Chapter 4 Kitty
The phenomena of nature, especially those that fall under the inspection of the astronomer, are to be viewed, not only with the usual attention to facts as they occur, but with the eye of reason and experience.
WILLIAM HERSCHEL
The morning bustle of London wrapped around me as I stepped carefully onto the busy pavement, glancing both ways before joining Edward at the corner.
He had begged a day away from Cambridge, and I was grateful for the rare chance to walk beside him.
Carriages rattled past and vendors called out their wares.
Nearly six months had passed since Grandfather moved us to the city.
At Aunt Clarice’s insistence, he declared it necessary to arrange my wardrobe and prepare me for a wedding, but more urgently, to keep Edward under his watchful eye.
The days since had been filled with endless fittings, stifling drawing-room calls, and Grandfather’s sharp commands.
He permitted me only the rarest social events, and I had not grown used to the scrutiny, nor to the pretense of being content.
Nor had I warmed to the idea of an impending marriage to a stranger.
I clutched my reticule tightly, aware of the two letters tucked inside—one addressed to Miss Tippens and her schoolgirls, the other to the palace in Hyderabad.
Perhaps it was foolish, but I dared to hope the latter might reach my mother.
Today’s errand felt like a small act of defiance.
This evening, I would be forced to dine with the formidable Mr. Sinclair, newly arrived from India and soon to become my fiancé.
After tonight, I could not be certain when I might have the freedom to continue searching for her.
Edward had nothing to offer regarding the Hyderabad letter I discovered in Grandfather’s study at Seven Oakes, but he was furious to learn Grandfather had hidden such communication.
To my disappointment, he refused to act as a carrier for my correspondence, insisting I stay out of such subterfuge.
Regardless of Grandfather’s decrees, I could not rest until I sent a missive inquiring about my maternal family.
The more I pressed Aunt Clarice for information about my mother, the more her nostrils flared with discomfort.
She was far too obedient to Grandfather to answer me.
I longed for someone to guide me, and yet that desire seemed impossible to fulfill.
Weeks ago, I had stumbled upon Hatterly’s Bookstore and made a secret arrangement with the pimple-faced clerk to post my letters discreetly for a mere two pence.
It had been a small miracle to find such a solution, especially compared to Seven Oakes, where no post could be sent without scrutiny.
Today, I returned with the two letters hidden in my reticule and hope burning faintly in my chest.
Frustratingly, the same clerk also reminded me that mail to India, especially to Calcutta and from there to Hyderabad, would take a full six months to arrive.
The East India Company’s packet ships made the journey only twice a year, fighting monsoons, pirates, and endless bureaucratic delays at ports like Madras and Bombay.
From Calcutta, even with Company couriers, it could take another month or more to reach Hyderabad across the Deccan Plateau—if it arrived at all.
Patience proved a necessity—a virtue I had not mastered.
I pressed my fingers against the worn leather of my reticule. Somewhere beyond the horizon, across oceans and mountains, my words would sail into the heart of India. Would anyone there remember my name?
I had reason to believe so.
My father had overseen the erection of the grand Palladian-style residency in Hyderabad—a gleaming monument to British influence, with its white columns and marble halls intended to impress the nizam’s court.
As a senior translator and later an ambassador, he had been instrumental in forging the Company’s treaties with the princely state.
According to Aunt, his name had been known in the corridors of power then.
But the world had shifted since my childhood, and political favor could vanish as swiftly as the monsoon winds. And Aunt, true to Grandfather’s demands, would dry up whenever I pressed her for more information. Only in her rare sentimental moods could I pick out such gems about my past.
Questions cluttered my mind, leaving me restless.
Was my mother dead as my grandfather suggested?
What if she didn’t want to correspond? What if she had remarried and had no use for her former children?
These and another horrible thought gnawed at my peace—What if someone had forbidden her from writing to me?
As soon as the questions took form, I remembered her weeping when we were taken. I could not give up so easily.
“How long shall we be at the bookstore, Kit? I have an engagement I simply cannot miss.” My brother’s question cut into my thoughts. He flicked away an invisible piece of lint from his superfine coat, more stylish than ever, in line with his fastidious tastes.
But wearing the most current fashions could not make either of us feel better about ourselves.
“You promised me a reprieve from ball gown fittings,” I reminded Edward, once again delighted to have his full attention considering the distance we had endured during his studies.
“I have but an hour to myself before I must return, and the clerk here was kind enough to order a special copy of Herschel’s Catalogue of 500 New Nebulae and Clusters of Stars. It finally arrived.”
I dared not make Aunt Clarice wait any longer than necessary. She had taken full command of my affairs, insisting on control over the smallest details.
Edward snorted as we continued down the street, avoiding puddles. “Only you would protest the prospect of new gowns and fripperies. Very well, half an hour, not a minute more.”
“An hour,” I replied firmly as I matched his long-legged pace.
Edward smiled at me. I could not help but note that his frame was even thinner beneath his impeccable suit. His face had also sharpened during our separation.
I often teased him that he resembled a pirate more than the colonel’s grandson, and surely the ladies loved him for it, to which he would merely smirk, but there was no humor in his smile today.
They don’t really want me, Kit. They want the pile of banknotes that comes with the Grenville name.
According to Edward, a number of giggling, exasperating, fortune-hunting females had tried to make his cheeks dimple with charm and wit. After all, he was the sole heir to an immense fortune. He resisted their efforts with remarkable aplomb.
There was a quiet, dangerous quality about him now.
He often disappeared for days, presumably studying and making up for ruined grades.
But I had also overheard Grandfather’s grumblings regarding Edward’s acquaintances—fast men who pranced about gentlemen’s clubs, horse races, and gambling dens frequented by even the Prince Regent.
We slowed near Hatterly’s Bookstore, its familiar front window streaked from the recent rain. I paused at the door, ignoring Edward’s sigh. He would never understand my fondness for the place—let alone the reason I carried a sealed letter meant for Hyderabad.
The only correspondence I received with any frequency was from Fredericka, who faithfully wrote twice a month. She no longer asked about Edward. Nor did I hear anything further about her impending marriage to Mr. Merriweather.
A burst of laughter rang from a nearby alley. Footsteps scuffed the cobbles behind us, and a man cleared his throat just as we were about to enter the bookstore.
Edward tensed, and when he glanced over his shoulder, a mask settled over his features.
I looked too, only to find two dandies and their female companion staring boldly at me.
One man had the audacity to touch the brim of his top hat, his gaze wandering over my face.
Golden curls peeked from beneath his hat.
Both men appeared to be my brother’s age and sported toothy grins, while the woman batted at the blond man’s arm.
“Oh, do behave, Brother. Stop staring.”
“Is that you, Mr. Grenville?” the tallest man with the golden curls called out, ignoring his female companion while waving a gloved hand for Edward to stop.
My brother cursed under his breath. I paused mid-step, confused by the array of contradictory expressions playing across his face and the bright smiles of the men behind me.
“Who are they?” I asked.
Edward muttered something unintelligible as he opened the door for me.
I slipped into the shadowed interior of the bookstore, followed by Edward.
Finding solace in the stacks of crisp new books, I tried not to look over my shoulder a second time, but I could sense those strangers still staring at me through the glass.
After years spent secluded in the country, any male attention felt strange.
Subconsciously, I touched the tendril dangling next to my cheek.
There was nothing to fix, yet my chest fluttered all the same.
“I’d like to check the astronomy section first.” My voice cracked.
“Of course you would.” Edward smiled as if to offer reassurance. He gestured for me to go ahead, which I did.
“Are they friends of yours? From Cambridge?”
My brother, uncharacteristically taciturn these days, had the audacity to grunt his answer.
I traced the spines of the books with my fingers, searching for the volume I wanted while willing my pulse to slow.
The tall, dark-stained shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling.
A rolling ladder stood at the far end, where a fringed red curtain divided the front of the store from the storage room.
“I don’t see the Catalogue of 500 New Nebulae and Clusters of Stars. Perhaps it’s on one of the higher shelves, but I’m not inclined to risk the climb and face Aunt Clarice’s wrath.”