not nearly enough. He would make those speeches, however, even if this would get worse before it ever got better.
The evidence was that the people of England counted on distance and discretion regarding the opium trade. Leona's last letter had suitably soiled the reputations of four dead lords and one living cleric. Society was shocked that people they knew dirtied their hands with this immoral trade. Then, after an appropriate period of gossip and disgrace, everyone had gone back to drinking their China tea. The hole left by sudden absence of the Four Corners ships had quickly been filled by others at Lintin, but that company's demise had caused bigger disruptions in smuggling elsewhere.
In the case of the last Easterbrook, that scandal had only primed the pump for the bigger one. The bait had been swallowed and the blackmail demanded, most indiscreetly. The name of Easterbrook had been forever linked with murder in the trial that just ended, and the blackmailer was on his way to New South Wales.
Gaspar's attention shifted abruptly from his nephew to a young lady walking down a garden path toward them. Blond and dazzling in the summer sun, Irene Longworth tilted her head to listen to her sister, Rose, who walked with her.
Gaspar clumsily tried to hand over the child. “I think I might—that is, I will take a turn, I think—”
Christian bent down and took his son in his arms so Gaspar could make good his escape.
He settled himself down with Leona while his son squirmed and wrestled. Aiden was beginning to talk, and there could be no mistaking he had emotions. Specific ones. Varied ones. There was no indication that he had inherited any curse, however.
Christian could not tell if his awareness of the child's feelings was at all unusual. Leona seemed to know Aiden's moods as well as he did. Much like Denningham, little Aiden was an open book.
That would probably change as Aiden got older, but it appeared that no special sensibility was needed when it came to one's own child. Or rather, nature instilled that sensibility in every parent when it came to that child. One only had to choose to pay attention.
Leona watched her brother hail Irene and Rose. “He has been spending a lot of time with her,” she said. “The Bradwells do not seem to mind.”
“Mrs. Bradwell is delighted, and hopeful that a proposal is imminent.”
“You are certain about that?”
“Most certain. Alexia says so.”
“So Irene's sister is hopeful and my brother is hopeful. What of Irene herself?”
“She appears agreeable. Look at how she smiles at him.”
“I do not want your opinion of how she appears. I can see that, and it might just be politeness. I need you to know.”
Aiden squirmed down. He ran off to Hayden and Alexia's two girls, who played with Elliot's son. Aiden barged in, did some pushing, got pushed back, swung his little fist, and found himself under a pile of legs and arms and ringlets and squeals.
“Are you asking me to intrude, Leona? To direct unseemly attention to her emotional state? These things take their own course and it would be unwise and unfair for me to—”
“Oh, please, Easterbrook. What good is it to be married to a man with your gift if I cannot even learn if my brother's intentions will be welcomed? Now, go over there and—and—well, do whatever it is you do to know these things.”
He laughed and reached for her hand. He kissed it. “I have reason to believe that your brother will be successful. Even the mention of moving to the other side of the world does not dim Irene Longworth's love.”
Leona smiled with contentment. “I knew I could count on you, Christian. You have made great strides in controlling that ability. I know that you choose to avoid it, but on a question as important as this, a little slipping can be excused.”
He had made great strides in controlling it. He liked to think he used it sparingly now, by his own will, and only for the best reasons. The truth was there were times when he still could not block the perceptions.
Still, a more public life had become tolerable, and most people almost so. He did not isolate himself so much now. He only had to retreat to Leona's oasis if the world exhausted him.
“Speaking of pending nuptials, Miller is going to propose to Isabella,” he said.
“I am relieved, and surprised. She brings him nothing.”
“She brings him her love and herself, which is what you brought me.”
“You had no need of a fortune from me. Miller is not so well off that a settlement can be ignored.”
“We will settle something on her, darling, but he did not make his decision in hopes of it. I am sure of this.”
She smiled. “A little more slipping, Christian?”
“A very small slip.”
She laughed in the way that always brought memories of Macao, and of a dark-eyed girl in a night garden who had soothed his soul. He still wanted her as much as he had ten years ago, and still loved her as much as he had during a week of bliss in Aylesbury Abbey.
The various groups in the garden had converged. They created a thick knot of adults surrounded by a whirlwind of children. The din of grown-up chatter and childish screams rose and fell on the breeze.
Leona stood, with her hand still in his. “Shall we join the others, Christian?”
The real question showed in her eyes. Are you ready? Can you bear it?
“Of course,” he said.
He stood, and together they walked toward the joyful noise.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The Charter Act of 1833 abolished the remaining trade monopolies of the English East India Company and essentially ended its commercial activities. It continued functioning in a political and administrative capacity until its dissolution in 1874.
After 1833, the established Country Traders in the East expanded and grew restless with China's closed borders. The trade in opium also flourished until 1839, when the incorruptible Chinese official Lin Zexu (Lin Tse-hsu) was sent by the emperor to end it. Under his direction, 2.6 million pounds of opium were confiscated in Canton and destroyed.
There followed a series of diplomatic and commercial crises that ultimately led to the First Opium War of 1839. China was defeated by the British and forced to open its five ports to foreign trade and cede the territory of Hong Kong. The British people were not unified behind this war. Considerable moral outrage was expressed with the protection of opium trafficking being the main point of criticism. The goal of forcing China's borders open to foreign trade had been achieved, however.
Throughout the novel, I have used the transcriptions of Chinese names that were common in English texts published in the first half of the nineteenth century, during the period when the story takes place.
The process of transcribing Chinese language characters into the Latin alphabet is called Romanization. Today the standard system of Romanization is Hanyu Pinyin, commonly called pinyin. It was first introduced in China in 1956 and widely adopted internationally by the 1980s.
The old anglicized transcription “Canton” is written in pinyin as Guangzhou and that of “Macao” as Macau.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MADELINE HUNTER is the New York Times best-selling author of seventeen historical romances. More than two million copies of her books are in print in the United States and her books have also been translated into nine languages. She is
a six-time RITA finalist, and won RITAs twice for historical romance. Sixteen of her books have been on the USA Today bestseller list, and she has also had titles on the bestseller lists of the New York Times and Publishers Weekly. Madeline has a Ph.D. in art history, and she teaches at the college level. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and two sons.
THE SINS OF LORD EASTERBROOK
A DELL BOOK / FEBRUARY 2009
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2009 by Madeline Hunter
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