Chapter 27 Kitty
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip—
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The hornèd Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
FEbrUARY 1816, CALCUTTA, INDIA
The moment my feet touched the dock, I breathed a sigh of relief to feel solid ground beneath me after months confined aboard ship.
Yet the voyage had not been without its sweetness. Once the sea no longer unsettled me, I discovered my husband’s ardor was deeper than I had ever dreamed. Far richer than stolen moments in front of a fireplace or after an opera.
In that crowded cabin, the world narrowed to only us.
Even now, a blush stole across my cheeks at the memory of his wooing, so searing he left me dizzy and breathless.
He read aloud from Pride and Prejudice, his voice rich with amusement, only to lay the book aside and prove himself far more persuasive than Mr. Darcy could ever hope to be.
The warm afternoon breeze was alive with scents so vivid I could almost taste them—spices sharp and fragrant, mingling with the sweetness of tropical fruit, the tang of the sea, and the acrid bite of smoke from distant fires.
My breath caught as memories I hadn’t dared to dwell on rushed back, unbidden.
I was six again, perched on my mother’s lap in the swaying palanquin, the silks of her sari brushing my face as we traveled through the city.
The faint jingling of golden anklets, the melody of women singing as they worked, and the way she had hummed softly in my ear .
. . It was as though the rhythm of the port was calling her back to me.
“Kitty?” Sebastian’s voice broke through the haze of memory. “I’ve made arrangements for our travel.”
I blinked, the present snapping into focus.
The dock teemed with life. Men strode past me in loose dhotis.
Several workers unloaded crates from the ships, their skin gleaming with sweat under the relentless sun.
Women passed by in saris of every imaginable color—deep emeralds, sunlit golds, and bright fuchsias—adorned with shimmering embroidery.
A group of them carried baskets balanced expertly on their heads, their bare feet moving deftly over the planks.
They had oiled and braided their hair and added small flowers that contrasted starkly against the dark strands.
“I remember,” I said.
Sebastian turned, his brow lifting. “Remember what?”
“The palanquin,” I said, gesturing toward one waiting nearby. “I haven’t ridden in one since . . . since my mother.”
His face softened. “Then it’s been far too long,” he said, a teasing lilt creeping into his tone. “I imagine it’ll be more comfortable than the ship.”
I couldn’t help but smile, though my heart ached at the thought. “If I recall, it sways almost as much.”
“Not if the bearers are good,” he said with mock seriousness, extending his arm. “Shall we test their skill?”
As we approached the palanquin, the surroundings grew louder—the cries of hawkers selling mangoes, bananas, and guavas; the chatter of merchants haggling over bolts of muslin and crates of tea; the calls of dockworkers coordinating the unloading of cargo.
The smell of ripe fruit mingled with the occasional sour waft of fish drying in the sun, and somewhere nearby, a faint trace of sandalwood lingered, likely from incense burning at a street shrine.
The sun blazed overhead—it was late February, in the middle of the dry season.
Sebastian handed me his hat. “Here,” he said, grinning. “For once, I’ll play the gentleman.”
I smirked, taking it. “Only because you’ve already removed your coat. How gallant of you to wilt in the heat first.”
He laughed. “Wilt? I’m adapting. There’s a difference.”
When I stepped into the palanquin, I took in the cushioned seat and faint smell of the wood—oiled and faintly smoky—while the curtains fluttered in the humid breeze. As the bearers lifted it, the swaying motion jolted more memories loose.
My mother had laughed, adjusting her veil as we moved through the court. “Look, Noor,” she’d whispered, pointing out the elephants as we passed through the city. I remembered the weight of her arm around me, the warmth of her voice. I had never felt so safe.
If only Edward were here with me. Instead, he’d remained in England.
I have work to do, Kit.
Now I understood the motivations for his strange behavior over the months leading up to my marriage.
His spying for Mr. Wilberforce brought an immense wave of pride—and a touch of fear for his safety.
But I had Freddy’s assurances that she would watch over him. Dearest Freddy. How I missed them both.
The palanquin lurched slightly, and I peeked through the curtains, watching the city pass by. Children darted between carts, their laughter ringing out above the din. An oxcart lumbered past, the driver shouting commands, and beyond it, I glimpsed the edge of a river glinting in the sunlight.
Sebastian’s palanquin pulled up alongside mine. “Don’t look so serious,” he teased, leaning slightly to catch my gaze through the curtain. “You’re supposed to be marveling at the grandeur. That is the Hooghly River.”
“I’ve seen grandeur before,” I replied, unable to keep the wistfulness from my voice.
He tilted his head, studying me. “And yet, you seem impressed.”
“Perhaps it’s not the grandeur that’s impressed me,” I said, lifting my chin. “Perhaps it’s the chaos.”
He laughed at that, shaking his head. “Chaos, indeed. Wait until we reach Lord Sinclair’s. You’ll find his estate is no less . . . bustling.”
We passed countless vendors lining the roads with carts piled high with fruits and carved ivory. Brightly colored fabrics hung from makeshift awnings, their patterns bold and intricate. Cows wandered freely, their presence unremarkable to the bustling crowd.
I saw women kneeling by shrines, placing garlands of marigolds over stone idols. A pang hit me then—and I missed the old country church covered with moss that Freddy and I had visited every Sunday.
Sebastian’s palanquin pulled up alongside mine again, his face alight with mischief. “I see you’ve survived the swaying so far. Shall I have them pick up the pace?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I replied, narrowing my eyes at him. Here was the man who had flirted with me at the Herschels’ and on the ship. Tension had seemed to peel away from him as soon as we stepped off the boat. Calcutta was home. India held his heart, not Britain.
He leaned closer, the curtain between us brushing his shoulder. “I might. It depends on how much entertainment I need for the ride.”
I laughed—the sound strange, for I had not laughed in a long while.
His cheeks dimpled as a look of wonder crossed his face. “You have a beautiful laugh.”
But my smile soon faded as I remembered his warning regarding his family.
My palms grew sweaty and anxiety churned deep within me at what I might soon discover.
When we arrived, the gates to the estate were swung open by servants, revealing a driveway lined with blossoming trees with clusters of yellow and white flowers, their sweet, heady scent filling the air.
The house loomed ahead, a sprawling white mansion with grand columns and wide verandas shaded by awnings.
The gardens overflowed with tropical blooms—hibiscus and jasmine—bursting with color against the backdrop of meticulously trimmed hedges.
More servants in crisp white uniforms bustled about the property. One came forward to help me from the palanquin, then bowed as he stepped back.
A deep, shuddering sigh left Sebastian before he turned to me and offered his arm.
“It’s imposing,” I admitted as I eyed the magnificent house.
“Yes, yes, it is. You’ll do well, Kitty.”
We stepped through the wide double doors, and I tried to match his confidence. I hesitated just past the threshold, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. As I took in the polished marble floors and the sweeping staircase, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching us.
A massive chandelier hung in the entryway, its crystal drops catching the sunlight streaming through tall windows. The staircase seemed to stretch forever, leading to a gallery lined with portraits in gilded frames.
As we walked farther inside, the strange sensation of being watched still prickled at the back of my neck. I glanced around the spacious entrance hall but saw no one.
Sebastian must have sensed my hesitation. His hand moved to rest lightly at my back, a gentle, grounding touch that sent warmth through me.
Heart pounding with the newness, I glanced around again, and I saw him. A tall man stood in the gallery above. I remembered him from that ill-fated dinner so many years ago. He had not changed much.
As he slowly descended the stairs, his footsteps echoed in the cavernous hall.
His dark hair, streaked with silver, was immaculately combed, and his superfine coat and breeches, though simple in design, were tailored to perfection.
When he reached the landing, his expression didn’t shift.
He studied me with a faint, almost courtly bow of his head.
“Lord Sinclair,” Sebastian said, his tone easy but respectful. “Grandfather, may I introduce my wife, Katherine Sinclair?”
Lord Sinclair’s gaze flicked back to me. “Katherine,” he echoed. “Welcome. I hope you will consider this your home.” He motioned for two servants to take our trunks. “I trust Sebastian has taken good care of you?”
“Very good care, my lord,” I replied quickly. The image of my husband holding me within the cramped quarters of the ship brought an odd hitch to my voice.
He turned to Sebastian. “That is as it should be with new husbands. We must mark this occasion properly. You’ve brought home a wife, just as you promised.”
Sebastian tensed beside me, though his hand remained firm at my back. “I thought we might keep things quiet for now, Grandfather. We’ve had a long journey and would like to rest.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Sinclair protested, his bland expression never wavering. “A celebration is in order. Nothing extravagant, of course. A modest dinner party among family members. Mrs. Sinclair belongs to us now. You would not deprive your sister-in-law of such companionship?”
My stomach twisted at the thought of navigating polite conversation in a world I was only beginning to remember—and one very different from both Seven Oakes and London. But Lord Sinclair’s tone left no room for argument, and I had no desire to appear weak.
“I shall be delighted to meet your family,” I said, earning an approving look from Lord Sinclair.
“Good, and while you settle in, I will speak with your husband. I should like to hear the result of your meetings, Sebastian.”
Again, a command, be it ever so politely stated. Lord Sinclair offered a small bow and left before I could protest.
Panic at being left alone bubbled up as I turned to my husband.
Sebastian’s hand pressed gently against my back, and his lips quirked as he spied my expression.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, low enough for only me to hear. “He lives for formality. I’ll be at the gathering tonight, and the servants will take excellent care of you.”
He instructed the servants to carry my trunks upstairs while I stood bemused in the grand hall.
Then he gave me a saucy wink and followed where his grandfather had gone.
As he walked away with his hands behind his back, I watched him suddenly halt beside a massive portrait of a brooding young man—one who resembled Sebastian closely with long black hair caught up in a queue.
One look at that painting and then he continued .
. . but I thought something deflated within his formerly confident stride.
Was the portrait of Hugh?
And would he tell Lord Sinclair about Edward’s discoveries at Limehouse?
I could not shake the sense that, despite Sebastian’s joviality, maybe he felt as anxious as I did. A shiver rippled through me as I studied my new home.
Lord Sinclair reminded me all too much of the Iron Colonel.