Chapter 20 Sebastian
Having heard all of this you may choose to look the other way, but you can never again say you did not know.
WILLIAM WILBERFORCE
I had kissed Kitty Grenville. And I wanted more.
Not with the easy appetite of a rake, but with the desperation of a man who had seen her pain—and longed to comfort.
And now I had to leave.
The carriage rocked across Westminster Bridge, its wheels clattering over the cobbles in a rhythm that echoed my unrest. Fog hung low over the Thames, cloaking the abbey’s towers in a gray shroud, as if all of London conspired to keep its secrets hidden.
I had gone to see her. I wanted to explain, to ask how she fared, to tell her that I had fallen in love with her.
But would she believe me? For once, I wished I had not been so blunt about my grandfather’s threats to secure my inheritance. Would she ever believe that I truly cared for her?
Earlier this morning, Fredericka had answered the door with a polite, unshakable firmness, saying Miss Grenville was resting and not receiving callers. I hadn’t pressed. I couldn’t.
Kitty had every right to retreat. I had offered her a moment of comfort—but I had also taken something, perhaps too soon.
I told myself I’d given her a choice. A way out of this marriage forced upon her. But perhaps I’d only made everything harder.
I smoothed down the cuffs of my coat and stepped from the carriage.
Inside the Parliament building, lords gathered in murmuring clusters, pretending they hadn’t already made up their minds. The matter at hand: the East India Company’s expanding influence—and whether reform might finally curb the growth of an enterprise.
Mr. Wilberforce had written to me again, requesting my presence. Charles Grant had seconded the idea. A Sinclair will lend weight, he’d said. You’ve been there. Seen the realities in India.
Rubbing my temples, I thought of Grandfather’s letter—written in haste shortly after I had left Calcutta.
Already Julien had complicated matters. Yet I could not reveal the potential crisis calling me home.
Julien was nothing more than an irresponsible youth—just as I had been.
With enough care, he might change. I had to believe he could change.
Mr. Wilberforce greeted me with warm eyes and a weary smile, a sheaf of parchment in hand. “You’ve come. Good. The members respect your family’s name—even if several do not trust the Company.”
I inclined my head. “I’ll speak honestly, sir.”
I rose when my name was called, palms lightly damp, though I hardly noticed. The words had already settled into me.
“My lords,” I began, voice echoing across the chamber. “I’ve returned from Calcutta where my family oversees trade. The Company’s presence there is undeniable, as is its prosperity. We employ thousands, provide infrastructure, and maintain a certain order in the regions under our stewardship.”
A few nods.
Mr. Wilberforce folded his arms with a frown.
“But,” I continued, “it is not without cost. Some of our methods may seem harsh to those who have not known the challenges of governing abroad. The British government has long depended on the East India Company to represent its interests. We clung to India to keep it safe from the French threat—from the Jacobin alliances and later from Napoleon Bonaparte. But what will history say now—that we defeated Bonaparte, only to replace his tyranny with our own?”
I let the silence stretch.
“You trusted us then. Will you not trust us now—to secure peace between Hindus and Muslims, and every warlord in between? Why not rely on the Company men who live in Calcutta? I was born and raised in India. I love that country. Not one of you can negotiate with a zamindar at harvest time or speak the languages of rival religious groups. One cannot import progress into a land and expect it to thrive overnight. The terrain resists. Certain people resist. It takes strength and unyielding patience to achieve results, but rest assured, the East India Company holds to British values and British rule. I would see both countries thrive.”
That did it.
Mild clapping broke out. Some approving. Others skeptical, with arms folded across chests.
Mr. Wilberforce’s knuckles whitened around the edge of his papers. Raw disappointment flashed across his face.
I swallowed past the dryness in my mouth. “The men in my family believe in enterprise. In civilization through commerce. We may not have perfected the model, but I believe the Company can be a force for good, or at least for order. We must guide India forward.”
I paused. I could have said more—addressed the accusations regarding opium shipments, the way the Company’s profit margins choked out native autonomy like weeds overrunning a garden.
But I hadn’t seen enough with my own eyes to refute or join with Mr. Wilberforce.
And I needed more than hearsay if I were to betray my family’s legacy.
“I support cautious reform,” I concluded. “But I cannot condemn the Company wholesale. To do so would be foolish, leaving territories vulnerable to the French and our enemies. You need us to keep the peace.”
When I sat, Mr. Wilberforce heaved a deep breath, his gaze no longer meeting mine. His disappointment sat heavy between us like a third man in the pew.
Other members of Parliament offered short nods of approval and one stout fellow clapped my shoulder.
“Well said, sir. Your grandfather would be proud.”
I wasn’t sure that mattered anymore, my thoughts roiling as I considered William Carey and William Wilberforce’s concerns. These thoughts plagued me as I strode out of Parliament and into the gray light of a gathering storm.
By the time I returned to the colonel’s townhouse, dusk had settled like soot over London’s rooftops.
Candles glowed from the parlor windows, but the place felt still—too still.
No faint notes of pianoforte drifted from the drawing room.
It was as though the house itself were holding its breath.
Any requests as to Kitty’s health were continually rebuffed by the butler.
I paced, wondering what to say to her. Edward entered, his cravat loosened, face haggard.
I didn’t wait for pleasantries. “Is she here?”
“She’s not receiving visitors, Sinclair.”
“I know. I heard yelling this morning and went to see her. I fear I was soundly rebuffed. What happened? I heard the servants muttering in the hall before I left for Parliament.”
Edward hesitated, then motioned me to come closer.
“The colonel . . . He lost his temper shortly after you left. That blasted opera event has been broadcast across London.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“She’s suffered a shock. A rather terrible one.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this.
It’s not only the gossip. It’s what the Iron Colonel said to her.
I believe she’s finally seen him clearly at long last—and it broke something in her. ”
Simmering rage bubbled up within me. The colonel was not a temperate man.
Edward’s jaw tightened. “Frankly, I’d like to break something.”
I glanced up the staircase, my heart thudding in quiet alarm. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
“She’s not. Fredericka hasn’t left her side.”
That comforted me slightly, even though Freddy had refused to let me have entrance. But not enough. “Let me see her.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed. “Sebastian—”
“I won’t disturb her if that’s what she wishes. I just want to know she’s all right.”
“She’s not all right.” His voice was flat.
“And I don’t think you realize how she came to complete ruin this week.
This is England, dear boy. The powers that be can destroy a reputation within an hour.
And you kissing her while planning to head back to India?
I promised you I would show no mercy. I cannot let another man break her heart. ”
“I would marry her—if she would allow it. But she refused to see me. I can only assume . . .”
My heart thudded, uneven and uncertain, as I turned over his words and all they implied. How vulnerable she was—her life governed down to its smallest detail.
Edward’s narrowed gaze warmed. “You love her.”
“Aye,” I admitted. “But I do not think she feels the same.”
In the short time I’d known her, I had glimpsed her yearning for freedom . . . the bright gowns, the bluestocking salon, the observatory. All quiet rebellions.
If I pressed my suit now, I would only become another chain.
A sense of hopelessness tightened within my chest.
London felt cold. Remote, compared to my home.
Unable to stand the townhome a moment longer, I exited and headed toward the lights of the distant docks, mulling my options. There was nothing left for me to do here.
No bride and no true success at Parliament.
Just the rising tide of hopelessness lapping at my heels. For I did not want to imagine a life without Kitty Grenville, and all the adventure she had brought with her.