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“If the requirement for casting a vote is intelligence and an understanding of the issues of the day, then educated married women are just as capable of making a decision as their male counterparts,” Priya went on. “By setting this example in England, the example is set for the world. I do not know if the average British citizen understands the importance of advancing the cause of women throughout the colonies. Why, it was my father, only a few years ago, who outlawed the practice of sati in our kingdom. Prior to that, the wives of a deceased man would be required to immolate herself on his funeral pyre.”
Most of the women in the audience gasped in horror, and several of the men did as well. Lord Cathraiche also seemed affected by her words and stopped searching the crowd to focus on her for a moment.
“The influence of progressive thought and modern ways has already saved the lives of countless women in my home kingdom,” Priya went on, grateful to have reached the end of her speech. She was also grateful that Jeetan had stopped by the edge of the seats and that he only stared at her, his arms crossed, instead of pursuing her onto the dais and potentially dragging her away in disgrace. “How many more lives will the Empire save, or sacrifice, both here and in lands far away, by moving the banner of progress for women forward?” She let the question hang in the air for a moment before nodding and saying, “Thank you.”
The audience burst into applause—the women especially—but Priya didn’t stay where she was to appreciate it. She stepped down, heading straight to Charlotte when her friend stood and held out her hands. Priya needed the support that her friend offered her and grasped Charlotte’s hands as though they were the only thing keeping her from sinking under the tide.
Mrs. Pankhurst got up to say a few final words, but Priya barely heard them.
“We need to leave as quickly as possible,” she whispered to Charlotte. She switched the way she held her friend’s hands so that she could tug Charlotte to the side in a bid to escape.
“But Mrs. Pankhurst wants you to speak to a few people,” Charlotte said, glancing over her shoulder as the audience rose from their seats and began to go their separate ways.
“I cannot,” Priya said, no idea how to explain further. “My brother is—”
She only managed to drag Charlotte a few yards to the side before Jeetan stepped around some of the departing spectators to stand in her way.
“Your brother is very upset with you,” Jeetan finished her sentence.
Priya’s whole body tensed at her brother’s censure. She clasped Charlotte’s hand tighter and tried her best to stand proud and tall before him. He was a year younger than her, and even though his sex meant he held much more authority, she was never one to let him get away with lording it over her. “I do not see why you have a right to be upset,” she said. “I spoke the truth. You should be proud of me.”
They were extraordinarily brave words, all things considered. Priya believed them with her whole heart, but she knew that doing so set her at odds with the men in her world in a way that could come back and crush her if she wasn’t careful. If outspoken women were frowned upon in England, they were flat-out hated in her homeland. Speaking her mind was a genuinely hazardous endeavor.
“You bring shame on our family by speaking such vulgarities,” Jeetan hissed, stepping closer, as if someone might over hear them and blame him for her radical views. “What would Father think if he saw you making a spectacle of yourself this way?”
“He would—” Priya couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. It would have been a lie to say he would have been proud of her. Her father was a man of his upbringing. He would have been even more furious with her than Jeetan was.
She drew in a breath, squeezed Charlotte’s hand tighter for support, and tried a different tack. “Jeetan, you know as well as I do that women deserve to have a voice. I know you are not opposed to my education, therefore, you should not be opposed to the things that it could allow me to do and be.”
Jeetan made a sound of irritation and pushed a hand through his hair. He wore it in a western style—just as he wore western-style clothes now as though they were a second skin—and shook his head. “It isn’t seemly,” he said, meeting Priya’s eyes with a look of guilt. “These aren’t our people and this isn’t our world. You know full well that things will be different when Father takes you home.”
Priya’s legs nearly gave out at that statement. Did Jeetan know something she didn’t know? Was he the one who had called their father to England after all?
She wasn’t certain what to say to defend herself, but strangely, she didn’t have to say anything.
“I found Miss Narayan’s words to be insightful and accurate,” Lord Cathraiche said as he walked right up to their group.
Charlotte drew in a surprised breath at Priya’s side. She knew precisely who the man was. Everyone who kept track of London high society knew who the Earl of Cathraiche was.
Jeetan was not a man who kept track of high society.
“Who, sir, are you?” he snapped, frowning at Lord Cathraiche in offense.
“Jeetan, no,” Priya whispered in warning.
A playful smile pulled at Lord Cathraiche’s lips. “I am an admirer of Miss Narayan’s,” he said, standing imperiously and exuding an air of aristocracy that only British noblemen could pull off. “And who are you?”
Jeetan wasn’t about to back down. “I am her brother,” he said. “Maharajakumar Jeetan Narayan.”
Lord Cathraiche’s brow rose in surprise. “I see,” he said, then extended his hand. “I am Lord Francis Rathborne-Paxton, Earl of Cathraiche.”
Priya sent a sideways glance to Charlotte. The exchange of titles was as good as a show of saber-rattling as both men tried to outrank each other.
What surprised Priya was the way her brother actually seemed to be impressed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Jeetan said.
“And mine as well, sir,” Lord Cathraiche said, nodding graciously at Jeetan.
Priya wanted to huff in frustration, but managed to keep her expression neutral. She could practically feel the way that the two men were about to join forces to vanquish her, a humble woman. She’d seen the same drama play out over and over again in her life, particularly when she wished to excel at something that women were not permitted to do. She’d spent her whole life being told what her place was, and she was damned tired of it.
“I was impressed with your sister’s eloquence and intelligence,” Lord Cathraiche told Jeetan, shocking Priya in the process. He glanced to her, the warmth in his eyes making her shiver. “I find Miss Narayan to be a fresh and persuasive voice in the advancement of the rights of women. You must be so proud of the initiative she shows and the wisdom that she possesses.”
Jeetan stared at Lord Cathraiche, stunned. That was nothing to the astonishment Priya felt, though. Could the irritating lord actually find her views appealing? Noblemen didn’t support women like her. But…but what if he did agree with her?
“These sorts of views might be tolerated, or even encouraged, here in England,” Jeetan told Lord Cathraiche with far more respect than he’d used toward her, “but they are harmful in our own country and could lead my sister into a great deal of trouble. I have my hands full keeping her safe as it is.”
