Charlotte was clever in the ways of the world. She’d guessed what had happened, and when everyone had gone out to the beach and the piers to enjoy Brighton the next day, she’d demanded Priya confess everything. Not that whispering her secrets to her friend had helped at all. It had merely made Charlotte panic about the possibility Priya could be with child—she was not, as was confirmed on Monday, right before they left the hotel for the train station—and sigh over the bitterness of love that had been thwarted.
Priya was feeling deeply thwarted herself by the time she and Jogendra—along with her father, who refused to be left behind—walked through Hyde Park late in the morning.
“So this is it, then? The famous Rotten Row?” Jogendra asked, as enthusiastic as a child, as they strolled along the drive.
“It is,” Priya said, working hard not to seem distracted, but knowing she was failing.
“I have it on good authority that handsome young bucks would ride out in their carriages, intent on wooing fair maidens along this road,” Jogendra commented across Priya to her father, who had taken it upon himself to walk on her other side. “Can you imagine what women in Bengal would have said had we done that in our youth?”
“It would have been unheard of,” Priya’s father said, the touch of disapproval in his voice showing exactly what he really thought of it all.
“When I wooed Indrani, all I had to do was show up at her father’s estate with gifts and she adored me,” Jogendra said with a laugh.
Priya heated with embarrassment, wishing she could disappear into the grass. It was bad enough that she was married, but that she wasn’t even Jogendra’s first wife? Jogendra was a widower, which made it somewhat better, but by the laws of that part of Bengal, she could have been one wife of many.
“I am sorry to have upset you by speaking of Indrani,” Jogendra said, seeming genuinely apologetic. “It was very uncouth of me.”
“Did you love her very much?” Priya asked before she could stop herself.
“Priya,” her father scolded her, knowing it was an impertinent question.
Jogendra raised a hand as if to appease her father. “Now, now, Jitendra, it was only a question. You are far too demanding of your daughter. She has always been clever and headstrong. There is nothing wrong with that.”
Again, Priya felt the acute pain of liking Jogendra and being grateful for his intercession on her behalf while feeling as though he was standing in the way of her true happiness.
“Yes, beti,” Jogendra answered her. “I loved Indrani very much.”
He left it at that, and they continued on through the park.
Priya was just beginning to feel as though the stroll wouldn’t be entirely miserable when a call of, “Miss Narayan, is that you?” turned her head.
She glanced off to the side only to find Lady Vegas and Lady Dorrington approaching along one of the other paths that was about to join the one they walked on. Priya’s heart squeezed in her chest, and she quickly searched to see if Francis was with his mother and aunt.
“Who are these people?” Priya’s father asked quietly, just before the two older women met them.
“Lady Vegas, Lady Dorrington. What a pleasant surprise,” Priya greeted them with as much of a smile as she could manage.
Francis’s mother was an intelligent woman, and Priya could see at a glance that she was curious about who Priya’s companions were. It made Priya wonder how much of Francis’s feelings toward her and his intention to marry her the two women knew.
“Yes, this is a surprise,” Lady Vegas said, seeming to prove that she knew everything. “Who are these charming older gentlemen with you?”
There was no escaping yet another painful revelation, so Priya got right to it. “This is my father, Maharaja Jitendra Narayan of Koch Bihar,” she said. Then, to delay the blow, she went on with, “Father, this is the Marchioness of Vegas, and her sister, the Countess of Dorrington.”
“A marchioness?” Jogendra gasped, his eyes sparkling. “And a countess? My ladies, it is an honor indeed.” He stepped forward and held his hands out to Lady Dorrington, as if he would consider it a blessing, should she choose to offer her hands in return.
“Oh!” Lady Dorrington said, then broke into a girlish giggle as she let Jogendra take one of her hands. “How exciting!”
“Lady Vegas, Lady Dorrington.” Priya swallowed hard before finishing with, “May I present my husband, Raja Jogendra Dev Raikut of Jalpaiguri.”
“Oh!” Lady Dorrington repeated, but with an entirely different tone.
“I beg your pardon, my dear, did you say husband?” Lady Vegas asked, blinking rapidly.
Evidently, Francis had not revealed the truth to his mother whenever he returned home from Brighton.
“Yes,” Priya said. That was all she said. There wasn’t anything else to say.
Francis’s mother studied her with a pointed, perhaps even pitying look. She wasn’t given time to say anything before Jogendra let go of Lady Dorrington’s hand to take hers.
“My lady, you are quite lovely,” he said, bowing over her hand in a manner that was neither British nor Bengali. “I am more pleased to make your acquaintance than I could possibly say. Now, will you kindly inform me of who ranks higher, a marchioness or a countess?”
Lady Vegas’s eyes went wide with mirth. She glanced to her sister, then to Priya. Priya couldn’t tell whether the woman was angry with her, whether she pitied her, or whether she was simply astounded by Jogendra. She cleared her throat, smiled at Jogendra, and said, “A marchioness is higher than a countess, but not as high as a duchess.”
“Yes, yes, I see,” Jogendra said as though it were the most fascinating bit of information he’d received all day. “I am fascinated by ranks of precedent in England. Well,” he went on, standing straighter and laughing, “I am fascinated by everything about England. What do you find the most fascinating as someone who has lived here her entire life?”
“I find the sort of people that one meets while walking through the park to be fascinating.”
The answer came not from Lady Vegas or Lady Dorrington, but from Francis. Priya’s insides fluttered as he strode boldly up to their group, taking up a position between his mother and his aunt. He smiled at Priya, which surprised her, all things considered. It was almost as though he were excited to see her, when the cruel blow that fate had struck to divide the two of them should have had him in a much gloomier mood.
Priya’s father’s mood was certainly dampened by Francis’s arrival. He narrowed his eyes at Francis in a way that made Priya wonder what sort of tales Jeetan had told about Francis. Or perhaps he was simply clever enough to guess that Priya had feelings for him.
“Your highness, it is a pleasure to meet you again,” Francis said, bowing to Priya’s father with so much respect that it startled Priya.
“And you, Lord Cathraiche,” her father said.
“The two of you know each other?” Lady Vegas asked, arching an eyebrow at her son.
“We met in Brighton over the weekend,” Francis said.