One thought kept circling within my mind. Would my grandmother be pleased with me?
The servant led us to a private chamber tucked away from the bustling court. A low divan, piled high with embroidered cushions, stood near a wooden screen that allowed a glimpse of the gardens beyond.
I spied a woman in shimmering veils seated on the divan.
My grandmother. Sharaf-un-Nissa Begum, the begum of Hyderabad. She wore a flowing emerald-green gown embroidered with gold, and a pearl-edged dopatta partially hid her silver-streaked hair. Her bright eyes, so much like my own, met mine with a penetrating gaze.
For a moment, I faltered, unsure of how to greet her. She saved me and rose gracefully to her feet and extended her hands.
“Noor,” she said, using my Urdu name. Her voice was rich, melodic, yet tinged with emotion as she spoke in English. “You have grown into such a beautiful woman.”
I took her hands, noting how cool and steady they felt compared to my trembling ones. “Grandmother,” I whispered, the word foreign yet comforting on my tongue.
She gestured for me to sit beside her, and as I did, I felt the weight of the palace, the history, and the moment pressing down upon me as Sebastian joined us.
“Your husband, I presume.” She turned an inquisitive gaze to him.
“May I present Mr. Sebastian Sinclair,” I answered, grateful to have him by my side.
He bowed deeply to her. “Indeed. I am the most blessed of men, Begum Sahiba.”
His use of her title made her smile.
“I have cherished your letters,” she said as she sat, her voice warm. “The first one, so many years ago, was my only glimpse of you after your grandfather stole you. Did you ever receive my letters?”
I shook my head. “I wanted to write to Mother. Please understand that the colonel stopped me from sending anything. I sent the first letter at five and ten, far too late, I realize. It wasn’t until I turned eight and ten that I stumbled across a letter from Hyderabad with a seal I recognized. I read the worddanger. Someone addressed it to Edw—Mir Ghulam Ali and myself.”
“I sent that missive,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “I wanted you to know who your grandfather was. I had hoped you would break free of him.”
I had, returning home at long last.
“There is so much I do not understand, so much I have longed to ask.”
Her expression warmed as she dabbed at the corner of one eye. “And now you are here. Ask me, child.”
I hesitated, then drew a steadying breath. “I must tell you something first. My father—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “Word has reached me of Lord Sinclair’s arrest and the charges against him. He will pay for murdering your father, and ultimately, my daughter. But his actions—his sins—are not yours to bear, Noor.”
The kindness in her voice undid me. Tears also welled in my eyes, and I bowed my head. “I barely remember my parents. And my mother ... I have longed to know her.”
Her gaze turned wistful, her fingers brushing the edge of her dopatta. “Your mother was a light in this world, much like you. She was strong-willed, intelligent, and fiercely protective of her children. She would be proud of you, Noor. Unfortunately, she saw your father on a diplomatic meeting and could think of no one else. Her impetuous choice cost her greatly in the end.”
Impetuous ... as I had been. Yet the Lord had turned my rash and insecure steps into something new. My mother’s story had ended in sorrow, but mine would not. I would walk secure in faith and love, and in that, I knew she would find joy.
My grandmother asked about our plans, and I hesitated before plunging ahead. She might not like my choices, but I had made them.
Her gaze flickered when I mentioned William Carey and the girls’ school I wished to start.
My mention of the telescope made her smile.
“Your mother was a scholar, as all royal women are. I remember the two of you on the rooftop, always studying the sky.”
She folded her jeweled hands on her lap, her smile now a mixture of sadness and understanding. “You’ve come to me in a dress much like the British women. How very English you are—even in your accent. I should not be surprised to hear of you joining their faith, my little Noor.”
The weight of her words settled over me. She was right. My life would have been vastly different if I had stayed in Hyderabad—a life of opulence but also similar confinement. I might never have discovered a passion for teaching astronomy as encouraged by Caroline Herschel, never would have met Freddy nor Sebastian. Edward would not have his beloved bride—my sweetest friend, who would finally be a sister.
I would not have found refuge in that moss-covered church in the country.
