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"Megh Sambara," Kartik explains. "The Hindus believe that he offers protection against enemies."
"I thought you had no loyalty to any customs other than the Rakshana's."
Embarrassed, Kartik sticks his hands in his pockets, rocks on the heels of his boots."It was Amar's."
"You shouldn't part with it, then," I say, trying to give it back.
Kartik jumps to avoid the blade. "Careful. It is small but sharp. And you may have need of it."
I hate to be reminded of my purpose here and now. "I shall keep it with me. Thank you."
I see there's another small bundle beside him. I would dearly love to ask if it is for Emily, but I can't bring myself to do it. "Tonight is Miss Worthington's Christmas ball, yes?" Kartik asks, running fingers through his thick tangle of curls.
"Yes," I say.
"What do you do at these balls?" Kartik asks shyly.
"Oh," I sigh. "There is a great deal of smiling and talking of the weather and how lovely everyone looks. There is a light supper and refreshments. And the dancing, of course."
"I've never been to a ball. I don't know how this sort of dancing is done."
"It isn't so difficult to master for a man. The woman has to learn to do it in reverse without stepping on his feet."
Kartik lifts his hands into position as if holding an imaginary partner."Like this?" He moves around and around.
"A bit slower. That's it," I say.
Kartik adopts a plummy tone."I say, Lady Whatsit, have you had many callers since arriving in London?"
"Oh, Lord Hoity-toity," I answer, matching his tone. "Why, I've so many cards from the very best people that I've had to put out two china bowls to display them all."
"Two bowls, you say?"
"Two bowls."
"What an inconvenience for you and your china collection," Kartik says, laughing. He is so very lovely when he laughs.
"I should like to see you in black jacket and white tie." Kartik stops."Do you think I would look the grand gentleman?"
"Yes."
He bows to me."May I have this dance, Miss Doyle?"
I curtsy."Oh, but of course, Lord Hoity-toity."
"No," he says softly."May I have this dance?" Kartik is asking me to dance. I look about. The house is still shuttered with sleep. Even the sun is hiding behind the gray clouds of its bedclothes. No one's about, but they will be at any moment. My head whispers frantic warnings: Mustn't, Improper. Wrong. What if someone should see us? What about Simon . . .
But my hand makes the decision for me, pushing against the Christmas morning chill till it is joined with his.
"Ah, your, um, your other hand would be at my waist," I say, looking down at our feet.
"Here?" he says, resting his palm against my hip.
;I can't cure him," Tom says so softly I have to strain to hear. "A medical student is a man of science. He is supposed to have the answers. I cannot even help my own father conquer his demons."
I lean my head against the wood of the doorframe, something solid to catch me should I slide right off this earth and keep falling. "You'll find a way, in time." I mean to be reassuring. I am not.
"No. Science is broken for me. It's broken." His head slumps forward into his hands. There's a strangled sound. He's trying not to cry, but he's helpless against it. I want to run across the rug and hold him tightly, risk his disdain to do it.
