I pressed my lips together lest I say something to further encourage him. He was proving to be a singular adversary.
At dinner that night, Grandfather appeared in a sullen mood as he stabbed at lamb slathered in mint sauce.
“You took Mr. Sinclair to the most notorious bluestocking salon in town?”
“I did,” I answered cheerfully, refusing to look at the man seated across the table for a second night of entertainment. To my dismay, Grandfather had insisted on Mr. Sinclair staying with us at the townhome instead of Marlow Place, reserved for young gentlemen. I had never felt quite so claustrophobic.
“I won’t allow such behavior from anyone under my roof,” Grandfather all but growled, his jowls trembling with anger as he lifted the hunk of lamb to his mouth. He tore into the meat, as savage as could be.
Silence fell at the table with only the sounds of Aunt’s fork clinking against the china.
After a moment, I introduced a new topic, hoping to lighten the darkening mood of our family. “I heard mention of a ball yesterday when Edward and I encountered a friend of his. I understand they plan to invite our family.”
“Why would we be invited?” Grandfather barked as he motioned for a newly entered servant to place the syllabub in front of him. The cream mixed with wine and citrus juice hardly tempted me this evening.
“Lord Chudley is an acquaintance of mine from Cambridge. We encountered him at the bookstore, and he’s taken quite an interest in our family,” Edward answered as he waved away his dessert. “He also invests in the East India Company. I personally do not care for the man, but he is not without connections.”
Grandfather opened his mouth—no doubt to protest—but Mr. Sinclair spoke first. “I’ve not experienced a London ball. If the music is lovely, I should like to take part in the festivities.”
He glanced at me, almost as if seeking my approval, and a strange, traitorous flutter in my pulse answered. Swiftly followed by dread.
“It would do well for the Grenvilles to attend certain society functions. Put in an appearance, so to speak,” Edward chimed in as he reached for his glass.
Grandfather wiped his mouth with his napkin, the movement slow and deliberate. I recognized the stalling tactic. He hated when an idea wasn’t his.
“If Lord Chudley invites the family, we simply cannot refuse,” Aunt Clarice insisted, dipping her spoon into her dessert. “I won’t have us become the talk of the town for declining a ball. Our reputation would be at stake.”
Grandfather finally gave a curt nod, though the hard set of his jaw betrayed his disapproval. While Aunt seemed content, I could tell he was far from pleased with the idea.
After dinner, I fled to the balcony and breathed in the cool air. I hadforgotten my shawl inside in my haste to escape the oppression of the dining room. Desperately, I tried to pierce the gloom of the night with my eyesight, but clouds raced across the velvet sky, blotting out many of my favorite constellations. Besides, noise yet clung to the city, its glowing horizon so different from my quiet Seven Oakes.
Despite the allure of the city, I suddenly longed for the crisp air of the countryside and the opportunity to study the stars freely. To my dismay, soot and stench clung to London no matter where one lived.
Unbidden, the image returned of my mother pointing out various constellations. Her glittering veil had fallen back, and she pressed a kiss to my forehead, murmuring something tender. If only I could remember all she had said that night. Only a few words of Urdu, the court language of Hyderabad, were embedded into my soul.
Main tumse mohabbat karti hoon.
I love you.
Tears filled my eyes, blurring the canopy of stars my mother had so enjoyed from a white palace balcony. Did she stare at the sky as I did now, longing for me the way I longed for her? Or had she truly died as Aunt and Grandfather led me to believe?
I craved and feared the answer I might find.
Freddy had often reminded me of God’s love, pointing me to Scripture repeatedly, yet the words felt dim to me.
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
If Freddy were here now, standing with me on the balcony, she would assure me that God would indeed arrange my path no matter how hard Grandfather tried to control it.
Did anyone love me for who I was, other than Edward and Freddy? I ought to be more grateful for the two of them, and for my heavenly Father. Why then did this yawning hole consume me? This emptiness?
Steps came from behind me, and I quickly realized my cheeks were wet with tears. After dabbing at my eyes, I turned to see Mr. Sinclair approach with a shawl in hand.
He cleared his throat, the sound raw. “Forgive me for intruding, but the night felt cold, and I saw your wrapper on the settee by the fireplace.”
My throat thick with emotion, I could only nod, accept the shawl, and envelop myself in its warmth. I hadn’t the energy for another sparring session.
Mr. Sinclair did not prod me as Edward might have. Nor did he fill the silence, as Aunt did, with idle chatter. Nor did he command a smile to appear on my face like Grandfather.
