Candice Hern (33 page)

"If you are concerned," the duchess said at last, "about how your father and I would feel about an older woman, a widow with children, you need not worry on that score. She is not what we had expected from you, to be sure, but she is a fine woman and you obviously love her."

"I have been wondering why. She thinks I keep slaves. That I brought back slaves with me from India to do my bidding."

"
What
? Where did she hear such a nonsensical thing?"

"I did not ask," he said, and wondered why he hadn't. Not that it mattered. "The point is that she believed it, wherever she heard it."

"How could she believe such a hateful, wrongheaded thing about you? You would never keep slaves, for heaven's sake. You're an Englishman."

"She asked if I ever sold slaves, and I told her I had not. But when she asked if I had ever bought slaves ..."

She gave a low groan. "And you did not tell her the truth?"

"Lady Somerfield already had her opinion of me. I had neither the desire nor the inclination to defend myself. The fact that she believed it was all that mattered."

He heard the duchess heave an exasperated sigh. He did not need to turn around to clearly picture the look of irritation on her face. "Has it not occurred to you," she said, "that she was hoping you would explain? To prove wrong whatever ugly gossip she may have heard?"

"No, it has not. Because there was more, Mother. She had somehow heard about Chitra. She knew her name."

"Little Chitra? What about her?"

"She believes her to be my sex slave or my concubine or some such nonsense. She seems to think I might even have a harem."

"But that is ridiculous, Gabriel." Her voice rose in outrage. "Where could she possibly have heard such stories? You might want to make it your business to find out, you know. Lady Somerfield may not be the only one who has heard them and believes them."

He turned to face her. "I have thought of that. But I prefer, I think, to allow my actions to speak for me. I have nothing to hide. Nothing of which I am ashamed. I certainly have no slaves."

"Of course not. Well, you must do as you please, my boy. But I do wish you could settle things with Lady Somerfield. If she is the one you want, then you must fight for her."

Restless, he walked back to where he'd been smoking and plopped down in the chair again. "I used to think I could have everything I wanted, Mother, and it was true. Nothing was ever denied me, and I have grown accustomed to getting my way in all things. But I am finally learning that I can't have everything, after all. I cannot have Beatrice. She does not want me. And at the moment, I am not sure I want her anymore."

"Then for God's sake, find someone else! Soon." She rose and walked to the door. "I want that announcement at the ball, Gabriel."

"Then name the girl!" he said to her back as she left.

An instant later, she had returned to stand in the doorway. "If I do in fact name the girl, you will accept my choice?"

"Have I not said as much? Yes, Mother, I will accept your choice."

"I have your word on it?"

"You have my word."

"All right, then. Consider it done." She turned on her heel and left.

As soon as she was gone, Ramesh stepped into the sitting room from the adjacent dressing room. He bowed and said, "Forgive me, my lord Thayne. I did not mean to listen, but I could not help hearing. You are not a trader in slaves. You must not allow anyone to believe that you are. It is wrong."

"It doesn't matter," Thayne said, with a dismissive wave. "Have my horse brought round, Ramesh. I am going for a long ride." He needed to get away. The walls seemed to be closing in on him. Fresh air. Space. He needed room to breathe.

* * *

"Rochdale knows about the Merry Widows. He knows about our pact.
Everythin
g
."

Her friends stared at Beatrice in astonishment. They were gathered in her otherwise empty drawing room on Brook Street. Once again, no other guests arrived. Beatrice was still something of a social pariah. Thank heaven the Merry Widows still came round, else she would turn into a recluse. Grace was the only one missing today.

"How do you know that?" Penelope asked. "Did he say something to you?"

"No, but he apparently said quite a lot to Thayne. He knew about the pact, about our candid discussions, all of it. He was furious with me — said I'd used him, played with him like some kind of ... of ... sex toy. And he did not appreciate knowing that I might have shared with all of you the intimate details of our sexual encounters. I could hardly deny it, could I?"

"I don't see what is so unusual about friends sharing intimate secrets," Penelope said. "I am sure men do it all the time, telling each other about the particular abilities of this highflyer or that opera dancer."

"It is threatening to them," Wilhelmina said. "They don't like to think that women may talk behind their backs about size and performance and stamina and such. What if they were to ... come up short, so to speak? Or were unable to perform? Men are much more vain about such things than women. Only imagine their anxiety if, after a less-than-satisfactory performance, their failure was reported to other women? It is that fear, Beatrice, that made Thayne so angry. A typical male response."

"But how did Rochdale know?" Beatrice asked. "I am sure none of us has told anyone. Have we?" She looked around at each woman. Wilhelmina shook her head; Penelope did the same.

"Oh dear." Marianne's face was pinched with concern. "I think Adam may have told him."

"You told Adam about our pact?" Penelope asked.

"No! I never told him. Not even since we married. We promised to keep it secret and I have honored that promise. But I have often wondered how much he actually overheard that morning at Ossing Park. He might have been on that staircase longer than we know."

"If that is true," Wilhelmina said, "then, as I recall, he would have heard nothing but praise for his lovemaking."

"But I think we may have mentioned our pact," Marianne said. "Or perhaps he only heard enough to figure it out for himself. And then, while I was still punishing him by pretending I believed someone else had been my lover that night, he spent a great deal of time with Rochdale. He may very well have had too much to drink one night and admitted to Rochdale what he knew. Or thought he knew. That is the only explanation I can think of."

"You may be right," Beatrice said. "Unless Grace confessed to someone, and I sincerely doubt that."

Penelope grinned. "She can hardly bear listening to us talk about our lovers. I cannot imagine she would dream of telling anyone else about it. No, I think Marianne has hit upon the answer. Rochdale learned it from Adam. Well, let us hope he is not telling tales of us all over London."

"I doubt that," Wilhelmina said. "I have some ... experience with Rochdale. He has his faults, but he is not entirely dishonorable. Consider his restraint with young Emily. He might have ruined her, but did not. I suspect he must have deliberately teased Lord Thayne with what he knew because of that unfortunate public airing of your affair, Beatrice."

"You're probably right," Beatrice said. "It hardly matters. Thayne and I have ended things between us. We parted with considerable bitterness, with hateful words spoken by both of us." She felt the sting of tears build up behind her eyes and made an effort to hold them in check. "And I have never been more miserable."

"Endings are never easy," Wilhelmina said in a gentle voice.

"Especially this one," Beatrice said. "I fear I have made the biggest mistake of my life. He loves me. Or did. And I love him. I ought never to have refused him."

"You believe you should have married him?" Penelope stared at her incredulously. "Is this the same Beatrice who encouraged us all to forsake marriage and relish our independence?"

"I was wrong. Love changes everything."

"It certainly does," Marianne agreed. "I never thought I wanted to marry again, but I have never been happier. It is sometimes wrong, I think, to stay so fixed on an idea, to be so inflexible in one's thinking. Things change. People change. Love comes into our lives and turns everything topsy-turvy. We cannot assume that the things we want today will make sense for us tomorrow. The freedom we have all talked about and relished so much as widows, the freedom to live our lives as we please, also means freedom to change."

"Beautifully stated, my dear," Wilhelmina said. She sat next to Marianne on the sofa, and patted her gently on the arm. "I have always lived my life in the moment. I have never presumed to know what tomorrow may bring. Or whom."

"I wish I had moderated my own philosophy a bit earlier," Beatrice said. "Because I was inflexible, as Marianne said, I have lost what I now realize I most wanted. Love."

"But you must have known Thayne loved you," Wilhelmina said. "He would not have asked you to marry him otherwise. Now, if he had betrothed himself to some young girl in her first Season, we would know it was a match based on fortune or rank or dynastic alignment. The usual reasons. But to marry a widow with children, an older woman ... such an unexpected decision has to be based on love."

"I suspected," Beatrice said. "But I did not know. Until he said the words. That changed everything for me."

"It always does," Wilhelmina said.

"And so now I realize what a fool I've been," Beatrice said, "and there's not a damned thing I can do about it. The final Widows Fund ball is approaching. The masquerade at Doncaster House. He is to announce his betrothal at the ball."

"Is he?" Wilhelmina said. "Are you certain?"

"The duke and duchess are determined on it, he told me. Knowing Her Grace, I have little doubt she will insist upon it."

"But who —"

They were interrupted by Cheevers, Beatrice's butler, who had entered the room quietly and now bent close to her ear.

"There are two persons downstairs, my lady, who insist upon speaking to you."

"What sort of persons?"

"I am not certain, but they are foreign, to be sure. The man is wearing an orange turban. He is most adamant that you see him. I fear, my lady, that they will not leave until they have spoken with you."

"Do you have any idea what they wish to speak to me about?"

"No, my lady. The man will not say."

"I suppose I had better go and see what he wants." She turned to her friends. "I fear I am needed downstairs. You will please forgive me for calling short our visit. Thank you so much for coming. Truly. You are all very dear to me."

The Merry Widows rose, collected their things, and made their farewells. Beatrice had almost blurted out that she loved them, but recollected that Cheevers stood behind her and thought better of it.

She followed him downstairs to the housekeeper's sitting room, where the two strangers had been asked to wait. She walked in to find a tall, dark, good-looking young man standing at attention by the hearth. A pretty young girl of about twelve or thirteen with enormous dark eyes sat at a table. And most extraordinary of all, Charlotte sat across from her.

"Mama! You'll never guess. These people are from India! They have come from Lord Thayne's house. That is Mr. Ramesh, and this is his sister, Chitra."

Chitra.
A little girl no older, and probably younger, than Charlotte. Beatrice's heart sank. Another enormous mistake was about to be revealed to her, she was quite sure.

Both the man and his sister were dressed in ordinary English-looking clothes. But he wore an elaborately twisted saffron-colored turban, and the girl wore a scarf covering her glossy long hair.

"Mr. Ramesh, Chitra. I am pleased to meet you. I am told you wish to speak to me."

"We are here to tell you a truth, my lady Somerfield," Mr. Ramesh said. "To right a wrong." He had a delightfully musical voice, and though his English was good, his accent was very pronounced.

"Well, then," she said, and took a seat on the housekeeper's sofa. "What is it you wish to tell me?"

"It is about how we came to know my lord Thayne."

And he proceeded to tell a tale that brought tears to her eyes, but not for the reasons they might have thought. No, it was because she had listened to gossip from a source with no right to be trusted, and had deliberately used that dreadful lie to inflict pain when she'd known in her heart it could not be true. She had used what she knew to be a lie to push Gabriel out of her life forever.

Mr. Ramesh told of how he and his entire family had been taken into slavery by some Indian prince with a long, unpronounceable name. After a time, they had been bought from the prince by Dutch traders, who packed them onto a ship carrying hundreds of other slaves to southern Africa. It had been a harrowing trip and at least half the slaves died from disease before reaching the Cape. Ramesh and Chitra were the only members of their family to survive the trip. He had been a boy of seventeen; Citra had been only five years old.

Ramesh never knew all the details of what happened next, and what little he did know he learned much later, apparently from Jeremy Burnett. Their Dutch slave ship had arrived at the Cape at the same time Gabriel had arrived from England as a very young man. He had witnessed the herding of the slaves from the ship to the place where they would be sold again, primarily to white farmers in Africa. Ramesh remembered actually catching the eye of the young man on the docks who seemed so moved by their misery. Gabriel bought the entire lot of them from the Dutch trader. Then, with the help of an East India Company clerk on his way to Calcutta, Gabriel had created emancipation papers for every one of them. Many of them, including Ramesh and Chitra, returned to India on the same ship as Thayne. Ramesh had sought out their savior, and pledged his life to him. By the time they reached Bombay, he had managed to secure a position for himself in Gabriel's employ.

Gabriel had provided education for both Ramesh and Chitra as well as the protection afforded his rank and position. Although Gabriel had moved about India the entire time he was there, never establishing a home base in any one city for longer than a year, Ramesh and Chitra had traveled with him, along with a larger staff he had collected over the years. Ramesh was a paid member of that staff, helping out in whatever way he could. When Gabriel had announced his plans to return home to England, Ramesh had pleaded for his lordship to take him and Chitra with him. The group of slaves Gabriel was purported to have brought home with him consisted of two individuals only, one who became his valet, and one who was given work in the kitchens at Doncaster House.