to marshal her thoughts. “How long did you live in India, my lord?”
“Thirteen years.”
“With the East India Company?”
“No, I went as a private merchant. The Armstrong fortunes had fallen on hard times, and my father felt even going into trade justified by the circumstances.”
“I see.” Iantha pondered this information as she sipped the warming tea. An unusual step for a nobleman, but better, no doubt, than genteel poverty. “Did you not care for it there?”
“Oh, aye. It suited me very well. So much to see, to hear, to smell and touch.” He smiled at her over his cup, eyes crinkling at the corners. He really had a very engaging smile. “The Orient is a veritable feast for the senses. New foods, new textures, bright colors. More new experiences every day than the English mind can conceive.”
“But you came home.”
He stared into the fire for a heartbeat before looking at her. “One always wants to come home.”
Finding nothing to add to that, Iantha sipped in silence. Lord Duncan drew a deep breath. “There were other reasons, also.” He paused, then went on, leaving Iantha with the impression that he had left something unsaid. “For one, profit has become too dependent on the opium trade with China. The East India Company holds the monopoly on cultivation only in Bengal, but I could not stomach selling it in any event. If you could but see the poor devils… Er, excuse my language, but enslavement to opium is indeed a damnable condition.” He set down his cup and stood. “But I can bore on forever about India. Have you finished your tea? I’ll escort you upstairs.”
Iantha followed his example, and after only a second’s hesitation, took the arm he offered, walking as far from his side as the arrangement allowed. His other hand closed over the sleeve of her dress. “I fear your gown is still wet. You will need a change of clothes.”
Iantha glanced down at the muddied hem of her white wool dress. “That would be a great relief, but I don’t see how it can be accomplished.”
“I believe there are some clothes in the bedchamber we are preparing for you, but they belonged to my grandmother.” He looked down at her and grinned as they made their way up two broad flights of stairs. “She was quite the fashionable lady in her day, but alas, that time is a long way in the past. She was also very thrifty—kept everything. You should find something clean and dry, but you will hardly be a model of mode.”
For the first time since the heap of snow had inundated her vehicle, Iantha chuckled, but then the full realization of her situation dawned. At all appearances she would be here for an extended stay.
Great God in heaven! How would she survive it? How could she tolerate a whole household of men—strangers—for so much time?
Control. She must rely on her control, her intellect.
Chapter Two
A fter a prolonged struggle with the buttons up the back of her bodice, Iantha finally slipped out of the soiled dress with a sigh. Gratefully dipping a cloth into the warm water, she smoothed it over her arms, face and neck, relaxing the tense muscles. What a comfort to her chilled skin and somewhat battered body! A full, hot bath would have been heaven, but she could hardly request one under the circumstances. Lord Duncan had been more than courteous, and she did not want to create a problem for his small staff.
Or find herself completely naked in a house full of men. The bedchamber to which his lordship had conducted her, decorated in feminine pastels and smelling of old wood, had but two doors, both provided with working keys. After a quick peek into the adjoining sitting room, Iantha firmly locked both, imposing strict control on her uneasiness.
Her petticoats had fared no better than her gown, and she let them fall to the floor with it. Her tightly fitted boots presented more of a problem, but after a brief tussle, she got them and her stockings off. Never again would she take the services of a maid for granted. In fact, she would make it a point to give Molly a nice gift when she got home.
If she ever got home. The briefest glance at the window revealed nothing but blinding snow and the wind crying at the casement. They were extremely fortunate to have made the shelter of the stable when they had.
Calming her panic with a deep breath, Iantha opened the wardrobe and concentrated on its contents. It did, indeed, contain a welter of silks and satins. She pulled out a gown of pale blue brocade with falls of white lace and spread it out on the bed. Truly lovely. But of a style that required a large hoop. That wouldn’t do. She would never be able to get into it by herself, let alone manage hoops.
Iantha replaced it and drew out a soft lavender silk that would reflect her eyes and complement her delicate features and fair skin. Much better. The fitted bodice laced up the front, so she could fasten it herself, and the square neckline did not reveal as much bosom as current dinner gowns. Further search revealed enough petticoats to hold the full skirt out sufficiently so that she would not trip. Luckily, the former Lady Duncan seemed to have been a bit shorter than Iantha.
She donned the gown and replaced the hidden pistol under her skirts. A short session with the comb found on the old-fashioned dresser got the snarls out of her shining hair, and she arranged it simply, with her own silver combs holding part of it high on her head. The rest fell in soft curls. At least when it had lost its color, it had not lost its curl.
Feeling rather as she had as a child playing dress-up in her own grandmother’s clothes, Iantha opened the door and peered into the corridor. Seeing no one about, she set off down the hall in the direction she thought she had come with Lord Duncan. She had almost decided that she had come the wrong way when she turned a corner she did not remember and almost collided with the most astounding apparition.
Iantha gasped and jerked back.
The apparition did likewise.
And then it bowed.
“Forgive me, madam. I have startled you. I am Vijaya Sabara.”
Iantha found herself staring at a slender man of medium height, his head wrapped in an elaborate silk turban, and a neat black beard covering olive cheeks and chin. A huge sapphire fixed to his headdress dangled in the middle of his forehead. And his clothing… She could only gaze in wonder. So colorful. So rich. So…
So barbaric.
“I…uh… How—how do you do?” So utterly inept! The man would think her a fool. Iantha flushed.
“Very well, thank you.” His brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “I did not know we had a lady in residence.”
“Lord Duncan rescued me from the storm. I am Iantha Kethley. Can you direct me to the dining room?”
“Ah. Please allow me to guide you. You are going in quite the wrong direction.” The apparition did not offer his arm, but with a sweep of his hand indicated that she should retrace her steps. She turned and accompanied him back the way she had come. What a sight the two of them must make, she in her antique dress, he in his soft, jewel-adorned silks. Like guests at a masquerade.
Iantha’s head spun. She seemed to be losing her grip on reality, rather like the heroine in a penny dreadful. She felt the storm had swept her away from her own time and place to…to what? Would she next encounter a specter with its head under one arm?
Heaven
