Chapter Four
Max was close to strangling the lead Chinese official who had finally deigned to introduce himself.
He apparently wanted to be called Wong Mandarin which was not his name but some sort of title that meant big man or important man.
Most likely the latter because the mandarin certainly enjoyed his consequence.
Even Max’s father—the most pompous duke imaginable—rarely wanted such deference.
But until Max knew the exact lay of the land, it did little harm to play into the obnoxious man’s ego. No matter how much it irritated Max.
Once Chris had departed, Max focused on moving everyone to his home in Grosvenor Square.
For the mandarin and the captain who acted as translator, nothing but the plushest carriage would do.
The woman, however, had her litter awkwardly raised onto a donkey cart and unceremoniously left there.
She looked like an elaborately dressed monkey in a cage.
Or a prisoner on her way to the Tyburn gallows.
“I insist she sit inside the carriage with us,” he told the captain. “That cannot be comfortable for her.” She’d be breathing the London dust without even a cushion to ease the jolts.
“Aw milord, that’s kind of you to think that,” the captain said, “but Chinese women are kept separate, you see. It wouldn’t be right for her to sit with us in the carriage—”
“Her own carriage, then—”
The mandarin interrupted with a quick flurry of Chinese and some imperious pointing.
Apparently, the man wanted to get on their way.
Max guessed he was getting hot under his heavy robes and wished to sit in the dark carriage.
And no thought whatsoever to the girl already wilting up there as she slumped in her seat.
“She cannot stay up there—” he began, but the captain shook his head.
“Best not to argue, milord. They’re particular about their ways and easy to insult. She’s used to this, I’m sure. Don’t give it any more thought.”
Impossible. He quickly leaned into his carriage and grabbed two of the squabs. Let the mandarin sit on hard wood. The donkey cart was wide enough for Max to leap up into, and so he did. Then he pulled open the palanquin door and offered the woman a cushion.
Her eyes widened at his presence, and then she nodded as she understood his offer. But it took her forever to stand up, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the hard wood to push herself upright onto unsteady feet.
Good lord, how much opiate had she eaten? She could barely stand.
He quickly set a cushion, then helped her down.
He didn’t want to shut the door on the small palanquin but was afraid she’d tumble out if he didn’t.
Then once she was situated, he put the second cushion beside the palanquin.
It was uncomfortably hot with the sun beating down, but he wasn’t going to let everyone in London think she was a prisoner or a carnival show.
If he, as an earl and a future duke, sat beside her, then that would shield her from gossip. Perhaps.
Or he was a complete fool because no matter what he did, the tale would go through London like lightning, and then out to the rest of England.
Meanwhile, the captain watched with his jaw agape. “My lord!” he finally cried. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sitting up here with my guest.” He could not force himself to say “fiancée.”
“But you’ll be—”
“If you are about to suggest that I would see to my comfort over my guest’s, then you are grossly mistaken.” He pinned the mandarin with a heavy stare. “And anyone who does otherwise with the beautiful, honorable, and exalted daughter of the great Wong patriarch should be severely disciplined.”
Naturally the captain flushed a dark red. “Of course,” he said. “Most appropriate.”
“I suggest you translate that exactly to the mandarin,” he said.
He didn’t give the man a chance to respond but looked back to the row of hackneys brought in to carry the Chinese guardsmen.
They had all piled in as soon as possible, probably to avoid being ordered to carry the litter again.
Everything looked ready behind him, so he looked ahead to his coachman.
“As soon as you’re ready, Mr. Jenkins.”
He had the pleasure of seeing the mandarin, his face flushed with embarrassment, scramble into the carriage before it departed without him. The captain jumped in as well, and the ridiculous parade began.
And then, finally, he had the opportunity to speak privately with the woman. First things first.
“Hullo. My name is Max. Do you speak English?”
She nodded and pressed a hand to her chest. “Yihui.”
Excellent! “A pleasure to meet you, Yihui,” he said formally. And then his words failed him. How exactly was he to proceed? “Do you understand what has happened?”
She opened her mouth to answer, and then the cart lurched beneath their feet. They both braced themselves, and Max silently prayed they’d stay upright. “Damned streets are filled with ruts,” he muttered. Then he flashed her a rueful smile. “This is not the best way to see my country.”
It was hard to tell with the white rice paint on her face, but he thought she had gone pale. Her hands were still braced on the litter, her knuckles showing white as she breathed with steady control.
“Are you hurt?”
Her eyes opened slowly and she nodded. Good God, what he had originally thought was the dull affect of opium was actually pain.
“Where are you hurt? What did they do?”
“My feet,” she said. “Broken.”
“They broke your feet? Why?” He couldn’t see her feet now. He could only remember her high sandals, but he had no reason to doubt her.
“Last night. I tried to escape.”
“So you are a prisoner.”
“Lao Gu and the captain. Liars. They kept most of the bribe for themselves.”
He couldn’t care less about the silk or spices. “Are you the daughter of—”
“No. No.” She was speaking more clearly now, her voice strong and steady. “My father sold me to the Wong patriarch to pay his debts.” She leaned forward, gripping the edges of the palanquin window as she pleaded with him. “Do not let them near me. They will kill me—”
“You are safe with me.”
“You cannot trust what they say!”
Obviously, but there were still diplomatic issues to sort out. He couldn’t just throw them into the street on her word alone. He didn’t know how much official standing they had with the Chinese government.
“I will not trust them—”
“You cannot let them know what I told you. You cannot—”
Another rut had her gripping the litter again, and he dared cover her small hand with his own as the donkey cart steadied.
“You are safe with me,” he said. “I promise.”
She looked at him and he read a mix of hope and desperation in her eyes. What could she have endured during the six-month voyage to England? The possibilities were as varied as they were horrifying.
“How did you learn English?” he asked.
“I knew some before. Then I practiced on the boat.” She lifted her chin as if daring him to doubt it. “I am very smart.”
“I can see that.” So many questions he wanted to ask. Who was she really, what had her life been like? But they were nearing his home. Their opportunity for private conversation would soon end. He had to suppress his curiosity in favor of learning the most pressing matters. “What do they want?”
“Lao Gu convinced the Wong patriarch that this is the best way to win favor with the English king. He expects to live expensively as my protector.” The venom with which she said “protector” was obvious. “He will rob you in every way.”
“And the captain?”
“He has favored trade status with the Wongs. If the bribe works, he will have much of the silk trade from China.”
“But he’s English. He knows Prinny can’t take a wife.”
“He knows England wants to please China.”
It was true. The Chinese had no interest in English goods. The market for Chinoiserie, however, was as strong as ever. If it weren’t for the opium, the Chinese would shut their borders to the English completely. Indeed, they had tried to do it several times already.
Meanwhile Yihui pressed forward. “He will tell you to write a good letter to the Hoppo. Agree, then write one saying terrible things. Say they beat women and kill children for sport. Tell them—”
“Is any of that true?”
She looked away, but her chin didn’t lower. “They bought me. They broke my feet!” Her gaze went to his. “There was another girl, too. She died, and they threw her overboard!”
“Did they kill her?”
She shook her head. “Fever. It is how I was allowed out. I knew medicines to treat the sick.”
“You know medicines?”
Her head snapped up. “I know very many medicines. I was important back home! Many patients!”
He doubted that. Important people weren’t sold by their fathers to cover debts. But he didn’t argue with her. Now was not the time to discuss her skills. They were arriving at his home, and he would need to manage a diplomatic incident without giving his mother a heart attack.
Already people were lined up on the street, watching their very strange procession.
God, what a ridiculous spectacle. His father was going to be furious.
As a duke and the leader of the conservatives, his father despised anything that grabbed popular attention, especially if it ridiculed their family.
Max shuddered, imagining the cartoons already being drawn about this.
But that was a problem for later. Right now, Max had to focus on Yihui and how to help her.
He studied her, his thoughts spinning as he took in her face and form. She wore a great deal of make-up, all of it very dramatic. He couldn’t deny how very interesting that made her appear. White skin, red lips, dark eyelashes swept up into her black hair.
“I won’t anything happen to you,” he vowed.
“Shi shi,” she said. “Thank you.”