The Wild Child (34 page)

Heads turned to Meriel, and there was a murmur of agreement. They all thought she was incapable of surviving the rigors of the city.

Before Meriel could offer her own opinion, the general raised one hand. “No more discussion. You may borrow my carriage, but I don’t want to know which destination you choose. As a magistrate, I must tell the truth if Grahame comes and asks me if I know where the pair of you are. Better not to know.”

“It’s very good of you to help us, General Ames,” Renbourne said soberly.

“You saved Jena. I will not see another girl locked wrongly a madhouse.” The general’s eagle gaze went to Meriel.

“But my aid is conditional on further speech with Lady Meriel. When you’ve finished eating, my dear, walk with me in the den.”

It was an order, not a suggestion. Meriel’s muffin suddenly tasted like sawdust. Now that she had officially become a rational being, people wanted to talk to her. Mostly they wanted to tell her what to do. But there was no retreating now. Washing the last of her muffin down with tea, she said, “Very well.”

She gave Renbourne a darkling glance, intending to convey that she did not wish him to completely rearrange her life in her absence, then went outside with General Ames. She remembered him from her family’s visit to Cambay, and even then he’d made her nervous. Like her uncle Grahame, he had a steely energy that made her want to fade quietly into the shrubbery.

Perhaps sensing her nerves, at first he strolled in silence, a silver-headed cane in one hand. Though the garden was only a few acres, it was well laid out and carefully tended, with winding paths designed to make the area appear larger than it was. Even the kitchen garden pleased the eye, with neat beds and plump produce.

The path came to a stone wall espaliered with fruit trees. The general stopped and studied the ripening peaches on the first espalier. “When you came to Cambay with your parents, you were an intrepid child on a white pony. More than a year later, you returned looking like a waxen doll. Though I hoped you would recover in time, when I retired here to Holliwell the county was rife with stories of the mad Lady Meriel.” He looked at her askance. “Now you are a young lady on the verge of marriage. How do all those different Meriels go together?”

She frowned, unsure how to answer. “All are me.”

“Do you remember the attack at Alwari?” She gave him a narrow-eyed glance. “Why?” His jaw tightened. “I’ve never forgiven myself for the fact that your parents died so close to Cambay. Only a day’s travel away. They should have been safe so near a major British cantonment, but they weren’t. As commanding officer, I felt responsible.”

Did men always feel responsible for everything? Apparently. She thought, chilled, of gunshots and flames and screaming. “The raiders knew exactly what they did. They would not have been easily stopped.”

Ames ground his cane into the turf. “We investigated, of course. Apparently the attackers were bandits unofficially sanctioned by the princely state of Kanphar. The Maharajah of Kanphar allowed the bandits refuge in his hill country. In return, they didn’t attack his people, and he received part of their loot. Naturally the maharajah denied that—butter wouldn’t have melted in his mouth—but it’s devilish odd that you turned up in Kanphar’s palace. He claimed you were a gift from another ruler, and that he sent you to Cambay as soon as he realized you were English. Was that true?”

She shook her head. “I was taken directly to the Kanphar zenana.”

Ames scowled. “I wanted to march in and annex the blasted place, but we had no proof, and there were political reasons for accepting Kanphar’s explanations.” He stabbed the cane into the turf again. “A pack of damned lies. I had to order your uncle Grahame to stay away from Kanphar. He’d acted as liaison to the maharajah’s court, but after your parents died, he wanted to go in and torch the palace. A good thing he had to return to England to take up his duties, or he might have started a war.”

An elusive thought shimmered in Meriel’s mind like a silver fish, then disappeared. When she tried to recapture it, she came up with a faint memory of her two uncles taking custody of her at a London hotel. She’d barely been aware of them, preferring to play with the flowers Kamal had bought for her. After months on shipboard, she had yearned for the scent and feel of greenery. The general began to walk along the path that paralleled the stone wall. “You’re sure you want to marry young Renbourne?”

She had said so earlier, hadn’t she? Not only did people want to talk—they asked the same questions over and over. “You think him unworthy?”

“I’ve commanded a great many young men in my time, and I can tell when one is sound.” The general picked a daisy from a vibrant clump. “Renbourne has character and honor, and he obviously loves you. But while his birth is respectable, his fortune is vastly inferior to yours. Does that bother you?”

“Why can a rich man marry a poor woman with little comment, but not the reverse?” she asked dryly.

“Good point. Maybe because rich young orphan girls seem in need of protection.” With a hint of smile, he presented her with the daisy. “Or because a young girl’s sweet self is considered dowry enough.”

She sniffed, thinking it more likely that society considered it natural law for a man to support his wife, and was uncomfortable when that was reversed. Such nonsense. “Why do you question the match?”

“Renbourne will take care of you well.” Ames coughed uncomfortably. “But this is very sudden. You’ve had a sheltered life. In marriage… well, a wife has duties. You’re very young…”

She blinked, astonished. “You doubt I can perform my wifely duties?”

The general’s leathery face colored. “You don’t have a mother, after all. Perhaps Jena should talk to you.”

Meriel wanted to burst into laughter. So this fierce old general was concerned with her virgin innocence. She was tempted to say that she had already found “marital duties” much to her liking, and it was Renbourne who had needed protection from her, not the reverse. Though the previous night, after she had accepted his proposal, he had carried her back to his bed and demonstrated exactly how masterful he could be when his conscience was no longer chiding him…

Giving herself a mental shake, she said gravely, “I am not so young as I appear, General Ames, and have lived much with nature.”

Eager to relinquish the topic, he nodded brusquely. “As long as you understand what you are getting into.”

They reached a fork in the path. When the general turned left, on the branch that curved back to the house, Meriel said, “I wish to walk more.”

He hesitated. “Don’t go too far. I expect that Renbourne will want to be off very soon. I need to order the arrangements.”

Without even a semblance of goodbye, she headed down the right-hand path. Rather desperately, she needed to be alone.

Chapter 32

Meriel followed the flagstone path on a rambling route that led through lush banks of flowers. Just beyond a pleasantly shaded wooden bench, the path ended in a circular area defined by high box hedges. Inside were borders of roses, and a gently weathered stone fountain of a small boy holding a dolphin. With a sigh, she flopped onto the grass that surrounded the fountain. Less than an hour of being normal, and already she had tired of it. Defiantly she pulled off slippers and stockings so that she could feel the cool, living grass under her feet. Ahhh, heaven.

She lay back full length on the soft turf and idly watched a pair of small white butterflies dancing around each other in mad abandon, flying higher and higher until they soared far above the hedges. Nature was in a mating frame of mind.

The gentle plash of water from the dolphin’s mouth into the pool below eased the tension that had been building inside her. She must become stronger, or the demands of the world would overwhelm her. Was normality worth it?

Perhaps not… but Renbourne was. Memory of the tenderness and passion between them the night before made her shiver despite the warm sun. Being with him felt so right. Though she had lived with little or no human closeness for most of her life, now that she had experienced it, she didn’t want to let it go. A pity that he and she couldn’t be together without marriage, but from the way everyone acted, she was resigned to the fact that he must be right about that.

She was reluctantly thinking about returning to the house when she heard the sound of voices. A man and woman, coming toward her. As the voices became clearer, she recognized Jena and Kamal. She sat up on the grass and frowned at her footwear. No, she’d stay barefoot for a while. Jena’s voice said, “It’s a lovely morning. Let’s sit on the bench for a while.”

Meriel heard the creak of wood as two bodies settled on the bench just outside the fountain garden. She peered through a small gap in the hedge. The bench was less than ten feet away, so she could see Jena and Kamal clearly. Though the two were at opposite ends of the bench, she sensed an interesting awareness between them.

If she were a real lady, she would announce her presence. Not yet being a lady, she toyed with the daisy the general had given her, hoping they would go away.

Jena tilted her face up, absorbing the sun’s rays. “After being in the asylum, I take nothing for granted. Everything seems precious. Fresh air. Sunshine. The freedom to come and go as I please.”

“You would not have liked an Indian zenana,” Kamal said in his deep voice. “For women who lived in one, there was sunshine and comfort, but little freedom.”

“I have visited women in zenanas. I would go mad in such a place.” After a silence, Jena turned her head to Kamal. “From our discussions, it is clear that you are an educated man. Surely you could have achieved high rank in your own country. Why were you willing to leave your home for a distant land?”

Kamal hesitated, as if wondering how to answer. “I had achieved high rank, and it meant a life of war. Then I took Lady Meriel to Cambay, and was asked if I would escort her and her chaperon back to England. I realized fate was offering me a chance to live a life of peace.” So softly the words were almost inaudible, he added, “And penance.”

Meriel studied his calm profile, fascinated. How could she not have known this about him? But she had never thought to ask questions, for Kamal had been so much a part of her life. She would as soon have questioned the rain or the wind.

Jena asked, “Do you ever regret coming to England?”

He smiled. “There is nothing more peaceful than a garden. I chose the right path.”

“I’m glad.” Jena paused, then said, “Did you know my mother was Hindu? I am as much Indian as English.”

“I had wondered.” Kamal studied her face. “Jena is a Hindu name, and your heritage is suggested in your coloring and your features.”

“I think my mixed blood was part of the reason my husband treated me so badly,” she said brittlely.

“Morton didn’t know I was half-Indian when we married. Not that I lied—it just didn’t seem important. After he learned the truth, it was as if… as if he considered me no longer fully human. And not only was I a mongrel, but I defied him! Easy to condemn such a wife to a madhouse.”

“I’m sorry,” Kamal said quietly. “The world is too often a cruel place.”

Jena brushed back her dark hair with ringers that weren’t quite steady. “I’m not sorry now that I am free. I am rid of Morton, and will not make such a mistake again.”

“One is stronger for mistakes.”

She laughed. “Then I should be capable of lifting mountains!”

“I would think you capable of almost anything.”

Their gazes locked. A pulse visible in her throat, Jena asked haltingly, “Forgive me this impertinence, Kamal, but it has been said that you are a eunuch. Yet from what little I know, you do not… not have the appearance.”

No woman would ask such a question without a powerful reason. Meriel held her breath as she watched, feeling intense emotions swirling around the couple on the bench. Unexpectedly, Kamal grinned. “My little lady’s chaperon, a Mrs. Madison, took it into her head that I was a guard from the zenana. Thinking a eunuch would be considered a more fit guardian for a little girl, I never corrected her error.”

Jena gave a peal of laughter. “How wicked of you! Yet it worked, for I think you were Meriel’s salvation.”

“I hope so. She is as dear to me as a child of my body.”

The implications of getting and bearing a child stilled the air between them, and there was a taut silence as Jena and Kamal regarded each other. Then, with painful uncertainty, she touched his large brown hand where it lay on the bench between them. The gesture was light, and could easily be ignored if he chose. Instead, Kamal slowly turned his palm upward and clasped Jena’s hand. Nothing more. Yet there was unmistakable tenderness and promise in his response.

Light flared between them, joining their energies into one even though only their hands touched. Stunned, Meriel sat back on her heels and considered what she had witnessed. Jena and Kamal? To her, Kamal was a kind and infinitely patient friend, almost a father. But he was also a strong, attractive man, and not old. To Jena, half Indian herself, he was not even foreign.

Before Meriel had met Renbourne, she would have not have comprehended that unruly attraction between a man and woman. If she had witnessed the scene between Jena and Kamal, she would have been resentful and confused, for Kamal’s care and kindness had always been for her. But her life had changed, and she no longer needed so much from him. She had found a deeper intimacy with Renbourne. If Kamal wished for that kind of closeness with a woman, was he not entitled after all his selfless generosity?

She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked, wondering what kind of future the pair might have if they desired greater closeness. As long as Jena had a husband, there could be no formal relationship, but Renbourne had said that women of experience could have irregular connections as long as they were discreet

If Jena’s marriage was annulled—and from what Meriel had seen of General Ames, it was likely that he had the will and the connections to ensure that happened—Jena would be free to marry again if she wished. Though it would be unusual for an English gentlewoman to marry an Indian, her father could hardly object, since he’d done the same. How very exotic for staid Shropshire!