Discovery of Desire (4 page)

Seth grinned. “Then we'll get on well enough.”

Tom started for the carriage door. “It's damnable luck, though, Mayhew.”

“I know it.”

“Let's start in the morning,” Tom said. “We can meet in the hotel lobby.”

“I've no plans tonight. Was hoping to eat someplace if you were available.”

“I'm with Miss Adams tonight. The ladies are to sit up at the Byculla Clubhouse to meet all the East India men and their wives. Plus all the bachelors, of course.”

“Sit up?”

“That's what they call it here—dinners, balls, receptions. Whenever a new ship arrives, the ladies
sit up
for three or four evenings in a row meeting everyone in Bombay Society. It doesn't take much longer than that for them all to be claimed.”

“Seems an opportune time to meet some Company men.”

“It's invited guests only. And, trust me, not the appropriate time or place. We'll start early tomorrow.”

Seth nodded, but he'd never been one for taking direction nor did he have much truck with propriety.

His sister was lost, and tonight was as good a time to start as any.

“I'm afraid where I live is nowhere near as grand as Bombay.” Thomas handed Mina her lemonade and sat beside her on the Byculla Clubhouse terrace.

It was the first time Thomas had alluded to a possible future between them. And she detected little happiness behind the words.

“I don't require grand living,” she blurted.

Oh dear, that sounded desperate. And blunt
. She added a smile and tried to keep it from wavering as Thomas studied her by the ballroom light flooding the terrace.

Well…let him look. It was to be expected, wasn't it? She folded her hands in her lap and submitted to his inspection.

Thank goodness they were now outdoors. The ballroom had grown oppressive with the blazing chandeliers and hundreds of East India men, officers, and exported ladies circling one another. She loved all those ladies, yet the one dearest to her heart was sitting alone in their hotel room.

“Emma so wished to come,” she said. “During the sail, we heard of the assemblies here. We were told, outside of Delhi, there are no rooms finer.”

“I hope she is well tomorrow. Not that I am surprised by her megrim after this day.”

She lowered her eyes—demurely she hoped. It was only a small lie, anyway. Emma's head was fine. There was no megrim, only Emma's unfabricated hope that the absent Colin Rivers would find her easiest at their hotel.

“It must be overwhelming,” Thomas said. “Your first night in India and forced into Society.”

“Oh. Not at all. This reception is very—” She cut off at Thomas's skeptical look and smiled. “A bit overwhelming, yes. Especially as the Society I come from is far less distinguished. I do not recall any gentlemen's clubs with marble ballrooms in Chesterfield.”

Thomas smiled. “I don't recall them in Edwinstowe, either.”

He really did have a nice face. Though it was difficult to see his eyes past his spectacles. Is that why it was so difficult to talk with him?

“I visited Draper's Hall while on my tour of London,” she said. “The stairwell here very nearly rivals that one. My eldest sister lives in the city and”—and Mary was not to be discussed. Not yet—“and that was the grandest place I had ever visited.”

Thomas nodded. “I've never been.”

Another silence. Indian crickets seemed rather louder than English ones.

What if he chose another? There was no contract. She and Emma had to stay together. “Do you miss home, Mr. Grant?”

She regretted her hasty words instantly. He sat back in his chair, his smile fading.

“There are moments I miss England a great deal.” He set down his glass, his voice bleak. “But India is my home now.”

Oddly chastened, she swung her gaze to the manicured gardens. Beyond its confines, a city square teemed with local people carrying their bundles. Barefoot. Backs bent. Perhaps hungry.
Were
they hungry?

She had read of the poverty here. In the days to come, would she feel it as well? Just as she had with Mary? The world was not so large if Bombay could recall her to Bethnal Green. If the line between those who ate and those who starved was so thin as to be invisible.

At the far corner of the square, a group of young Indian men were laughing. A ball—a cricket ball—was being tossed into the air and caught. They were moving toward the club, and as they drew near, her gaze centered on one man. The single white man.

The rather tall, remarkably broad-shouldered—“Is that Mr. Mayhew?”

Thomas's attention was already aimed at the cluster of bodies circling the man. His lips thinned. “I believe it is.”

“Did you expect him?”

Thomas wiped a hand over his face. “Not at all.”

“Oh.”

Mr. Mayhew intercepted the tossed ball, and in an instant, four other men clambered atop him to get it back and he was forced down to his knees.

“
Oh!
” Alarmed, she sat forward, straining in the dark to see. “Is he all right?”

Thomas waved an annoyed hand. “He's fine.”

Mr. Mayhew roared a laughing curse, but Mina did not look away lest he find himself pitched upon again. With five younger sisters, it seemed she'd been born to keep watch. “I did mean to ask the nature of your work with him.”

“I did intend to tell you later.” Thomas shifted in his chair, a flush rising on his cheeks. “But as he is apparently joining us, perhaps now is the time. I was hired by a Will Repton of London to help him prepare for an expedition. Simple help. Translating letters, purchasing supplies, whatever was needed. But rather than Mr. Repton, I was given Seth Mayhew in his stead.”

“Why Mr. Mayhew?”

“The expedition is to find a lost woman and child. It's Mayhew's sister that is lost.”

Surprise and sadness hit her at once. “How awful for him.” Mina looked back to Mr. Mayhew, still tussling with the young men. “I would never suspect he was under such a strain.”

But then, a smile could disguise a great many things. And perhaps flirtation was the most distant conversation of all.

“And the missing child is his sister's?” she asked.

“Actually, no. The child is an orphan. Her parents were French missionaries, murdered this past Christmas at their mission. A horrible massacre, in the borderlands between China and Tibet.”

Dear God.
“And the child is with Mr. Mayhew's sister?”

“He believes so. Georgiana Mayhew was a botanical illustrator on a nearby plant-collecting expedition. She was en route to find the child. I suppose they thought me a logical choice, being superintendent of a Company plantation that cultivates the collected plants.”

“So you have information that may help?”

“Very little. I'm not apprised of an expedition's progress until the specimens arrive at my door. Actually, your sister's fiancé, Colin Rivers, will be of more help, as he's positioned higher in the agriculture department.” Thomas shook his head. “It will not be easy, in any case. There's been no communication from Georgiana Mayhew in many months.”

Her heart sank further. “Finding them seems so…”
hopeless
.

“Improbable, yes. He sailed all this way for a sister.” His smile twisted wryly. “Just as
you
did.”

Her head reared up. “I… That is, I did not—”

“It's fine, Mina.” Thomas covered her hand. “You didn't wish your sister to come to India alone. Your devotion to her is commendable.”

His hand was warm, and the vise on her chest eased. “I
do
want a family of my own, Mr. Grant. And I sincerely appreciate this opportunity to know you.”

He squeezed her hand. “Won't you call me Thomas?”

He really did have a nice face. “Yes. Thank you, Thomas.”

Mr. Mayhew's deep voice rumbled faintly on the air. He was waving good-bye, but the young men fell back slowly, as if reluctant to let him go. The streetlamps burnished his hair gold. He had long hair for a man, yet it suited him. The mane evoked images of rugged Vikings and medieval kings, and by appearance alone, all the forces of destiny should bend to his will—to deliver a lost sister to him.

A sister who could be lost nearly…
anywhere
.

She turned to Thomas. “Will you need to accompany Mr. Mayhew on his travels? Beyond Bombay?”

Thomas slid his spectacles higher on his nose. “Perhaps not. Not immediately, I shouldn't think.”

Was that an answer? If Thomas left Bombay, how long would he be gone? Would a marriage be settled before then? Would Thomas and Mr. Mayhew be in danger?

Thomas rose from his chair as Mr. Mayhew made his way to the entrance of the club. “I fear I must intercept Mr. Mayhew. He is not expected this evening.”

“Not expected?”

“He holds no invitation.”

“No—
oh
.” She surged to her feet and made for the entrance. “Will they turn him away? They will not be too unkind, will they—?”

“Uh…Mina?”

Vexed by the delay, and confused that Thomas was not hurrying beside her, she turned to look back at him.

“Might I deliver you to one of your friends?”

It took her a moment to understand his gentlemanlike offer, and she barely managed to hide her cringe of embarrassment. Thomas would not like her if she acted too managing—Emma was always accusing her of that. But she and Thomas were meant to become acquainted. They ought not separate.

She smiled—flirtatiously, she hoped—and tried again. “You are kind to want to spare me any unpleasantness, but I would much rather stay with you, Thomas…?”

“Oh. Well.” He smoothed his coat and offered his arm without delay. “Yes. Certainly, then.”

That worked?

That worked. She breathed a sigh of relief as they walked through the ballroom in the direction of the entry hall.

Mr. Mayhew must already be at the door. Perhaps the butler would not embarrass him. The man had enough to bear without—

Thomas's hand flexed on her arm to slow her step, and only then did she realize how fast she walked. Guiltily, she checked Thomas's profile, but he pretended no notice. He was such a gentleman. So reserved. A lifetime may not be enough to know him, while Mr. Mayhew had winked at her. Four times. A man like him—

And there the thought ended. What did she know of men? She didn't even have a brother. Mr. Mayhew winked and teased and smiled—at her, of all women—but he was a flirt. And, at worse, a distraction. As much for Thomas as for her, it seemed.

In the entry hall, Thomas stopped so abruptly, her skirts swayed. At the door, the Indian butler, with hand raised, was blocking Mr. Mayhew from entering.

But it rather appeared he was trying to hold off Mr. Mayhew's words.

“…devil of a time finding this place.” Mr. Mayhew smoothed his hair with both hands. “Had to stop and buy some of those fried pies on the street. Samosas, you call 'em. Awful good. Do you know the ones I mean? Hope I can find those little women again, had themselves a red cart and a monkey. You wouldn't know if they'll be there tomorrow? It doesn't matter. But then I met a few lads watching a cricket match who understood my English, as I'm not clever enough to speak Hindi, and they pointed me here.”

Mr. Mayhew's easy smile was in place and his coat pocket bulged with papers, ruining the line of his suit. Not that
this
suit was well constructed, either. It seemed rather boxy to accommodate his shoulders.

His gaze landed on Thomas and he raised a brawny arm to wave. “There's my mate.” He pointed to Thomas. “
Tom! Tom Grant!
Tell our man here I'm expected.”

Thomas's face was stony but he nodded to the puzzled gatekeeper. “He's, uh, newly arrived.”

Mr. Mayhew patted the butler on the arm. “I'm sitting up tonight. Or whatever you call it.”

The butler's head cocked. “Sitting up? You are not a female, sir.”

“He's not sitting up,” Thomas said. “He's—”

“Hello, Miss Mina,” Mr. Mayhew called. “You're looking pretty as a bowl of oranges.”

She managed a small wave. “Good evening, Mr. Mayhew.”

His grin widened as he looked her over in her gown. “A man could get used to a picture like that. Look at her, mate.” He clapped a hand on the butler's shoulder and turned the dazed servant about to face her.

Her cheeks must be red as a radish—

And did Mr. Mayhew just tell the butler she had a tail?

The butler's face cracked with a smile. He bowed, and to her astonishment, let Mr. Mayhew pass.

“Good man.” Mr. Mayhew patted him on the back and strode over to her.

But…he has no invitation.
She had only a second to brace against the heat of his body, the towering height and smiling eyes before he swept up her hand. Her senses assailed, it took her a moment to feel the callused hand holding hers. Then she realized he wasn't releasing it.

“Miss Mina, after we parted at the hotel, I was thinking of you and it struck me all at once. I found an orchid with your coloring beside the Rio Gurupí. Do you know where that is?”

His eyes crinkled so deeply at the corners. Had she ever met a man whose eyes did that? She blinked. “I don't. Is that in South America?”

“Brazil.” Mr. Mayhew turned her about, placed her hand on his hard arm, and walked her back down the hall.

She looked back at Thomas, whose expression was pained as he followed them. “Oh, I—”

“East India sent me there as a surveyor,” Mr. Mayhew said. “But I had a talent for finding plants—no, that's not accurate. Had a talent for not dying. She was the best beauty I ever found.”

“The orchid?” she said.

Mr. Mayhew nodded. “A slipper orchid, with petals dark as chocolate, and glossy like your hair, and a little slipper labellum that was coral, like your lips. She was hiding in the moss of an old, gnarled tree—where's Tom?”

He stopped to haul Thomas over to stand in front of her and peeked around him. “Tom here being the dead wood—and when I came upon that flower, it was like finding a jewel.”

“Are you finished, Mr. Mayhew?” Thomas asked.

“Better than a jewel.” Mr. Mayhew set Thomas aside, his handsome face looming over her. “Like a magic, little sprite.”

“You were a plant hunter,” she said. “How wonderful.”

He smiled wider. “The botanists named her
Catasetum phantasma
after I told them the story.
Phantasma
's Latin for ‘sprite.' It's more for ‘ghost' or ‘spirit,' they tell me, but had I known you then, I'd have told them to name her ‘Wilhelmina.'”

She bit her lip against a befuddled frown. Men never teased her. She did not inspire them to. He was truly kind. Even with all that must be worrying him, no one else had ever bothered to make her feel she was the only person in the room before—