Courting Trouble (11 page)

Chapter Seventeen

“I can’t believe Nazim escaped the authorities.” Esme nibbled a coconut sweet, gloves discarded, as she strolled arm in arm with Jed through Bombaytown. Her gown was a vivid pink, embroidered with gold thread and reminiscent of a sari, although perfectly respectable. It was a dress entirely appropriate to the evening’s Diwali celebrations.

“He’s a cunning weasel,” Jed said, mentally censoring the colorful term he’d have preferred to use. Ladies were present. “But it’s clear he has left the colony, and that’s good enough for me.”

“And for me. Mrs. Dam had me hidden as a laundry maid. Me! My hands were getting wrinkled. It is good that I can walk freely.” Lajli, wearing a true sari in saffron yellow, strolled with them, earnestly shepherded by Gupta, who seemed concerned that his cousin might forget herself and steal from one of the gift stalls that lined the street.

The boy was probably right. Lajli hadn’t learned anything from the trouble she’d gotten into with Nazim. She hadn’t apologized for bringing that trouble to her relatives, to Jed or to Esme. But she had, reluctantly, stopped grumbling at the loss of “her” emerald.

Just to be sure the Jungle Heart emerald could never be used in a sonic destroyer, Jed had cut it into quarters and deposited them anonymously in the Hindu temple’s donation box, which was bolted to the stone wall of the building in the center of Bombaytown. The four emeralds had been found and greeted with awe and wonder. The age of miracles had come again. Truly, Swan River was a blessed land.

For the original temple, well, Jed had a plan. Through the jeweler he’d heard of a topaz even larger than the Jungle Heart emerald. He’d purchased it secretly and intended to entrust Gupta with couriering the topaz to the Indian temple. It would do the boy good to be responsible for such a serious task.

Esme exchanged greetings with people whose gazes flickered to include him and whose smiles then widened into beams of approval. He and Esme were an accepted courting couple. It was she who had invited him to accompany her to the Diwali festivities in Bombaytown. His sweetheart was wooing him with Diwali’s color, song and celebration of joyous life.

He touched the inner pocket of his waistcoat, over his heart, and was reassured at the hardness he encountered. Tonight was the night.

A short distance in front of them, overenthusiastic children let off firecrackers, and the smell of black powder mingled with the scent of sandalwood incense. An elderly man scolded them, walking stick waving, till a girl darted forward and bowed deeply. “Sorry, Baba.” She smiled winningly and kissed his cheek.

Harmony was restored.

“Orange cake.” Lajli tugged Gupta’s arm, and the couple was absorbed into a laughing group of feasting youngsters at a roadside stall.

Diwali came alive at night. People crowded the streets, and the setting sun seemed to celebrate the vivid colors of their festival dress. Curtains were drawn back in the houses, and lanterns left lit to show off the interior decorations in the front rooms. Baskets of sweets passed from hand to hand. There were sticky fingers, laughter and overexcited children everywhere. Singing started up spontaneously. Toddlers ran giggling, tossing rose petals onto people’s feet and onto the muzzles of patient oxen. Flowers hung in chains and elaborate arrangements, surrendering the last of their fragrance to the still evening air. People were celebrating life.

A clockwork caterpillar, the size of three cats linked nose to tail, crawled past with trays of sweets. Ingenious.

He patted the familiar design notebook in his hip pocket. Maybe he’d skip building a model of his bounding-vehicle and go straight to a full-scale trial of the kinetic reclamation mechanism.

“What a wonderful festival. Everything is so beautiful.” Esme hugged his arm and smiled around at the crowd. “The sun’s going down, so it’s time to light the candles at the river.”

Everyone strolled down to the wide, lazy estuary. Children skipped and dashed about. Older people were solemn. It wasn’t quite a parade, more like a river of humanity.

Jed stopped at the outskirts of the crowd and led Esme to a vantage point by a gum tree.

She gave him an inquiring glance. “Ayesha is saving us a place at the river.”

“I’d rather stay here.” The shadow of the gum tree enveloped them in an illusion of privacy. He slid an arm around her waist as they watched the blessing and the candles set adrift on the water.

“Hopes and dreams,” she said quietly.

“It’s beautiful.” The scene had a magic quality, a serenity that came from a community sharing the moment. The candles flickered and reflected on the water. The scent of sandalwood mingled with the riverside smells. People wore their best clothing, and pole lamps shed light that glinted off gold jewelry. In this young colony, they were building new lives.

Fireworks exploded over the river. Esme tipped her head back to watch them.

Jed hooked a finger in his waistcoat pocket. “I have hopes and dreams, too.”

“I know,” she said apologetically. “You’ve been distracted from your kangaroo vehicle for too long. But now you can get back to it.”

He smiled ruefully. “Not all my hopes and dreams center on inventing.”

“Oh?”

A second firework exploded to oohs and aahs.

“Esme, you have an important question to ask me.”

“I do?” She withdrew her attention reluctantly from the fireworks display. “It’s so beautiful.” Suddenly, she whirled to face him, steadying herself with a hand on his chest. “You mean, you want me to ask you…?”

Finally, he had all her attention. “It’s what we agreed.”

“Oh, my.” Beneath her hand, his heartbeat was steady, if a trifle fast. Her own heart felt as if it were polkaing. She opened her mouth and found no words came out. Words had never failed her before. She wet her lips and tried again. “Darling—oh darn it.”

His eyebrows quirked up.

“Sorry, sorry.” She caught his hand, bringing it to her breast. “I love you, Jed. I really do, and I appreciate your commitment to equality. I know I should ask you, but…” She smiled crookedly. “I’ve discovered I’m a bit of a traditionalist after all. You have to ask me.”

“I’m glad.” He turned his hand to clasp hers. “Esme Smith, suffragette and sweetheart, all that I am is yours. I adore you and need you. I want to build a life with you, go adventuring with you, dare everything for the joy of sharing it with you. I love you. Esme, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” She flung her arms around his neck.

He kissed her deeply, aware of the passion flaring between them and reveling in all it promised. Her lips were sweet, her pulse accelerating. Reluctantly, he controlled the kiss. “A smart man wouldn’t get engaged in public.” He fumbled for the ring stowed in his pocket.

“It’s perfect,” Esme assured him. “It couldn’t be more perfect.”

He pushed the ring onto her finger.

“Jed. It’s magnificent.” She stepped out of the shadows of the gum tree to study the ring.

“Do you like it?” The sapphire was midnight blue in the twilight. Its frame of diamonds sparkled with white fire.

Her kiss was a most satisfactory answer. She’d completely forgotten their potential audience—who turned from the river and applauded. What were fireworks compared to a real-life romance?

“Golly.” Esme blushed. She’d forgotten they were in public, forgotten everything except Jed and the wondrous future he was inviting her to build with him. “What will people say?” But she didn’t attempt to tug free of his embrace.

“They’ll say we’re in love.” His breath tickled her ear. “And that their gorgeous suffragette got her man.”

“So I did.” She smiled slowly, stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Forever.”

* * * * *

If you loved
Courting Trouble,
don’t miss the first title in Jenny Schwartz’s The Bustlepunk Chronicles.
Available now!

Wanted: One Scoundrel

All suffragette Esme Smith wants is a man. A scoundrel to be precise. Someone who can be persuaded to represent her political views at men-only clubs. American inventor Jed Reeve is intrigued by Esme’s proposal, but even more interested in the beauty herself. Soon, he finds himself caught up in political intrigue, kidnapping and blackmail, and trying to convince his employer he’s more than just a scoundrel…

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About the Author

Jenny Schwartz is a West Australian author, born and bred. She studied Australian social history at university, never dreaming she’d end up rewriting it with a steampunk twist.

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ISBN: 978-14268-9444-2

Copyright © 2012 by Jenny Schwartz

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