‘One might have thought so—but I understand him to have told Dorothea Hoskins that he wanted considerable wealth for her.’
‘Aiming high, under the circumstances...’ Anusha’s fingers curled into claws. ‘She would not do for any of the titled bachelors, of course—they will be going back to England in the fullness of time and a half-Indian love-child is not going to be accepted at Court!’
‘But she is a handsome young woman and very well bred in her manner. And he will dower her royally, I have no doubt. Out here her husband will have all the benefits of Sir George’s influence. He will want to invest in his grandchildren.’
‘Ah well, that is that, then. What Sir George wants, he usually gets.’
Considerable wealth. The waking dream of that morning, that perhaps her father would allow her to marry Nick, died. Nick was a professional soldier, not a trader, not a wealthy Company official. And besides, whatever she might dream, Nick showed not the slightest desire to marry her. Bed her, certainly. But proximity, normal male desire and the fact that she had virtually hurled herself at him would account for that.
And I do not want to marry, she thought fiercely. If he loved me...but he does not. It is weak to love a man who does not love you—remember what happened to Mata. Remember the pain.
‘Anusha? Why so sad?’ The men had come into the room without her noticing and Nick was standing in front of her. ‘Is it about last night? Anusha, we still need to—’
‘No.’ She shook her head and got to her feet, her smile back in place. It was easy to smile at him, even with an aching heart, as he stood there, tall and so handsome in his uniform. ‘No, I was wrong. There is nothing to speak about—it was a mistake best forgotten.’ She stepped forwards bringing them toe to toe and for a moment she thought he would not give way. Then Nick bowed and stepped aside and she walked out into the room.
The whole atmosphere had changed. Anusha dragged her attention back from Nick’s silent presence just behind her and made herself pay attention. It was, observed as an outsider, fascinating. The married women’s eyes followed their daughters, but flickered back and forth to glance at the bachelors. She tried to work out who was an eligible suitor and who was not by the carefully schooled expressions of the mothers.
And then there were the unmarried girls, pretending indifference, clinging together in little groups, feigning not to notice the men and then blushing prettily when addressed.
The men, Anusha decided, were not serious in their attentions. They were enjoying the flirtation, but were they seeking wives in their turn? The rather older ones might be, she supposed—they would be thinking about families and inheritance and titles.
Her father seated himself next to their hostess and said something to her that made her nod. They glanced at Anusha and then away, as if they had been speaking about her.
I had best do some of this flirting, she thought. Lull Father into thinking I am being an obedient daughter. Doing my duty.
Several couples had gone out on to the terrace. It surprised her, but none of the older women seemed concerned, so it must be acceptable behaviour. How well the men must behave to be trusted so!
‘Miss Laurens?’ It was Sir Clive. She smiled, saw Nick watching them and added more warmth. He must not guess how she felt about him, she realised. ‘Would you care for a stroll around the room?’
Anusha took his arm as Nick had shown her and they walked up and down in front of the long, open windows.
‘And how do you like Calcutta, Miss Laurens?’
‘I cannot say, Sir Clive. I have only just arrived. I knew it as a child, of course.’
‘The riding is very good here. The maidan around the fort is excellent. I ride there every day. Do you ride, Miss Laurens?’
‘Certainly. I do not have my own horses here, of course.’
‘And how do ladies ride in Indian dress?’
‘Astride.’
‘My goodness! That would cause a stir here, I must say. Let us step outside—the room is growing intolerably stuffy,’ he suggested.
‘Very well.’ There were several couples on the torch-lit terrace and servants standing around and the air was, indeed, more pleasant out there.
A series of loud bangs and a rainbow flash of lights were greeted by cries of delight. ‘Fireworks near the fort,’ someone said and there was a general rush to the balustrade.
‘What a pity one cannot see better from here,’ Sir Clive said. ‘It seems a fine display—a wedding celebration, perhaps.’ There was another explosion of colour, greeted by clapping. ‘I know—let us go to the upper terrace.’