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“Priya, what nonsense is this?” her father asked, glaring at her from the sofa where he sat, his cup of tea raised halfway to his mouth.
Priya took a deep breath, ready to throw herself into her plan. “Jeetan took exception to my steadfastly held belief that women are every bit as intelligent as men and just as capable of steering the course of their own lives.”
She peeked at Jogendra. The man sat forward in his chair, lowering his teacup so that he could listen to her.
“It is like the ladies of the Women’s Suffrage League say whenever we have our meetings,” she went on, hoping Jogendra would catch that she was a member of that organization. “A woman’s right to self-determination should be sacrosanct. But more than that, a woman should have a say in the governance of her own country. She should be able to vote and hold a position of employment outside of the home if she wishes to.”
“Beti, you are walking into a cobra’s nest here,” her father said with a frown.
“I do not think so,” she said, holding herself taller still. “I think I am merely telling you what awaits in the future, Father. I think—”
She was cut off as her father’s servant stepped into the room and bowed as a way to interrupt the conversation. It would have been merely irritating, but standing in the hall behind the man was Francis.
“Lord Cathraiche has come to call, sir,” the servant said in quiet Bengali.
Priya made a sound of excitement before she could stop herself. She was dizzy with emotion at Francis’s arrival, but part of that emotion was terror at what Francis might think if he overheard her bold declarations.
Her father seemed to sense her anxiety. A slow smile spread across his face as he stood and beckoned Francis into the room.
“Did you hear what my daughter said just now?” her father asked, seemingly certain he knew what Francis would think of it.
Francis looked very much as though he were stepping into the cobra’s nest her father just mentioned. “I heard a bit of it, sir,” he said with a respectful nod.
“You should hear it all,” he said, then nodded to Priya. “Go on. Tell your friend, Lord Cathraiche, what you were just telling us.”
Priya swallowed and pressed a hand to her stomach. It had seemed like such a good idea to express her boldest opinions aloud. Now, she wasn’t half as certain. Francis had agreed with her in the past, but had that all been a part of his earlier attempt to woo her? What if he didn’t actually believe those things?
In the end, ironically, it was the way Jogendra studied her, his eyes wide with alarm, that pushed her to go on. She might not win Francis over immediately, but she might just be able to put Jogendra off enough to end the marriage.
“I was saying that I believe a woman has a right to self-determination,” she said, though her voice didn’t have quite as much vigor as it had earlier. “I said that a woman should have a right to vote and to work outside the home if she needs to.”
“Do you see?” Her father gestured to her, as if Francis would agree she was mad.
Priya couldn’t let the sting of his condescension continue. It was probably horribly unwise of her, but she said, “I believe that a woman should have a right to her own body as well, and that it is not simply a plaything of her husband, there to satisfy his whims. If she wishes to say no, she should have that right.”
“Priya!” her father gasped, obviously offended. “I am sorry, Lord Cathraiche,” he rushed on taking a step toward Francis. “I did not intend for my daughter to insult you with such salacious and inappropriate talk. Priya, you will go to your room at once.”
“I agree with her,” Francis said. He spoke in a quiet voice, which had the paradoxical effect of giving his words more power.
Priya’s father gaped at him as if he’d grown six more arms. “That is it,” he said. “You will be withdrawn from this vile school of yours immediately. I cannot have my daughter—”
“I agree as well,” Jogendra said, leaping up from his chair with a broad smile.
The room seemed to vibrate with electricity. Priya’s father and Jeetan looked as though all the armies of Ravana had streamed into the room to attack at once. Francis and Jogendra, on the other hand, looked as though they would take up the roles of Rama and Lakshmana and fight against them. It was alarmingly incongruous to see the two men standing as allies.
“You have my respect, Jogendra,” her father said in a tight voice, “but indulging my daughter’s silliness is a test of my patience.”
Priya blinked, then held her breath. Her intention in expressing radical opinions was to convince Jogendra that he no longer wanted to be married to her, but if her father ended up so offended by Jogendra’s support that he withdrew his permission for the marriage to continue, that might serve her purposes as well.
Her hopes were dashed before they could be lifted up more than a little, though, when Jogendra laughed and said, “Jitendra, my friend. This is why I wanted little Priya to be educated in the first place. Every man in Bengal has a meek, submissive wife who does everything she is told. How many have bright, vibrant women sitting beside them who can both shock and entertain anyone who comes to see her? Why, Priya’s parlor will be a shrine unto itself that devotees come from miles to worship in.”
Priya could have burst into tears on the spot. She had been certain her efforts to put Jogendra off would work. But if he wanted an unconventional bride, how could she possibly escape from marriage to him now?
No one answered Jogendra’s question outright, but Priya felt Francis shift closer to her. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, though. It would only break her heart.
“Why are you here?” her father snapped, narrowing his eyes at Francis.
Francis cleared his throat and stood a bit taller. “I have been sent by my mother, the Marchioness of Vegas, to invite all of you to a musical evening at her house this Friday,” he said.
Priya was halfway through drawing in a breath and scrambling for something to say that would make her father accept the invitation when her father slashed his hand through the air and said, “No. It is out of the question. I will not have my daughter, a married woman, associating with an unattached Englishman anymore.”
“You would turn down the invitation of a marchioness?” Jogendra asked, apparently scandalized.
Priya’s father sent him an irritated look and let out a half sigh. “This obsession with the British aristocracy that you have will lead to no good, my friend,” he said as though Jogendra were a child he needed to lead. “Clearly, you can see what is happening here.” He gestured toward Priya and Francis, scowling.
Jogendra shrugged. “I see two young people with a fondness for each other. And I see an invitation for a night of music that is most appealing to me. At the home of a marchioness, no less. And after all the wicked and humorous things Lord Vegas said about his wife and sons the other day, I am more eager than ever to take a peek inside their humble home.”
Priya had absolutely no idea what to think of Jogendra’s words. The man was not a fool, but he seemed to be playing the role. He absolutely was not enough of an imbecile to miss the affection and intention that existed between her and Francis. He was either being deliberately blind or—
“You cannot think that I see this young man as a threat, can you?” he asked her father, laughing. Again, her hopes were dashed to pieces. “Priya is my wife. There’s nothing to be done about that now. Why should I feel threatened by this earl’s attentions to her?”
All was lost. Jogendra would hold onto her regardless of her feelings on the matter. It was worse that he was so cavalier and jolly about the whole thing than it would have been if he had attempted to hold her with an iron grip. At least if he had been cruel, she could have justified running away from him and working with Francis to have the marriage nullified on the grounds that she was against it.
Her father sighed, as if his own internal machinations had brought him to a different point of hopelessness. “If it is what you wish,” he said, closing his eyes and pressing his fingertips to his temples, as though the whole thing were simply too much for him, “then we will accept the invitation.”
“Excellent,” Jogendra said, clapping his hands together and turning to Francis. “Now, Lord Cathraiche, what will your outstanding mother require me to wear to an evening of music? Is there a standard musical costume in London?”
“Er, no, sir,” Francis said, looking as perplexed by the outcome of the situation as Priya felt. He glanced to Priya as if attempting to assess her state of mind. “My mother will be pleased with whatever you choose to wear.” He kept his eyes on Priya.
Priya could practically feel his heart reaching out to her. She dared to glance back at him, trying to tell him with her eyes that she loved him, she wanted him, and she had done her best to escape the cage her father had her in, but she had failed.
“Good,” Jogendra said. “I trust the marchioness will be amused by the traditional garb of Bengal, then? I brought very little western clothing with me. I have been looking forward to a visit to the legendary and amazing Oxford Street to fill out my wardrobe.” He spoke as though visiting London’s shopping district would be like visiting a shrine.
“I will let her know, sir,” Francis said with an uneasy smile.
His gaze drifted back to Priya. It was as though they stood on either side of a great ravine, even though they were within arm’s reach of each other. If Priya could have thrown herself at him and begged him to carry her away, she would have. She couldn’t lose her father and Jeetan, though. She couldn’t lose the connection she still felt to her homeland. But the more she was pushed, the thinner the tie that held her to her old life felt.
“I must lie down before supper,” she said vaguely, starting toward the doorway.
“Yes, I believe that is wise,” her father said in a tense voice. “Just as I believe it would be wise for you to leave this house, Lord Cathraiche,” he went on. “And if your mother has any further invitations for us, it would be best to send a servant to deliver them or have them sent through the post.”
