He engaged Rajan as his manservant and Rajan’s sister, Anjee, as my maid. At first I resisted the help, unwilling to appear a fine lady grown idle, but the truth was plain: I had no business in the kitchen. A cook from Lord Sinclair’s household came daily to prepare our meals, and Lord Sinclair seemed somewhat relieved by our household’s respectability.
I had never felt so removed from the London ton. My former life felt more and more like a faraway dream.
I often headed outside at night with my telescope in hand, searching the black stretch of the heavens for answers but finding none. I felt unmoored, even here. The constellations were different as I studied the glittering canvas above. Canopus and the constellation Eridanus, tipped with the bright star Achernar, its name meaning “end of the river” in Arabic. And Antares, the “heart of the scorpion,” part of Scorpius. Its reddish hue remained ominous against the vast blackness.
This was not my beloved sky of England. Nearly gone were Ursa Major and Cassiopeia, my faithful companions on so many nights at Seven Oakes. Here the heavens offered new guides. Still, discovery propelled me onward. I charted the constellations in careful sketches, intending to send them in a letter to Caroline Herschel. I had already written to her, though months must pass before I could hope for a reply. I had also written to Lady Ashford, though I doubted I would hear anything in return.
Meanwhile, I wondered about Grandfather, and I kept my distance from the Sinclair household in their grand mansion. My dislike for them only deepened when Charlotte came to call shortly after we’d settled. I served tea, but she made a great show of sniffing as she glanced about our modest rooms.
“I shall visit you as much as I can. Why not attend a dinner with me? I’ve been invited to dine with the Chamberlains.” I forced a polite smile and let her words pass, preferring not to quarrel.
My days in seclusion eased into a predictable rhythm—sketching the heavens, walking the shaded lane when the sun allowed, or helping Anjee with her work in the garden. Yet the hours stretched, and loneliness weighed heavy, so like my time at Seven Oakes when I had been left mostly to myself.
Despite Lord Sinclair’s urgings that we begin a family, Sebastian spent his hours at the Company offices, poring over ledgers and accounts. Edward’s discovery at Limehouse would not leave him. The figures showed discrepancies—shipments and sums that failed to align—and Sebastian seemed determined to untangle the truth.
I longed for two things: a purpose to call my own and a reconnection with my mother. In finding her, I longed to reclaim something of myself.
One afternoon, the courier’s knock startled me from my thoughts. Perspiration streamed down his temples as he pressed two letters into my hand. I carried them into the sitting room, the paper already damp against my palm.
Sebastian had returned early from the Company offices for once, weary from another day of examining records. He stood across from me, arms folded, his brow drawn as I broke the wax seal on the first letter.
“It’s from Sir Henry Russell,” I said, scanning the lines. “He has agreed to present my petition to the nizam! Now I must wait for another man’s approval to visit my old family.”
For a moment, I allowed myself to feel a flicker of triumph. After weeks of waiting, of worrying whether I would even be acknowledged, here was proof that my voice had been heard. But the triumph was fleeting, quickly replaced by apprehension. What would I find in Hyderabad? Would I find anything at all? The letter gave no answers about my mother.
Sebastian stepped closer, his gaze steady. “It’s what you wanted,” he said, though there was a note of caution in his tone.
“It is,” I agreed, folding the letter carefully. “You said travel would take us several weeks to reach Hyderabad?”
My husband appeared troubled as he rubbed his chin. “Longer, perhaps. Unfortunately, I’ve been tasked with compiling a report regarding this year’s profits from our indigo plantation in the Rajmahal Hills. It may take two months before I am finished.”
A disappointed breath slipped from me. More waiting.
“I will delay my report on the indigo plantations,” he said when he spied my crestfallen expression. “First we shall travel to Hyderabad together. Imagine the stars we’ll see at night.”
He winked, and I blushed.
I had grown to cherish our time together. And, as promised, a shared bed.
The next letter I opened brought a host of conflicting emotions. My friend must have mailed it shortly after I left England.
Freddy’s tone was cheerful, full of observations from London drawing rooms and sly remarks about Edward’s impatience with society and his recovery.
Dearest Kitty,
I miss you terribly. London no longer feels the same in your absence. I must hear of your news from Calcutta. Please write at your soonest convenience. Edward and I constantly worry aboutyou. Edward promises me that his days of spying have finally ended. Despite the risks, his night at Limehouse was not in vain. He linked the shipments to the Chudley and Sidmouth families, Kitty! The Chudleys. Oh, the disgrace of that ridiculous man. The Crown now deems the earl and viscount traitors. Inside the crates, the Bow Street Runners discovered more smuggled opium shipments from India. Can you imagine? But I promise I shall temper ill news with good.
Then the letter described Freddy’s engagement to my brother.
I cried out, and Sebastian reached my side.
“Tremendous news, I promise! Freddy and Edward are to marry at last! He is resuming his studies at Cambridge and will relinquish his spying duties for William Wilberforce.”
Sebastian chuckled as he pulled me close. “If only we could arrive for the wedding.”
We would miss it, of course, but my heart sang now that my brother had finally made his peace—or so I hoped.
“No mention of anyone else tied to Lord Chudley other than his dreadful friend Sidmouth,” I said.
