by Eloisa James
Lucien gave his twinkling, intimate smile. “I admit…I am curious about the important Mrs. Ewing and shall look forward to meeting her.”
Lady Sylvia looked at Phoebe, who had skipped over to say good-bye to her favorite tiger table. “No mystery there,” she said in a lowered voice. “Phoebe’s new mama is Emily Thorpe, as was. From the Herefordshire Thorpes. There was a disgrace, some sort of rumpus, and Thorpe threw both his daughters out. Now I think of it, it wasn’t the eldest gel that got in trouble, it was the younger, Louise. Never seen them myself, but I know the elder turned into a Mrs. Ewing, some five or six years back. Didn’t know she was writing for fashion rags though.”
There was something odd about Lady Sylvia’s comment that Emily Thorpe had “turned into a Mrs. Ewing,” but Gabby didn’t have time to question her. At any rate, it wasn’t a proper conversation with Phoebe in the room.
Lucien apparently agreed with her, as he bowed before Lady Sylvia with a great deal of elegant flare and said nothing to her account of Thorpe family history.
While saying good-bye, Phoebe leaned close to Gabby’s ear and whispered shrilly, “You haven’t forgotten about the secret visit that we are going to make, have you, Miss Gabby?”
“It’s not polite to whisper among company,” Gabby said, squeezing her hand. “But no, of course, I haven’t forgotten. I shall send a note to Mrs. Ewing and ask to borrow you for an afternoon next week, shall I?”
When they were alone, Gabby turned to Lady Sylvia. “Will you accompany me to the library, Lady Sylvia?”
“First you’d better tell me what this is all about.”
“Quite likely Colonel Hastings has come to pay his respects,” Gabby suggested. “My father is quite influential.”
“Fiddlesticks! None of the India men would bother to pay respects to a mere female, particularly over here in England. What does he want from you?” Lady Sylvia looked as stubborn as one of her hairy little terriers.
Gabby gave in. “I suspect that he will ask me the whereabouts of Tukoji Holkar’s heir. Holkar is one of the chiefs in the Marathas region.”
“Marathas? Marathas? Where in God’s name is that?” But she didn’t give Gabby time to answer. “What you’re saying is that some sort of heathen prince has gone missing,” Lady Sylvia said. “An Indian prince.”
Gabby nodded. “The boy’s name is Kasi Rao.”
“Why on earth would Hastings suspect that you might know his whereabouts?”
“Kasi was raised as my brother,” Gabby said. “He is my father’s nephew by his first marriage. And he grew up in our household. Since he is now almost eleven, and given that his father is ill, he would probably assume the throne of the Holkars, except—”
“Except that he’s disappeared,” Lady Sylvia finished. “And your father had something to do with it, no doubt. God knows, from what I remember of your father, he’s eccentric enough to be kidnapping princes right and left.”
“I know nothing about it,” Gabby said, praying for an even tone to her voice.
Lady Sylvia snorted. “Save yer rhetoric for the colonel.” She lapsed into silence and raised her hand when Gabby started to speak. “Just a minute, gel. It’s foolish for us to talk to this colonel alone. He’s likely to bully you. We should wait until Dewland returns and let him deal with it.”
“But if I refused to say anything, the colonel would have to give up and leave.”
“Absurd!” Lady Sylvia snapped. “We can’t just walk in there, two unaccompanied females. He’ll try to intimidate you into telling the truth. Not that any male could do better than a female when it comes to deception. Just ask my husband, Lionel, about that. Of course, given that he’s dead, you can’t ask him, God rest his soul.”
Gabby couldn’t think what in the world she could say in response, so she remained silent.
“We’d better act caper-witted,” Lady Sylvia announced. “I’ll have the dogs brought in; they’ll help. I’ll play a dithering old maid.” She wheeled around and barked, “You, Codswallop!”
Codswallop visibly jumped. “Yes, my lady?”
“Have my dogs brought in, and then you may escort us to the library.”
Codswallop opened his mouth—and thought better of it. “I’ll summon the animals immediately.”
Lady Sylvia snorted as he left. “There’s something a little shifty about that fellow. He didn’t like the idea of fetching my little sweeties. Probably worrying about the library rug.
“All right, gel, do you think you can pretend to be a regular goose? Men, especially those as have a military title, think women are jinglebrained anyhow. It should go over well.”
Gabby nodded. “Colonel Hastings isn’t exactly in the army,” she noted. “The East India Company maintains its own militia.”
Lady Sylvia shrugged. “He’s got some sort of rank. They have to have a shrunken head to fit into those tunics, you know. It goes with the uniform.”
The dogs danced into the room, hysterically yelping their pleasure at being released from Dessie’s stern care. Lady Sylvia grabbed two and Gabby bent to pick up the third, but recoiled when it snapped at her finger.
“Ignore the little demon,” Lady Sylvia advised. “She’ll follow us. Now—on with it, Codswallop!”
Colonel Hastings turned out not to be wearing a uniform. He was a barrel-shaped man, going rather bald. To Gabby’s mind, his face resembled a black-and-white etching without enough detail: his nose seemed bulbous and undefined, his chin wobbled into two or three chins and then melted into his high collar, and his hair didn’t appear until his forehead had sloped backward for a more than generous time.
Even as Colonel Hastings bustled toward the two ladies, it was abundantly clear that he considered himself to be engaging in child care. Lady Sylvia threw Gabby a quick, triumphant look.
“Miss Jerningham, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed rather creakily.
Lady Sylvia fluttered toward Colonel Hastings, simpering. “Oh, la, sir. I can hardly bring myself to say so, but I must admit, in the absence of a male family member, I could never allow sweet Miss Jerningham to be unchaperoned, not that it would be of concern in the presence of such a majestic military gentleman as yourself….” Her voice trailed away and she swept into a low curtsy, so low that Gabby was momentarily afraid she might not be able to straighten up.
Colonel Hastings bowed self-importantly. “I am enchanted—enchanted!—to meet you, Miss…Miss …”
Lady Sylvia shook her fan so quickly that a minor gale disturbed Hastings’ remaining few hairs. “My name is Lady Sylvia Breaknettle. Forgive me, Colonel Hastings, but the shock of finding myself in the presence of one of England’s bravest, finest men!” Her fan trembled with emotion. “I merely look at you and I see our brave, brave men, penetrating the wilds of the wildest continents, bravely living without the comforts of civilization!”
“Now, that is true,” Colonel Hastings said, grunting a trifle as he straightened from another deep bow. “You wouldn’t credit how hard it is to obtain a decent cup of tea over there. They grow the stuff, and yet it is impossible to teach the natives how to brew it.” He turned toward Gabby. “Miss Jerningham, you must be very happy to have arrived in the land of civilization. India is no place for gentle ladies such as yourself.”
Lady Sylvia took one look at Gabby’s stiff back and fluttered forward again. “I vow she has told me that a hundred times! The land of savages, that’s what we call it in this house! Lawks, sir, we must be seated. And I shall send our indefatigable Codswallop for a cup of tea, shall I?”
Gabby felt it was her turn to contribute. “I feel certain that we can provide you with properly brewed tea, sir. For such an intrepid soldier as yourself, nothing is too much!”
Colonel Hastings turned a bit red under the impact of Gabby’s worshipful gaze and allowed as how he wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.
Once they were seated, he leaned forward. “Miss Jerningham, I know already that I am on a fool’s errand,
but I serve a higher master.” He paused.
Gabby barely restrained a smile. Hastings sounded just like her father when he fell into what she thought of as missionary rhetoric. Her father always talked of a higher master when he was driving a particularly hard bargain.
“My master is the governor-general of India himself, Richard Colley Wellesley, earl of Mornington.”
“Oh, my,” Gabby gasped admiringly. “I have never had the pleasure of meeting the governor-general, but…but …” She faltered. Her father would have thrown himself across the portal before allowing the militaristic Wellesley to enter his house.
Lady Sylvia jumped in. “My young charge is so overcome at the idea of being face-to-face with the great man that she cannot find the words!”
“Wellesley is a brilliant man,” Hastings confirmed. “A br-r-r-illiant man! However, I am quite certain that he miscalculated when requesting my presence at your abode, my dear ladies.”
Gabby gave him an encouraging smile.
“The idea that such a lovely young lady as yourself would know aught of Indian politics is absurd,” Hastings said.
Gabby was saved from answering by Quill’s arrival. She looked up to find him standing in the doorway. He had an extraordinarily silent way of entering rooms, Gabby thought. It was as if he brought a little pool of quiet with him.
Lady Sylvia gave a loud trill of laughter. “Isn’t this the most splendid thing, Colonel Hastings? Here is my dear, dear nephew, Mr. Dewland, and he will be able to reply to all those questions that we woolly-headed females simply are not constituted to answer!”
Colonel Hastings was beaming and climbing to his feet, clearly enchanted at the idea of having a proper male to help him question these fluttery and flustering females.
To this point, Gabby had not been enjoying the charade much, but now that Quill had entered, a sudden wave of giddy pleasure swept up her back. Since she had no fan, she fluttered her eyelashes instead. “Goodness, Mr. Dewland, I am so pleased to see you! Just imagine! The governor-general of India has sent Colonel Hastings just to question me about Indian politics. And you know how hopeless I am about names and things! Why, I vow I hardly remember my own maid’s name from one day to the next.” She cast Quill a deliciously dizzy smile.
Quill shot Gabby a quick glance and then bowed to his guest.
Colonel Hastings launched into speech. “My questions are not quite as foolish as the lovely Miss Jerningham makes out, Mr. Dewland. Although—as I was just telling the ladies—I am quite certain that I’ve undertaken a fool’s errand. But I serve a higher master, Mr. Dewland. A higher master who will not be denied! The governor-general of India himself sent me to make inquiries.”
“Goodness me,” Quill said, strolling forward and seating himself. “It is quite difficult to imagine what Wellesley could possibly think our Miss Jerningham might know of Indian politics.”
Gabby cooed at Quill. “Now, now, Mr. Dewland, you mustn’t underestimate a lady’s intelligence. Why, I am sure that I can answer many questions for Colonel Hastings.” She cocked her head to the side. “Let’s see. The East India men practically run the country, I know that.”
“Well, that’s just it, Miss Jerningham,” the colonel responded, with the air of someone instructing a five-year-old. “The company does not run the large part of India called the Marathas, which is where you grew up.”
Gabby laughed sweetly. “Well, I know that! My father was most insistent that I learn something about the Indian continent. I grew up in Indore, which is part of the Marathas. The Marathas is a large section of central India.” She spoke as if reciting the multiplication tables. “But I don’t doubt that you, Colonel Hastings, know much more about India than I do.”
Colonel Hastings was growing pink again under the warmth of Gabby’s admiring gaze. “Are you aware of the Holkar family, Miss Jerningham?”
Gabby paused, her eyes puzzled. Then she burst out: “Indore is run by the Holkars!” She clapped her hands. “Am I doing well, sir?”
“Marvelously,” Colonel Hastings affirmed. “We are curious about the whereabouts of a boy who grew up in your father’s household, Miss Jerningham. We have been informed that he was brought up like a brother to you. His name is Kasi Rao Holkar, and he is the heir to the Holkar throne.”
Quill was watching Gabby closely, his eyes narrowed. What the devil was she up to? If she smiled at the colonel one more time in that melting fashion, the old man was liable to have a heart attack.
“Well, I know of Kasi Rao.” Gabby gave another little trill of laughter. “But, my goodness! My father would never allow an Indian native to be like a brother to me, sir! After all, I am an English lady, and my father is the son of a duke!”
“Yes, quite,” Colonel Hastings assured her. “But do you have any idea of Kasi Rao Holkar’s whereabouts at the moment?”
“Certainly not.” For a moment Gabby’s frivolous exterior faltered and her tone sounded intelligent.
Lady Sylvia leapt in, quick as a cat. “I trust you are not suggesting that my dear charge would remain in contact with an Indian man, a savage, Colonel Hastings! My dear Gabrielle left India many weeks ago, on a vessel bound for England, and she intends never to return to that godforsaken country. She is betrothed to my nephew, a proper English gentleman. And he has not even traveled to the Continent!”
“I knew this was a fool’s errand,” Colonel Hastings said, a trifle wearily.
Gabby rose gracefully and then sat down next to the colonel. “I only wish that I could help you, sir. I would be so honored to be of aid. But I am afraid that Lady Sylvia is correct. I haven’t seen Kasi Rao for years. I was never allowed to mingle with the natives, you know. When we were children we may have played together, but that was long ago.” She patted the colonel’s hand. “But do let me know if you find the prince. I would be charmed to see him again, naturally.”
Quill remembered Gabby’s wish to borrow the carriage for an afternoon, and he sighed. Kasi Rao Holkar was undoubtedly in London. Hell, he probably traveled on the same vessel as Gabby.
“How long has the Holkar heir been missing?” he asked.
“We don’t know,” Colonel Hastings replied, in some frustration. “It’s deuced impossible to get straight answers over there, you know. And, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, Miss Jerningham, your father is an extraordinarily stubborn man. He refuses to direct us to the boy. If someone doesn’t find the Holkar heir soon, one of his two brothers will have to take his place.”
“And the East India Company is not pleased with that notion?” Quill asked.
“It’s an ethical question,” the colonel said, his gaze shifting uneasily to the ladies. “Kasi Rao Holkar is the only child of the chieftain and his wife.”
To Quill’s mind, the fact that Kasi was Holkar’s only legitimate heir had nothing to do with why the company wanted him on the throne rather than one of his illegitimate brothers. He shrugged mentally. Quill had sold all his company shares a few years ago, having discovered that India men were deliberately flaunting government orders not to increase their holdings. In fact, he would agree with Gabby’s father: Kasi Rao was better off hidden in London.
Colonel Hastings was on his feet, genially kissing Lady Sylvia’s hand in farewell. She simpered her good-byes in such a harebrained fashion that it would have shocked him to the bone to see her a moment later.
“Well, gel,” she barked, the moment the colonel left the library. “If Hastings wasn’t one of the greatest fools in England, he would have had the truth out of you in a moment. You don’t lie worth a damn.”
“I don’t know,” Quill said meditatively. “I think Gabby shows remarkable innovation, given that she knows precisely where that princeling is to be found.”
Gabby blushed, but Lady Sylvia saved her from having to speak. “Of course she knows where the boy is to be found! I expect yer father has him tucked away somewhere, doesn’t he? India is a large place. They’ll never find him,” Lady Sylvia sai
d with some satisfaction. “I don’t like those East India fellows. Mind you, Richard Jerningham always was a proper Jack Pudding, talking of becoming a missionary, and he the son of a duke! But I expect Richard kidnapped the boy for a good reason. Not that I am the least bit interested in knowing what his reason was. Come along, darling girls!” She scooped up two dogs, but the third seemed to have temporarily disappeared.
“Drat!” Lady Sylvia said as Gabby wandered about the library, peeking behind leather chairs. “She’s a little weasel, Beauty is. I’ll have to send Dessie down to find her.” And beckoning majestically, she ushered Gabby out of the room.
Quill didn’t have a chance to question Gabby until after supper, when he joined the ladies in the parlor. She was wearing the orange gown again, the one that fit her like a glove and made Quill feel like a libertine. An ungentlemanly, lecherous blackguard—the type of man who seduces his brother’s fiancée. Swearing at himself didn’t help.
“How old is Kasi Rao?” Quill asked. He would have asked anything to prevent himself from looking too closely at Gabby. He’d tossed off two brandies, but the only effect was to fire his blood with an intolerable wish to touch her again.
“Kasi will be eleven on January the fifth. Unfortunately, he is not quite that old in his abilities. He is only just learning his letters …”
Quill thought as Gabby chattered on. What in the hell should he do now? Take a trip? Go to investigate a firm located a long way away—say, Jamaica? Persia? What does one do when consumed by lust for a future sister-in-law? Stay away, his conscience said. Look what happened to Claudius. He ended up killing his brother—Hamlet’s father—then…But thinking about Shakespeare didn’t really help. Everyone was so melodramatic in the old days.
For one thing, he couldn’t leave. It was unthinkable, given his father’s condition. It would be a breach of good manners, given that he was Gabby’s host. As long as I don’t kiss her again, Quill thought, I can be her host. I am a civilized man. He ignored the treacherous pattern that Shakespeare had set. After all, everyone knew that after Claudius married his brother’s wife, things didn’t go well for him. It would be better to leave the country.