An older man, close in age to my grandfather, soon greeted me. My pulse stuttered when I realized he was alone. No Katherine Grenville.
Perhaps she did not want this marriage. How ironic that a man nicknamed “the Lothario” by his brothers now had qualms about meeting a young miss. I hoped she never learned of the embarrassing past I tried to keep hidden.
“You had a decent trip from India, I gather.” The colonel gestured to a settee beside the fireplace. I sat, following his lead.
“Well enough, sir,” I answered. “Only a few storms to weather.”
He nodded. “I remember your grandfather’s stout constitution. I don’t believe he was ever seasick in his life.”
“No, he could not endure being bested by the elements,” I said. The colonel, although he appeared relaxed, regarded me with interest.
“You resemble him, to be sure. And you carry yourself as he did when he was younger.”
I merely smiled at the comparison, while doubt settled in my mind.
My host tapped long fingers on the settee, hinting at some unrest. “I must warn you, Mr. Sinclair. My granddaughter does not take to the idea of marriage readily. She is high-spirited, intent on having her own way. But I think, if you are anything like your grandfather, you will prevail in battle.”
Battle? Hardly the language of wooing. I was about to answer when a rustle of skirts came from behind me and the colonel’s eyes narrowed.
“Ah, Katherine. You are late. I have already received your guest, Mr. Sebastian Sinclair.”
I rose from the settee and turned, my thoughts scattering like startled birds, impossible to gather once I spied the same dark-haired woman I had rescued on the busy street mere hours ago. The weight of her in myarms, the flash of indignation in her eyes, the faint scent of rose water mingling with the damp air—all of it lingered.
The lovely face stopped me cold, though this time I caught the fire in her luminous eyes before she could mask it.
“You!” she blurted, coming to a sudden halt.
She was tall—I’d known that the moment I rescued her from the chaos of the street—but seeing her now, commanding despite her obvious shock, left me quite dumbstruck.
I managed a bow as the sting of that childhood slap flickered in my mind, an odd counterpoint to the warmth her presence stirred. She stood motionless, fists balling as if steadying herself, and I half expected her to whirl and leave without another word.
“It has been many years, Miss Grenville,” I said, feeling very much the fool. Some part of me had stirred with recognition when I saw her on the street, but the memory had not come clear until now. “Perhaps you do not remember meeting me when we were but children.”
“Oh, I quite remember.” Her voice sounded strained.
I froze, uncertain which unsettled me more—Miss Grenville’s clipped words or the unwelcome hostility radiating from the stranger who appeared at her side. The warmth I’d felt at seeing her again cooled, replaced by the uncomfortable awareness that I might not be welcome here after all. I met her grandfather’s gaze, lifting my chin out of habit, though every instinct warned me I was already on trial.
“And this is my grandson, Mr. Edward Grenville,” the colonel said, and the young man stepped forward, as if to guard her from me. I would expect no quarter from either of the grandchildren.
The younger Mr. Grenville said nothing, his mouth pinching into a firm line when I inclined my head in greeting.
The colonel rubbed his hands together with apparent glee. “A splendid gathering. You will, of course, join us for dinner.”
I mumbled something agreeable while resisting the urge to tug at my tight cravat. Considering the glares of the Grenville siblings, especially hers, those eyes sparking hard and bright, a long evening awaited.
A very long evening.
Dinner proved agonizing, with the colonel dominating the conversation, his questions a relentless barrage about the state of India. Each answer I gave felt like walking a tightrope—one misstep and I could lose his favor, along with my inheritance, which hung by a thread.
Miss Grenville, however, was silent, watching me from across the table. Her pale-pink gown, while elegant, did nothing to flatter her striking features. The pasty color seemed to drain the life from her complexion, muting the fiery spirit I’d glimpsed when we first met. A pity, I thought.Katherine Aurora.The name conjured a brightness that her attire failed to reflect. How might she look in the bold colors of India—turquoise, crimson, saffron?
She flushed beneath my perusal. “Tell me, Mr. Sinclair, what is your opinion of the East India Company’s methods in Hyderabad? Effective, would you say?”
I set my glass down, shocked at her bold question. Her tone was deceptively light, but I recognized a challenge when I heard one.
Before I could respond, the colonel’s knife clinked against his plate. He glared at his granddaughter. “Effective? The East India Company’s methods are nothing short of exemplary. Without its influence, India would remain a patchwork of warring states. Efficiency isn’t the question—it’s the only solution to bring peace to warring principalities.”
Miss Grenville didn’t waver, her mocking smile remaining fixed. “Some have raised concerns about the cost of that efficiency. Forced cultivation, famine, uprisings. What price is too high for peace?”
