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ChapterEight
“Iam deeply uncertain about this holiday,” Jeetan told Priya with a frown as the two of them waited near the entrance to the platforms at Victoria Station Friday afternoon. “I have only met Mr. Sloane once, and that was just on Wednesday. I am not convinced I should be allowing you to travel all the way to Brighton with his family.”
“I will be well-chaperoned, Jeetan,” Priya argued, though she didn’t truly have the presence of mind for any sort of argument. “Mrs. Sloane has assured me that she will provide Charlotte and I with a maid, or she will come herself, along with Charlotte’s younger sisters, whenever we go out. It will be fine.”
Jeetan continued to frown, but it was more of an expression of uncertainty than disapproval. “Father could arrive any day now,” he said, as if weighing the argument for himself. “What will he say if his ship docks and you are not here to greet him?”
“You will tell him that I have been invited for a weekend holiday in Brighton with the wealthy and respectable family of my closest school friend,” Priya said. Part of her was pleased to be instructing her younger brother on how to handle an unusual situation maturely. The rest of her wondered if she was living up to her own example.
She was running away. There was no other way to view the situation. After her heartbreaking evening with Francis at the British Museum, she was running as far as she could with the options available to her. She’d managed to avoid encountering Francis all through the week, but she knew that could not last. Not when the man was so doggedly, beautifully determined to pursue her.
“Priya!”
Priya pulled herself out of her spiraling thoughts and turned to find Charlotte waving at her as she hurried into the station. The entire, massive contingent of the Sloane family walked in behind her. The noise they made could be heard from across the station. Charlotte was the eldest of eight children, and both Mr. and Mrs. Sloane, despite their newfound wealth and standing in society, had voices that carried like dock workers.
“Are you certain you wish to spend four whole days in Brighton with these people?” Jeetan asked through clenched teeth—which was likely supposed to be a smile for Mr. Sloane as the man approached.
Despite everything, Priya laughed. “Yes, Jeetan. In fact, I think a few days with this noisy rabble will settle my agitated spirits considerably.”
Jeetan pulled his gaze away from the Sloane family to stare at her carefully. “You still have not confided in me what has caused your melancholy for the past week,” he reminded her.
Priya’s nascent smile dropped. “It was nothing,” she lied. “Just the weather.”
Jeetan narrowed his eyes as though he didn’t believe her. It was rather astute of him, all things considered. But she could no more tell her brother about the things Francis had said, and most certainly not about the way he had kissed her, than she could tell the queen how she should manage her colonies.
“We must hurry,” Charlotte said as soon as she reached Priya. She grasped Priya’s hand, then tugged her toward the platform entrance. “We are terribly late as it is. See? Our train has already arrived.”
Indeed, Priya hadn’t noticed the arrival of the train that would take them all to Brighton as she’d spoken to Jeetan and been lost in her thoughts. She gave her brother a quick kiss, then allowed herself to be dragged off in the maelstrom that was the Sloane family. Fortunately, she’d already turned her traveling bag over to the porter, so she didn’t need to worry about that.
The porters and conductor had their hands full assisting them all into the series of first-class compartments Mr. Sloane had reserved for them on the train. Priya and Charlotte had offered to share a compartment with the youngest Sloane children, mostly so that they could enjoy their conversations during the trip in relative privacy, without any other adults to understand what they spoke of.
It was a solid plan in theory, but the reality proved to be much different.
“Have you spoken to Lord You-Know-Who at all since Monday night?” Charlotte asked once the train had pulled out of the station and was on its way.
Priya was too busy helping Charlotte’s seven-year-old sister, Anne, settle on her lap to answer at first. When she finally found places for all of Anne’s knees and elbows that did not involve gouging her stomach, she said, “You know I have not.”
Charlotte sighed and dodged her nine-year-old brother, Tommy, and ten-year-old brother, Alistair, as they tossed a cricket ball back and forth over and around her. “I was certain he would meet you out in the park or outside of the school after that evening,” she said over the boys’ laughter. “You seemed to have had quite an intense moment with him during the intermission of the lecture. I was only sorry—Tommy, stop that at once—that Lord Somebody did not come back to the lecture hall with you.”
“Who is Lord Somebody?” Anne asked, twisting on Priya’s lap in a way that dug her bony behind into Priya’s legs.
Priya cleared her throat and sent Charlotte a look. “He is no one of any significance to me, beti. Just a gentleman whom I cannot have any further association with.” She stared hard at Charlotte as she spoke.
Before Charlotte could answer, Anne asked, “Why?”
Priya dragged her stare away from Charlotte and blinked at Anne. “Because it would not be right.”
“But why?” Anne asked again.
“Because it is not appropriate for ladies from Koch Bihar, whose families have different sorts of expectations of them, to associate with English lords,” Priya answered.
“Why?” Anne asked with more emphasis.
“For a great many reasons.” It took everything Priya had not to huff.
“What reasons?” Anne asked.
