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Chapter 7
A wise man having a regard for his reputation should not think of seducing a woman who is apprehensive, timid, not to be trusted, well guarded, or possessed of a mother-in-law.
The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana
Of course Alice hadn’t expected showers of rose petals and a doting husband to carry her across the threshold.
This wasn’t a romance, after all. This was an adventure story. In one month’s time she’d be boarding a ship for the East.
But no bridegroom at all?
Hatherly had refused to attend the traditional wedding feast her mother had proposed. And directly after the ceremony he’d instructed her parents to deliver her to Sunderland House with no delay, prompting titters and scandalized gasps from the assembled guests.
Alice’s lady’s maid had gone back to their home to fetch Alice’s cat and a change of clothing.
Hatherly had given a commanding performance as a bridegroom so eager for his wedding night that he would suffer no delay, leaping astride his huge black stallion and setting off at a breakneck pace.
So where was he? Surely his mount had conveyed him to Sunderland more swiftly than her father’s carriage.
A frisson of anticipation swept her frame when she thought of his whispered promises in the church. She had to admit she was impatient for the sun to fade and the moon to rise.
Alice stared up at the massive mansion with its tortured gargoyles and spindly turrets, black against the gray sky, so unlike the usual blank stone faces of London town houses. She’d learned that the estate had been constructed by the eccentric first Duke of Barrington, and was quite unique among London’s grand houses for its size and its sprawling gardens and lawn.
“It’s very... fanciful,” Alice’s mother said doubtfully, in her high, tremulous voice.
“It’s a bloody lunatic’s nightmare,” her father replied. “Knock it all down, I say. Build something more modern. What a waste of a prime location. Right near Green Park. Perhaps I should have accepted the house after all.”
“Oh no,” Mama stated with conviction. “The marquess was a much better investment.”
The sun broke from behind the gray clouds and Alice shaded her face with one hand, raising her head to study her new home. “I think it’s a fascinating mélange of building styles,” she said brightly.
The sunshine illuminated every architectural vagary—here a narrow battlement; there a soaring turret aiming for the heavens.
The effect reminded her of a description she’d read of the ruined Sun Temple in Kashmir. How the Karkota Dynasty architect had used influences from China and Rome to create something new, and wholly unique, carved from stone and cleverly constructed to dance with the sun’s rays, using light as much as limestone to create a place of worship.
Fitting, as this house would be the place where she completed her translation of the Kama Sutra fragment she possessed, in precise and correct detail—once all the mysteries of carnal pleasure were revealed to her and she could find the right way of expressing the sensations the ancient sage had meant to evoke.
Most of her possessions had been sent ahead, but Alice hadn’t been willing to entrust the Kama Sutra to a footman. She carried it in a small valise.
Hodgins carried Kali in a wicker basket, and the maid stared at Sunderland House with a mistrustful expression. A yowl from Kali reminded Alice that her poor cat didn’t like being shut up in the darkness for too long.
“Hush,” Hodgins whispered sternly, addressing the basket.
Alice cracked the lid of the basket. “What have we agreed to, Kali?” she whispered. “I’m having some misgivings.”
Kali glanced up at her with wide, doleful yellow eyes, as if to say she had grave misgivings about baskets, and there had better be a bowl of milk in it for her.
Alice hadn’t had a chance to tell him she was bringing a cat with her. Not that she would have accepted any objections.
“There doesn’t appear to be anyone waiting to greet us.” Mama shook her head disapprovingly. “I must say I expected more from a duke.”
He is a mad duke, Alice wanted to remind her mother, but refrained.
“Well we can’t leave the girl here at the front door.” Sir Alfred marched to the door and pounded the heavy black iron knocker against the plate.
There was no response.
Her father pounded harder, going quite red in the face.
