ChapterFourteen
“And he actually told your father that if you married him, your son, his grandson, would sit in the House of Lords?” Charlotte asked Priya with an incredulous squeak in her voice as the two of them headed out of the main building of Bedford College and into the park of Bedford Square.
“He actually did,” Priya said, her eyes wide.
Charlotte made a sound of amazement, then exclaimed, “But this is fabulous!” She grabbed Priya’s arm with her free hand as they crossed the street, clutching their books to their chests. “How romantic for him to make a declaration like that,” Charlotte went on once they were walking across the grass to one of the park’s many benches. “And what did your father have to say about that?” Before Priya could answer, she charged on with, “He must have been mightily impressed. I’d wager that he will break off this engagement to Joggy-man immediately.”
Priya didn’t want to laugh. It wasn’t a laughing matter. But hearing Jogendra referred to as “Joggy-man” set her over the edge.
“It’s not an engagement,” she said, her laughter turning into a groan. “It’s a marriage. I was married to the Joggy-man in May.”
“You were not,” Charlotte insisted with a frown. They sat on one of the benches, but Charlotte remained perched on the edge, her back straight, looking like one of the professors who had just lectured them for hours. “It cannot be a marriage unless both parties agree to it, are in love, and, most importantly of all, are actually present for the wedding ceremony.”
Priya let out a heavy breath and rubbed her fingertips over her forehead. “I did agree to it, in a manner of speaking, it is perfectly common for people who are not in love to marry, and a proxy marriage, you will find, is, in fact, legal.”
“But you don’t love this man,” Charlotte said on a more serious note. “You love Lord Cathraiche.”
That was the sticking point in the whole thing. Priya grimaced, staring down at a few newly fallen leaves in the grass. Did she love Francis? She certainly admired him. He was handsome and well-spoken. He had supported her, even when it was no longer a game for him. He had followed her to Brighton—which was also problematic—to prove his devotion to her. And he had taken her to bed and given her the most beautiful memory. But was that love?
“Priya,” Charlotte said, dipping her head a bit to push Priya to meet her eyes. “You love him. I can tell. I can see it in the way you look at him. I could hear it in the way you spoke to him. Even my little sister could feel it when the two of you sat beside each other at supper in Brighton. But I also know you well enough to know you’re frightened of everything it means to love a man when your father has shackled you to another.”
Priya’s throat closed suddenly at the well of emotion that bubbled up due to her friend’s words. Charlotte was right. She knew it, and yet the truth was painful.
“What would I do if I let myself be completely in love with Francis, only to lose him when my father refuses to relent?” she asked, her voice hoarse with tears that desperately wanted to be shed. “How could I bear it if I surrendered my heart, only to lose it?”
“Well, the answer to that is simple,” Charlotte said, tilting her chin up with a confident look. “You must win him. That is all. You must convince your father that Lord Cathraiche is the man for you and not the Joggy-man.”
Priya smiled weakly, touched by her friend’s affection and confidence. She only wished that she shared some of that confidence.
“What do I do?” she asked desperately, hoping that Charlotte had an answer. “I want to be with Francis, now and always, but what argument could I possibly come up with to convince my father to nullify a marriage that has already taken place? A marriage to his closest friend, even.”
Charlotte deflated a little and bit her lip. “That is the pickle we’re in, isn’t it?”
“We?” Priya sent her a skeptical look.
Charlotte reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You are my closest friend, Priya. You are like a sister to me. I would never abandon you in your hour of need. I would go to the ends of the earth for you. I would—”
“Priya!”
Jeetan’s sharp call felt like shattering glass to Priya, coming in the middle of a moment of such deep friendship. She turned on her bench to find her brother striding swiftly toward her across the park and scowled at him.
“Jeetan, what are you doing here?” she asked, standing when he came close so that she could face him boldly.
“Father has sent me to collect you and bring you home,” he said, looking as happy about the errand as Priya was. “He doesn’t want you lingering out and about any longer than necessary.” He sent a wary look to Charlotte.
Priya’s back went up. She could imagine that Jeetan’s look was because some discussion had been had about whether Charlotte was a good influence or not. Priya could most certainly see how her father would deem Charlotte unworthy of her friendship. But if her father tried to drive a wedge between her and Charlotte, he would regret it until his dying day.
Which planted the seed of an idea in Priya’s head.
“Does Father think I cannot walk home on my own when it is only a few streets away?” she challenged Jeetan, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with Charlotte as she stood.
Jeetan clenched his jaw for a moment, then said, “I am to escort you in order to make certain nothing untoward happens.”
“Untoward?” Priya gasped. Yes, she most definitely had an idea as to how she could escape from the binds her father had tied her with. She stood taller and stuck out her chin. “Does Father think that all women are children? Does he imagine that I do not have a mind of my own or that I shouldn’t? Women have every right to determine their own lives, and the lives of their families and their country while they are at it.”
Jeetan sighed and rubbed his face as his shoulders sagged. “Please do not blather on about the rights of women and what Mrs. Pankhurst says to me,” he said. “It is wrong, all of it, and I do not wish to hear it. Now come. Father expects you at home.”
Priya glanced sideways to Charlotte, and as soon as Jeetan turned his back, she winked.
Charlotte grinned from ear to ear. “Courage,” she whispered before stepping away to head home herself. “I will see you in class on Friday,” she called as Priya and Jeetan headed out of the park.
“If it were up to me,” Jeetan grumbled, “you would have no more classes. Women should not be educated, it only ruins their minds.”
“And what would you have instead?” Priya demanded. “Do you think we should be common house drudges, chained to a stove? Or do you think we should be chained to a man’s bed so that we can do nothing but please him and bear his children?”
“Priya! Good God, how can you say such a thing?” Jeetan looked downright green at her outspoken question.
That only made her want to laugh and press the issue further.
“Is that how you will treat the unfortunate girl who becomes your wife someday?” she charged on, walking fast as they turned the corner that would take them to the house her father had rented for them, forcing Jeetan to keep up with her in the process. “Will you treat her like a servant in your house? Or, no, will you treat her like some exotic animal trapped in a cage?”
“This conversation is unseemly,” Jeetan muttered, picking up his pace in an effort to get ahead of her.
“And you believe women should not speak at all, is that right?” She increased her pace as well, breaking into a jog in an effort to stay ahead of him.
“Stop saying those things!” Jeetan shouted at last, running ahead of her.
Priya ran to keep up with him, proving that she would not be left behind. It was probably juvenile of her, but Jeetan was her brother, and despite their vast differences, she did love him and they were close.
They were both winded by the time they reached the door to their townhouse. One of the servants their father had brought with him was right there to open the door and let them in. Jeetan marched straight through and down the hall to the parlor where their father and Jogendra—Priya would forever think of him as Joggy-man now—were taking afternoon tea. Afraid of what he might say about her—and eager to put her plan to get out of her marriage into effect—Priya hurried after him.
“What has the two of you looking as though you’ve run all the way from Calcutta?” their father asked as both Priya and Jeetan stepped into the parlor, pink and winded.
“Priya will not stop behaving as a child,” Jeetan snapped.
“I am simply asserting my rights as a woman to have my own mind and speak words of truth,” Priya said, tilting her chin up.
Her heart raced, and from more than just running. This new plan of hers, this bid to put Jogendra off and to convince him to be the one to nullify their marriage because she was too headstrong and modern, had to work.
“Priya, what nonsense is this?” her father asked, glaring at her from the sofa where he sat, his cup of tea raised halfway to his mouth.