At long last, another letter!
Grandfather’s locked study door and curt dismissal of breakfast only deepened my curiosity. Could it be from Hyderabad? Or just another correspondence from Lord Sinclair or any of Grandfather’s business allies?
Freddy’s voice broke into my thoughts as she entered my room, already dressed in a blue gown.
“You’ll have to hurry, Kitty, or Aunt will surely fuss. She’s eager for us to make a grand impression on Lord Chudley’s guests.”
I nodded absently, still turning over the possibilities in my mind. No answers would come, not with Grandfather so silent. Thinking of our shared determination to exercise our free will, I passed over the tepid mint gown and chose something much more vibrant in a richer shade of emerald green.
A simple act. Yet important somehow, to break free of the opinions of others.
Aunt clucked as I descended the stairs, but Edward grinned when I reached the last step. Sebastian’s eyes widened a fraction, making me wonder what he might think of my choice.
Inwardly, I huffed as soon as the question crossed my mind. Did I really need to consider whether he liked the gown or not?
As we climbed into the carriage, I couldn’t shake lingering anxiousness. The mystery of that letter from India and its contents stayed with me, even as we approached Lord Chudley’s grand townhouse.
I wanted nothing more than to return and race into Grandfather’s study and rummage through every single desk drawer.
If he would not tell me the truth, I would uncover it myself.
Inside the house, Lord Chudley’s sister, Lady Anne, greeted us with a wintry smile, her probing gaze assessing my outfit. Our hostess was equallydismissive of Fredericka, who wore the jaunty bonnet Edward had purchased for her.
Only Sebastian garnered any lingering attention from Lady Anne.
“Mr. Sinclair, a pleasure to see you again,” she said as she held out her lily-white hand for him to take.
He did, raising it only slightly to drop the briefest kiss atop her gloved fingers.
“Is it true that you came recently from Calcutta?” she asked him while ignoring the rest of us.
“Indeed,” he answered easily. “Family business necessitated a visit to London.”
“Ah, Calcutta,” she said, her tone tinged with feigned curiosity. “I’m certain it has its charms, though one imagines the climate rather ... oppressive. The sort of place that requires a particular constitution to endure, I’d imagine.”
“Lady Chudley, the allure of any place often lies in its contrasts. Calcutta is much like a fine wine—complex and perhaps not to everyone’s taste. I daresay that with some exposure, one might find it enchanting.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I hope our city life won’t overwhelm you.”
Sebastian also raised an eyebrow at her condescending tone. “Overwhelm me? If I recall, it was in London that I stumbled across street congestion caused by a flock of sheep crossing the road. Calcutta’s bustling streets may be chaotic, but they have a charm all their own.”
I giggled, which I attempted to cover as a cough hidden behind a fist. “Forgive me,” I said. “The dust in our streets is quite appalling.”
Oh, the daggers in her eyes.
I glanced at Sebastian and he grinned at me, twin dimples carved into each side of his face.
Lady Anne cleared her throat, drawing attention back to herself. “And you say you’ve been on business, for the East India Company?Pray, have you met the Duke of Wellington? You may find him quite knowledgeable on the Orient.”
Sebastian paused. “I’ve met with the Duke, along with Mr. Wilberforce and his colleagues.”
His frank admission in meeting with the abolitionist lit a spark in my mind. The duke was not known for his sympathy to India ... but Mr. Wilberforce was. How would my hostess react?
“Wilberforce, you say? You met with Wilberforce?” Lord Chudley’s voice boomed across the hallway as he strode toward us. He wore cream trousers and a navy morning coat highlighting his athletic form.
Lord Chudley halted in front of the group, glancing at me with appraising eyes before turning his full attention back to Sebastian.
“Wilberforce is certainly a man of notable influence, but I trust you aren’t getting tangled in his lofty ideals, Mr. Sinclair. The East India Company operates on a far more practical level than mere sentimentality. You’d do well to remember that the real game is played in the drawing rooms and boardrooms, not among starry-eyed reformers. I should invite you to dine with me and the Duke of Wellington at Brooks’s Club later this week. That is a man with a balanced grasp of politics. So, tell me, what did youreallythink of Wilberforce?”
