Summer sunlight fell on her face and shoulders, and she tilted her head to meet its welcome warmth. Shielding her eyes against the brightness, she paused to survey her surroundings. She stood at the top of a gentle hill; below her, separated by a broad expanse of lawn, lay a man-made lake, sun-scattered diamonds winking on its rippled surface. A Grecian-style folly, complete with Ionic columns and a domed rotunda, presided over the shore on the far side. Beyond the lake, acres of field and forest flourished with verdant growth. Clouds of wooly sheep drifted through the rolling meadows. The brisk breeze, redolent with the odors of manure and freshly turned earth, blew a lock of loosened hair into her eyes.
She sat down on the grass, her legs folded beneath her. In this bucolic setting, the smells and noise and riot of color that was Calcutta seemed particularly far away. Her heart twisted. If George had not gone and gotten himself killed on that tiger hunt, she would still be there. At home.
Home. The word evoked the rustle of the breeze through the coconut trees, the patter of the monsoon rains on the roof, and the heavy, intoxicating scent of cape jasmine, the white flower that the Hindus called " gandharaj." Happy memories, despite the farce that was her marriage. Her recollections of England were far less pleasant, but she would make new ones.
From across the lake drifted the sound of children's voices. Kit watched two figures, a girl and a small boy, come galloping out of the folly and along the shore of the lake on what looked like wooden stick horses. Behind them, a plump, soberly dressed woman followed at a more sedate pace.
Kit lifted a hand against the sun's glare as the two children approached, whooping and laughing. The girl appeared to be about five, with dusky curls drawn up in a blue ribbon that matched the sash of her muslin dress. The boy, whom Kit guessed to be a year or so younger than his sister, had tousled golden brown hair. His chubby features resembled the duke's, but there ended any similarity. Grass stains smudged the knees of his trousers, and somewhere along the line he had lost a button from his jacket.
The dowager had mentioned her great-grandchildren, but Kit had yet to meet them. She could not resist; she climbed to her feet. She made her way down the hill, waving to them as they approached.
"Hello!" she called. "What a fine day for a race! Won't you come and show me your ponies?"
The boy and girl saw her and slowed to a walk. The laughter left their faces; the little boy retreated behind his sister as Kit drew near.
"Hello," Kit repeated, giving them her best smile. She knelt down so her head was level with theirs. "What is your name?"
"I'm Emma," announced the girl, her gray eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Are you the bad lady?"
Kit blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Mama told Miss Pym to keep us away from the bad lady who was coming to visit. Well, are you?"
A chill coursed through Kit. Why would the duchess say such a thing? And what exactly did she mean by it?
"No," she replied, "I'm not a bad lady. My name is Kit, and I like children very much."
The boy peered out from behind his sister. "I'm Nathaniel," he murmured, his eyes huge.
"Hello, Nathaniel. I am very glad to meet you and your sister."
Emma did not appear convinced; she continued to regard Kit with belligerent wariness. "Did you come from Perdition?" she demanded. "Mama said she wished you were back there. Is that in France?"
"No," Kit replied, swallowing her shock, "I do not believe it is. But I am not from Perdition; I come from India."
"India!" Emma gasped, and at once her features transformed from distrustful to awestruck. "Great-Grandmama has been to India, too! She told us all sorts of stories about tigers, and elephants, and monkeys, and… and…"
"… and peacocks, and water buffalo, and sacred bulls with garlands of flowers on their horns?" Kit prompted.
The little girl beamed at her, eyes wide with wonder. "Yes!"
The governess caught up with them, blowing hard, her face red as though she'd been running. She cast a frantic look at Kit, then latched on to Nathaniel's hand. "Come, children. Time to go into the house." She reached out her other hand for Emma, but the girl pulled away.
"No! I want to hear a story about India. Kit has been there, too, just like Great-Grandmama."
Miss Pym's nostrils flared. "I will tell you a story when we return to the nursery."
Emma stamped her foot. "I want Kit to tell me a story about India!" she shrilled.
"I'm sure Mrs. Mallory is far too busy to tell you any stories today," insisted Miss Pym. She darted another nervous glance at Kit. "Now, come along."
Kit climbed slowly to her feet and brushed the grass from her skirt. Her shoulders drew taut. "It's all right, Emma. Perhaps I can tell you a story tomorrow."
"No, now!" the girl cried. "Please?"
"Emma, a young lady should never raise her voice," Kit instructed gently. "I'm sure there will be plenty of time for stories later."
"Well," began a flustered Miss Pym, "I'm not sure that-"
"Oh, come now, Miss Pym," came a roguish chuckle from behind them. "Surely you can manage to fit one story into the children's busy schedule."
Kit whirled. Lord Bainbridge strolled toward them, a jaunty grin on his face.
The governess swallowed hard, then bobbed a nervous curtsy to the marquess. "I will see what can be arranged," she replied, her lips flattened in a thin line. "Come inside Master Nathaniel, Lady Emma. Now."
Emma allowed Miss Pym to snatch up her small hand. She turned pleading eyes to Kit. "Promise you'll tell us a story?"
"Promise?" echoed Nathaniel. He stared beseechingly at her, his lower lip a-quiver.
"I promise," Kit murmured, putting on her bravest face.
She watched in silent anger as the dumpling governess dragged the two reluctant children and their toys up the hill and into the house.
"I take it your headache is better?" Bainbridge inquired in an innocent tone.
Kit flushed. Actually, the throbbing had progressed from her temples to the base of her skull, but she was determined to ignore it. "Well enough," she replied stiffly. "What are you doing here, my lord? Making sure I don't run off with the silver?" She bit her lip; she hadn't meant for that last part to slip out.
The marquess's grin widened. "Not at all. The dowager duchess was worried about you and asked me if I would return to the house to keep you company."
"Why did she send you?" Kit wondered aloud.
"She thought you might look more favorably on my company than that of Lady Elizabeth."
"You are correct, my lord. Five minutes in that lady's company and we are at daggers drawn."
"I am unarmed, I assure you," he said, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "May I escort you back up to the house?"
She looked up at the Palladian grandeur of Broadwell Manor, at the path so recently taken by the duke's two children. Her smile faded. "Tell me something, my lord-why would the duchess ask Miss Pym to keep the children away from me?"
"What?" The marquess's brow puckered. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Not 'what,' my lord-'who.' Emma asked me very distinctly if I was the bad lady about whom her mama had warned Miss Pym."
"Out of the mouths of babes," murmured Lord Bainbridge.
Kit continued to regard him with a steady, searching gaze. "What is going on here, sir? I suppose that pride and protectiveness may account for a portion of the Their Graces' behavior, but to think I would be an immoral influence on their children without even knowing who I am-that is ridiculous."
Bainbridge silently berated his sudden predicament; young Emma's unfailing honesty had left him in a devil of a bind. He decided to change the subject.
"Come take a turn around the lake with me," he said, proffering his arm.
She hesitated. "I do not think it wise that I be alone with you, sir."
She was a cautious creature, but he enjoyed a challenge. "The garden, then." When she hesitated, he added, "I assure you that we shall be in full sight of the house at all times."