I bit back a retort, knowing it would only worsen the situation if I exposed the hypocrisy in his idea of duty. Marriage was something to be endured, as shown daily in my late mother’s pained expression.
“I understand, sir. But I ask for time to consider the arrangement.”
Grandfather’s fist, which had rested on the desk, now balled until the skin of his knuckles whitened. “You may have until the end of the season to marry her or you will forfeit everything. I shall cut off all funds and instate your younger brother as my legal heir.”
My younger brother was responsible for pushing laborers to work overtime during the monsoon season. When they resisted, he cut rations and pay. His actions provoked a violent clash between workers and localgomasthas, company employees, during which a storehouse was set fire and two British agents were injured.
“Not Julien. Have you already forgotten the warehouse riot at the Jessore factory?” I snapped. My brother had refused to distribute basic necessities and food and accused workers of sabotage. He’d nearly caused a riot. When thegomasthastried to beat compliance out of them, the entire storehouse was nearly burned to the ground. “You called it a misunderstanding. I call it negligence.”
Julien had no regard for the men and women assigned to him. I could not stand by in good conscience and allow his heavy-handed approach to managing the indigo production to continue.
“I put an end to Julien’s severe rationing. Regardless, he does as he is told,” my grandfather said. “Unlike you.”
Before I could further protest, he added, “I’m sending you to London to deal with the slander our company has endured. William Wilberforce has proven especially troubling, and I need you to set the record straight. I won’t have British Parliament members tell my associates and me how to run this company from afar. It’s on you to represent my name and all I have worked for. You will also meet with Miss Grenville and her family.”
My intended. Miss Katherine Grenville. I had met her once during my one and only visit to a cold and wet England when I was five and ten. If I remember correctly, I had tugged on a curl and been soundly slapped for it.
Grandfather and Colonel Grenville had planned our fates since ourbirths. An alliance between the old prestige of the Grenvilles and the newer wealth of the Sinclairs. Why our families were so tightly bound, I could not say.
A sigh slipped free. Protesting would be futile, and I dared not jeopardize my inheritance. Since my return to India last year, after Hugh’s death and the grand tour that now felt like a lifetime ago, I had done everything I could to prove my worth to this man, stepping into the place left vacant by my brother’s untimely end.
Grandfather narrowed his gaze. “Remember, a man’s worth is measured by his ability to fulfill his obligations. Do not disappoint me. I cannot leave my duties here, no matter how hard Wilberforce presses for me to return to England. Can I trust you to carry out this simple task as junior factor to the Board of Trade?”
In other words, can I trust you won’t make a fool of yourself?
I nodded, my jaw tight as I thought of the men I would meet in England within the next six months. And my future bride.
Before I could take another breath to speak, my gaze flicked toward the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. The hands were inching closer to my appointment.
“Why are you looking at the clock?” Grandfather growled.
I hesitated, knowing the reaction I’d provoke. But lying felt worse than facing his wrath.
“I have an appointment in the city with William Carey,” I said. “He’s asked for my help translating his work into Hindi.”
Grandfather’s eyes flashed with sudden rage. “That missionary? You’ll stay far away from that man and his ilk! Carey and his kind seek to undermine everything the Company has built in India and abroad. Leave those radicals to their folly.”
His voice escalated with each word, but I said nothing more. Instead, I nodded, although my thoughts churned with alarm. Mr. Carey was a man I trusted, but aligning with him would only widen the gulf betweenmy grandfather and me. Still, the meeting seemed more important now than ever. He had expressed concerns regarding the affairs of the East India Company. I hoped I could get to the bottom of his allegations and somehow rectify matters.
Carefully suppressing my defiance, I weighed my next move, but before I could speak, Grandfather rose from his chair, a commanding figure as he reached for the brandy decanter.
“Come, we will celebrate your upcoming nuptials.”
A shudder rippled through me. The scent of the brandy, spiced and sharp, stirred a memory I had long tried to forget. In the winter of 1813, while Britain fought to bring down Napoleon, I had been in Paris. Not as a soldier, but as a spoiled heir, entertaining myself with fencing tutors and wine-stained distractions. Men my age bled at Salamanca, and I had been parading through Europe like a lord of leisure. That shame still clung to me. I had not touched brandy since.
Grandfather poured the amber liquid into a cut-glass cup and swirled it before handing it to me with a hard smile.
I kept my hands at my sides, even though I wanted nothing more than to toss back the liquid and let it burn.
But I was not that dissolute man anymore. Never again.
My silent refusal must have irked him. His lip curled as if the sight of me displeased him. As if I was weak for not tolerating his brandy.
He waved a hand dismissively. “You may go.”
As I exited the study, my thoughts churned. Marriage had never been a pressing concern for me. Now it loomed over my future like a thunderous cloud. What of my own desires?
I pushed those thoughts aside and crossed to the stables.
