“Of course,” he said, turning back to Georgiana.
“If you think it safe enough, I’d like to send Fatima to the marketplace,” she continued. “I’m hoping she can find something to speed Jane’s recovery. Would she be safe going to the market?”
Simon nodded. “I’ll send Baljit with her,” he offered. “He can show her around.”
Baljit puffed out his chest in approval.
“You can guarantee her safety?” Georgiana persisted.
“No more than I can guarantee the weather or that I’ll wake up tomorrow,” Simon said simply. “But I trust Baljit to do whatever he can to keep her out of trouble.”
Georgiana looked at him, a glimmer of respect in her eyes. She walked over to Fatima and spoke quietly, but sternly, in what sounded like Arabic. The woman nodded and followed Baljit, her head still down.
She watched the two depart, and Simon noticed her delicate shoulders tense, as though she were agitated. When she turned back to him, however, her expression was carefully blank. In spite of his trepidation, Simon was impressed by her composure.
“My brother sent his regrets that he is unable to chaperone me,” Georgiana said softly, returning to his side. “He mentioned you were kind enough to stand in his stead.”
Simon bowed. “It’s my honor to escort you during Nath’s absence. Would you like to see the cantonment?”
Simon offered her his arm, congratulating himself that her touch did nothing to ignite his old passions. They strolled along the avenue, and Simon pointed out the particulars and sketched out the rules of life in Cuttack, explaining what she might expect during her stay. Georgiana nodded politely and asked intelligent questions here and there. By the time they’d completed the tour, Simon realized managing Georgiana might prove easier than he or Nath assumed.
Georgiana smiled shyly. “Thank you for showing me around. I’m sorry you’re forced to play nursemaid to me, Mr. Ashford. I imagine my brother is terrified I might create a scandal during my tenure here.”
She was taking the bull by the horns, Simon realized. He strove to be as diplomatic as she. “Nath is naturally concerned for your well-being during your visit.”
“I daresay we both know that Nathaniel is more concerned with protecting his rank than with my well-being,” she said lightly. She raised her hand to stop his protest. “It’s quite all right. Had Nath truly concerned himself with my well-being, he wouldn’t have charged in with witnesses to my ruination and none of us would find ourselves in this particular situation.”
Simon couldn’t argue with that, so instead he began, “About that...”
Georgiana shook her head. “The past is the past, Mr. Ashford. I seek no sympathy, nor do I offer any apologies. And I do not care for anyone’s opinion on the matter.”
“As you wish,” Simon said, at once relieved and unsatisfied. “So as I am at your disposal, Miss Phillips, what would you like to do during your stay in the beautiful province of Orissa?”
“I should like to sketch it,” she said regally. “Particularly the flora and fauna native to this land. Grandfather desires illustrations for his text.”
Simon blinked at her. “That’s it?” he asked stupidly.
Georgiana smiled mischievously. “What did you think I might do? Throw off my garments and run mad as a hatter through the streets?”
“I did worry that such a situation might arise.” Simon chuckled.
“I prefer to keep my clothes on, for the time being.” She sniffed.
Simon looked at her from the corner of his eye. She was no longer the firebrand he remembered, but she was lovely and quite charming. He could see becoming fast friends with Georgiana Phillips. Seducing her wouldn’t be any hardship, either, if it came to that.
“I don’t remember you having an affinity for drawing,” he said, feeling very comfortable with her.
“I imagine after so many years there are many things you may not know about me,” she said, though there was no bite to her tone.
“Touché,” he replied. “Allow me to confess that I’m eager to rekindle our friendship.”
* * *
They settled into a neat little routine in the short week after tempest Georgiana blew in. The weirs, primitive dams built haphazardly throughout the years by local farmers, had almost all been reinforced, allowing for steady progress on the irrigation system he was overseeing. Each day, he led Georgiana to whatever spot he needed to survey or inspect, she sketched the plants she found there, and he did whatever work was required of him. They actually spoke very little. Simon couldn’t decide if she was quiet by nature or quiet due to their shared history. Either way, it made dealing with her pleasant and simple.
Baljit and Fatima took daily trips to the market and around the city. Cousin Jane stayed in bed, nursing her ill health. At the end of each day, Georgiana returned to her bungalow to check on Jane and have dinner with her grandfather, leaving Simon to spend his evenings as he wished. Most nights after bidding Baljit goodnight, Simon wound up in his office going over plans and future projects.
Some nights Sir Jon joined him at his office in the Government House for brandy and cigars. During the day, however, the old codger barely poked his head out of his domicile before late afternoon. While he was perfectly civil when he did, it was quite clear that he was more interested in interviewing the natives who worked in the camp than in making small talk with his countrymen.
In one of their rare conversations, Georgiana outlined their research process to him. Each time they started in a new country, Sir Jon would focus his attention on finishing his journals from their previous travels while Jane and Georgiana were sent to explore and began the initial investigation. The two women would scout the local culture and make connections with the native people to help pave the way for their grandfather’s more in-depth research.
Sir Jon, once his writing was complete, would then jump into the new locale with gusto. He particularly loved the social customs and daily life of the populace, but he would immerse himself in whatever aspect of the country that caught his interest. He also tried to frame his studies with something that the British public could relate to—Chinese silk, Egyptian rugs, Russian furs. When the Sir Jon felt they had enough for a publication, they moved on to something new.
It was odd but efficient, and while Simon personally felt that a person could live years in a foreign country and never fully understand the nuances of the culture, he admired the ladies for their dedication to their studies.
As for Nathaniel’s concerns, they seemed completely unfounded. The other Englishmen in residence smiled at Georgiana, naturally, as she was very lovely and her infamy was a matter for curiosity. But everyone was quite tame in their attentions. There were no poets weeping at her feet, no princes demanding her hand, no throngs of suitors beating down the door. Instead of provoking them, she smiled back and greeted them politely, nothing more.
So far there had been no problems to speak of, for which Simon was thoroughly grateful. Because she was social anathema they wouldn’t have to worry about invitations to the few public events the cantonment presented until her brother returned. Once Nath arrived that would likely change—no one would dare cut the lieutenant colonel’s sister while he was in camp. They would deal with that when the time came.
Other than an occasional complaint from Baljit, who was put out with going to market every day, it had all gone smoothly. Simon inwardly patted himself on the back for being in complete control of the situation. And the little kernel of disappointment that had settled in his chest would surely disappear. Eventually.
He was in his office in the Government House going over the latest adjustment to the canal design when Baljit stormed in and flopped into a chair. It was just after midday and the boy had returned early from his daily visit to market—the seventh such trip with Fatima. Simon had
been ready to ask about their latest adventure, but looking at Baljit’s stubborn chin caused him to reconsider.
At Simon’s silence, Baljit crossed his arms and huffed. For the first time since meeting Baljit, Simon considered ignoring him. The week had gone so smoothly that he really didn’t wish to see his peace of mind upended by a former street urchin too smart for his own good.
Baljit shook his head in disgust. “I do not like Fatima,” he said determinedly.
“Here we go again,” Simon sighed. Listening to Baljit complain about Georgiana’s assistant was becoming a regular part of his day.
“I do not like her,” Baljit insisted.
“Why don’t you like her?” Simon asked. “Was it something she said?”
The boy glared at his poor attempt at a joke. “She is lazy! Miss Georgiana sends her to the market for specific things, yet she never listens when I tell her where to find those things. She would rather wander and spend the whole day just looking, looking, looking! She always gets lost even though I tell her to follow me, and it takes me so long to find her again!”
Simon shrugged. “Perhaps she likes the freedom?”
“I will not take her to the marketplace anymore,” Baljit declared in an uncharacteristic act of sedition.
“Fatima is shy, Baljit,” he tried. “She’s probably never been allowed to roam freely.”
Baljit grunted. “She is not shy,” he said. “Yesterday, when I finally found her, she was haggling with old Kavi. She might have gotten a good price, she badgered him so.”
Simon started to reply then stopped himself. Georgiana had said Fatima didn’t talk to men. Certainly when she was in his presence she never uttered a word. She never even made eye contact. Realization washed over him like a wave of icy water and Simon snorted.
“I suspect things are not all that they appear, Baljit,” he said, mentally kicking himself for not seeing the truth sooner.
“What do you mean?” Baljit asked.
“I need you to go to the marketplace with Fatima again.” Baljit started to argue, but Simon explained, “I want you to pretend to lose her, but I really want you to follow her. I want to know exactly what she does, what she says and who she talks to when she is lost. Do you think you can manage that?”
Baljit eyes sparkled. “I can, Mr. Simon. You can count on me.”
Simon nodded. “And then I think it’s time Miss Phillips and I delve a bit deeper into the past,” he said, more to himself than to Baljit. “We have some unfinished business.”
Chapter Three
“All day!” Baljit exclaimed the following evening. “I followed her all day! The girl is crazy, Mister Simon.”
“Indeed,” Simon said, taking extra care to make sure all the afternoon shadow was removed from his cheeks and chin. If memory served, women tended to dislike stubble when you kissed them. And he may have to resort to kissing. “So what did you and Fatima do all day?”
Baljit snorted and waved his hands in disgust. “She talked, Mister Simon. She talked to everyone! I do not believe the girl ever is not talking! You cannot imagine one person might talk so much.”
Simon caught Baljit’s eye in the mirror as he rinsed his razor blade in fresh water. “Cannot fathom it,” Simon said sardonically, resuming his shave. “What does Fatima talk so much about?”
“Everything!” Baljit crowed. He paced the room, shaking his head. “She wants to know about everything, Mr. Simon. She stops at the booths and pesters vendors, mostly women vendors, with question after question after question.”
Baljit stopped pacing, put a hand on his hip in an approximation of a feminine stance, and started yammering in a high-pitched tone. “How is this made? What do you call that? Did you make this yourself? What is the material? Talk talk talk talk talk.”
“Does she buy anything?” Simon asked.
“Oh yes,” Baljit nodded smugly. “That’s why they keep talking to her. When she doesn’t buy from them, she still gives them a coin.”
“Hmm,” Simon grunted, wiping his face clean. He pulled on his shirt and began buttoning it. “Does she do anything besides talk?”
Baljit began fiddling with the netting over Simon’s bed. “She writes things down. Miss Georgiana sends a list with her, but Fatima uses that paper to write down what the vendors say.”
“You said she speaks mostly with female vendors,” Simon said. “Which men does she do business with?”
“I saw her talk to Devan, the rug weaver with the cloudy eye, and she bought some more spices from Kavi.” Baljit suddenly looked like a cat that had swallowed a bird whole.
“Spit it out before you choke, Baljit,” Simon said, running a comb through his wavy, overlong hair, trying to tame the unruly mass.
“Fatima got a better price on cardamom than you,” the boy said in one breath.
Simon’s lips twitched. “How much?”
“One and twenty,” Baljit said sheepishly.
Simon chuckled and shook his head. “That old goat. I’ve been pushing him to go down to one and twenty for months. I wonder how she got to him.”
“I asked Kavi, ‘Why do you give that worthless girl a better deal than Mister Simon?’” Baljit blurted out, looking embarrassed.
“Good lad. Did Kavi answer you?” Simon asked as he sat down to pull on his boots.
Baljit shrugged and gestured impatiently. “He said ‘Mister Simon is not as pretty to look at as Fatima.’ I told Kavi he was crazy since he cannot even see the girl behind her veils, but Kavi said he can always tell the pretty ones by their eyes. Have you ever heard such crazy talk?”
Simon rose and patted Baljit on the shoulder. “Kavi is right. You can always tell by the eyes.”
Baljit shook his head. “The girl is troublesome.”
“Yes she is,” Simon agreed. He checked his reflection in the mirror above his wash basin, trying to see himself as Georgiana would. Same green eyes, same dark hair, though it needed to be cut. Same jaw, same nose, same mouth. His skin had darkened, bronzed in the sun, but other than that it was unchanged. He had all his teeth, and they were still white, thankfully. He had always been rather proud of his teeth.
He was still pretty enough, he supposed, though he had a few fine lines that crinkled around his eyes when he smiled. Oh well, nothing to do for that—he’d have to do.
“How do I look?”
Baljit scowled. “You look like an Englishman.”
Simon winked. “I am an Englishman.”
“Not usually,” Baljit grumbled. “If you are dressed like that, it means you are going somewhere.”
“Yes,” Simon agreed. “I plan to call on Miss Phillips. I am afraid you are on your own tonight.”
“Fine,” Baljit said churlishly.
“Why don’t we plan on a special outing tomorrow morning?” Simon coaxed, trying to lift the boy’s spirits.
Baljit grumbled but nodded. Simon patted him on the back and made his way to the front door. He stopped for a moment, inexplicably frozen, before he shook off his nerves and forced himself out into the twilight. He strode down the avenue, mentally rehearsing his script for confronting Georgiana, determined not to yield any ground to her.
The short walk gave him little time to feel adequately prepared for what he was about to do. A good ambush always made him jittery. Standing in front of her bungalow, Simon exhaled sharply.
He had most definitely underestimated her.
Before he could change his mind, he rapped soundly on the door. He was about to knock again when he heard the scrape of feet. An older woman with a face like a frying pan greeted him.
“Good evening,” Simon said amiably. “My name is Simon Ashford. I was wondering if Miss Phillips and Mrs. Fairmonte are available.”
Georgiana entered the foyer, distracted by
the book in her hand. “Mrs. Kettle, I thought I heard the door. Is someone—”
She happened to look up from the page she was reading. When she saw him, she yelped and her eyes doubled in size. “Mr. Ashford!” she gaped, barely recovering her wits. “How unexpected!”
Simon sketched a perfect bow. “I was hoping you and your cousin might join me for an evening stroll. I believe the fresh air and exercise might do her some good.”
Georgiana swallowed and turned to the older lady, who was eyeing Simon keenly. “Mrs. Kettle, please make sure Sir Jon has some meat and cheese at his disposal. He indicated he might have a long night of work ahead of him.”
The housekeeper seemed surprised by the request, but inclined her head and took herself off. Georgiana turned to Simon and smiled tightly. “Your offer is most kind, Mr. Ashford,” she began, “but I’m afraid dear Jane has retired for the evening.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” he murmured wolfishly, making sure she knew quite well that he was not sorry in the least. “Perhaps you’d still care to join me, Miss Phillips. It’s a beautiful evening, and our little cantonment is enchanting in the twilight.”
Simon smiled the smile that had charmed more than one young matron out of her scruples and into his bed. Georgiana’s eyes widened and she squeaked.
“I should stay,” she stammered. “Grandpapa may need my assistance—”
Simon nodded. “Of course,” he said kindly. He raised his voice to carry into the bungalow. “I’m more than happy to offer my services if Sir Jon needs assistance.”
Georgiana’s eyes grew even wider and she grabbed his arm, practically whipping him around in her haste to fly out the door. He looked down at her, fully enjoying her discomfiture.
“Shall we go?” she asked on a small pant.
“I am flattered you put so much faith in my honor, but even though we are in the back of beyond, Miss Phillips, I think it wise for you to have a chaperone. Maybe Fatima?”
She smiled, clearly embarrassed. “Of course. I was so excited at the prospect of some evening entertainment, I completely forgot my manners.” Simon cocked his head, and her face colored at her own words. She struggled to recover her wits and blurted out, “I’ll fetch Fatima.”
An Inconvenient Kiss Page 6