Epilogue
THE CICADAS SANG outside the screened windows as the evening breeze picked up, carrying away the heavy heat and inviting in the best time of day in Assam, India.
To avoid the heat, the household often stayed up late through the night and early morning hours, then slept past noon.
They then only had to endure a few hours of the extreme temperatures before evening set in.
It seemed as though the entire household sighed a breath of relief this time of day.
Mortimer bent his head with greater attention to the accounting for the plantation, recently expanded in an effort to support two households with two men working at the management.
The men had agreed that next year Mortimer’s partner would go to England—he had not been back since taking over the management—then return and for a year they would manage in tandem before Mortimer and his dear Lila—and whoever else might have joined their family by then—would take their turn in England.
Soft footfalls distracted him from his work yet again, and he looked up to see Lila enter the room.
They had arrived in Bombay in time for the monsoon season, which he felt sure would weaken her resolve, but she simply shed the unnecessary layers of undergarments—as many English women were loath to do—and updated her wardrobe with the lighter linens and silks of the native country.
Neither of them minded the missing layers, and the increased comfort on Lila’s part seemed to spare her the regret he so feared she would have one day.
Mortimer leaned back in his chair and reached out a hand to her. “Good evening, my dear.”
“Good evening,” she said, coming to him and sliding onto his lap. He put a hand around her waist and kissed her when she bent down to do so. “I’ve a letter from Eloise,” she said. “And I had to share it with you.”
“By all means.” He leaned back slightly as she read the letter from her friend word-for-word.
There were portions Eloise would certainly have left out if she thought Mortimer would be an audience—things only women would write to one another—but Lila had no compunction, and he liked that she wanted to share every detail with him.
When she finished, she let out a contented sigh and leaned back against his shoulder.
“I’m so glad she and Neville are happy together,” she said in romantic tones.
“You miss her a great deal,” Mortimer said, watching her face.
She smiled somewhat sadly and refolded the letter.
“Of course,” she said. “But I do feel it best that I am here and she is there. I had no idea the feelings she had for Neville all that time—feelings she kept locked up tight so as not to hurt me. I fear that had we stayed, she would have felt awkward being courted by him.” She shook her head, then brightened her smile.
She was never one to dwell on unhappiness.
“Besides, she has always been the more traditional one, and I think she is perfectly content with her situation.”
“As content as you are with yours?”
She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “Must you always require I stroke your ego by telling you how over-the-moon happy I am with the life I get to live?”
Mortimer smiled. “It was a fear nearly twenty years in the making, and I shall need your constant help in overcoming it.”
She leaned down so that their foreheads touched. “I am blissfully happy to be the wife of Nabob Luthford, living in a cement house in the wilds of India without corsets or neighbors but with more servants than anyone in England could imagine.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “I have no regrets.”
“I am glad,” he said. “But I may need you tell me again tomorrow.” He nodded toward the letter still in her hand.
“From the sound of her letter, they are very, very happy together,” Mortimer said, trailing his fingers down Lila’s back in a way he knew would make her shiver.
Which it did. “Do you share such intimate details of our life with her, as well?”
“Never you mind,” Lila said, straightening and making to stand. He pulled her back down and nuzzled her neck. She laughed but did not pull away again. “Though if you continue, I may have a very delicious story to tell; her cheeks will burn for days from it.”
He laughed and reluctantly released her as she stood again—it was too hot to explore the feeling she gave such easy rise to with more ardor. In a few more hours, however, when the early morning breezes picked up and the house was quiet—
“Cook is making that delightful curry for dinner,” Lila said, interrupting his growing expectations. “It really is a shame you can’t smell it.” She frowned, but then smiled again. “And then I should like to go for a ride since the moon is full tonight.”
“Gordon does love those midnight canters,” Mortimer said with a wink.
Lila made a pouting face. “Are you certain you don’t mind that I have deemed her my horse now?” She had given up sidesaddle as soon as they arrived and was perhaps the best horsewoman this side of Bombay.
“I am still working it through,” he said, pouting equally. “But the gelding from your uncle as a wedding gift has helped ease the sting.” He was the finest bit of horse flesh Mortimer had ever had, leaving few regrets over losing Gordon to Lila.
Lila smiled and stood. “Cook will ring the bell at nine,” she said as she moved out of the room. “I shall work on a response to Eloise’s letter until it is ready.”
Mortimer smiled and watched her go, then turned in his chair and looked over the lush forests of the surrounding country.
Out of his view were rows and rows of tea plants that had made him rich, but the scrappy girl who once insulted his horse and tried very hard not to love him was by far the greatest fortune he’d ever made.