An Unlikely Father

by Lynn Collum

  AN UNLIKELY FATHER

  Lynn Collum

  AN UNASSUMING HEIRESS

  There was no question that Miss Emily Collins would agree to accompany Lord Carson’s three motherless children from India to their uncle’s estate near Bath. An orphan herself, Emily knew what it meant to be abandoned to the mercy of heartless relatives. Still, she didn’t expect to find Oliver Carson, tenth Earl of Hawksworth, such an insufferable rake. Emily was not so bent on reform, however, that she didn’t notice something intriguing about the handsome earl—including his own growing romantic interest in her! Could a man such as Oliver ever truly change ... or was the thought of Emily’s considerable estate behind the earl’s newfound love of family?

  AN ARROGANT LORD

  From a perfectly contented life as a well-known rake to instant father of three, Oliver Carson has been delivered straight into hell with the arrival of Miss Collins and her menagerie of nappies, fur, and feathers! The only solution was to beg the unconventional young woman to stay at Hawk’s Lair until his new family was settled—or until he was safely married to the wealthy, titled lady his grandmother had chosen for him. But as his new life of responsibility took form, Oliver had to admit that domesticity never appeared so utterly charming! Perhaps a marriage of convenience was not quite the thing after all—especially if it meant losing the most lovely and warm-hearted of women...

  One

  India—1813

  The white lattice door opened, and a pretty young woman stepped into the large sitting room of the suite in the Royal Arms Inn. This largest hotel in Calcutta, with its Chippendale furniture and Aubusson rugs, provided newly arrived and soon-to-depart British travelers with accommodations both elegant and reminiscent of home. Yet the large room also held touches of the local ambience in its paintings of tiger hunts and exotic statues of Hindustani deities as well as the finest sheer Indian muslins billowing at the open windows.

  The young lady, long accustomed to the odd mixture of cultures in the decor, waited for the sitting room’s other occupant to take note of her. Unfortunately, Mrs. Delia Keaton, her blond head bowed, was so engrossed in a book that she paid scant attention to the small disruption to her solitude.

  Miss Emily Collins cleared her throat and placed her hands upon her slender hips. “Whatever are you reading that is so interesting?”

  The beginnings of a smile tipped Delia’s mouth as she closed the book, but her features froze when she looked up and took in her employer’s attire. “Emily Collins!” Mrs. Keaton cried incredulously. “I thought you had gone shopping for new gowns for the journey home, not for one of those indecent costumes.”

  “Do you not think it pretty?” Emily twirled about in the traditional red wedding sari ornately worked with patterns of gold. The thin garment’s skirt flared, exposing bare ringed feet and slender ankles.

  Delia could only shake her head in amazement. There was no denying that Emily looked a vision in the exotic costume, with her light brown hair loose and curling beneath the sheer red veil. A single gold fob, resting on her forehead, dangled from a chain which held the headdress in place. But no decent Englishwoman would expose her stomach as Emily now did. The Indian dress consisted of a red choli, a small, short-sleeved bodice, which covered the bosom, and below a bared abdomen, a snug underskirt of red silk molded to narrow hips over which the red and gold muslin sari was draped, then drawn up over the shoulder, falling behind like a cape. The whole effect was scandalous in the young widow’s view.

  “My dear, you cannot think to wear anything so ... so shocking once we are in London. You would be given the cut direct by all of Society if you appeared thus in public, even at a costume ball.”

  “Are you certain? If the manner in which people treat me in Calcutta since I inherited my uncle’s wealth is any indication, then I could wear this costume while riding an elephant with a monkey atop my head in Hyde Park and still be welcomed at the fashionable parties.” Emily was referring to the fact that until six months before she’d often been treated as a poor relation during her trips to the British seat of power in India. This time, with her uncle dead and his flourishing estate near Murshidabad sold, she had been treated as the much-feted heiress by many of the gentlemen employed by the East India Company.

  Delia laughed, then sobered. “Ah, so upon your return to London you intend to establish the reputation of being the Eccentric Miss Collins. Well, just remember that a swain has no say in your conduct, but a husband is quite another matter. Married, your eccentricity would suddenly become madness. You would likely find yourself locked in an attic in a country estate, your imaginary monkey and elephant sent to dreadful cages in Town.”

  Emily eyed her companion closely. It had taken the better part of a year to hear the story of the cruel Major Keaton from the shy Delia. Her views on the nature of some men were well known to Emily, and there was no reason to speak of such dark matters. Instead, she teased her friend, “Then should I cancel the order for a monkey and an elephant to be delivered to the ship tomorrow?”

  Surprise raced across Delia Keaton’s face; then, recognizing the mischievous twinkle in Emily’s eyes, she shook her head and smiled. “Only promise me you will not wear that costume in company once we begin to go about in Society.”

  Emily walked over to her friend and gave her a hug. “Have no fear, dear Delia. I bought it merely to wear in the privacy of my bedchamber when I become homesick for my Calcutta.”

  A pensive look settled on Emily’s face as her gaze trailed to the view from the window. She’d lived in the Bengal Province nearly fifteen years, first with her uncle and aunt, a lady who’d found the climate not to her liking. Then, after Aunt Olivia’s death, Delia had joined the household as Emily’s companion.

  Unlike most who came out to make their fortunes, Emily considered England the foreign world and India her home. She turned and walked through the peaked-arch doors onto the balcony, the vista of Calcutta spreading out in front of her.

  Delia rose and followed, despite her dislike of the heat and exotic smells of the nearby street markets. Worry lines were etched into her pretty face as she came to stand beside her friend and employer. There could be little doubt in her mind that Emily was nervous about her return to the land of her birth. One always feared the unknown, and that was what awaited the young heiress in England.

  The widow grasped the stone balustrade, but remained quiet, since Emily appeared lost in memories as she stood in almost a trance-like state. The noise from the street drifted upwards, but the ladies had long grown familiar with the busy streets of the town.

  The prospect from the balcony covered the green fields surrounding Fort William and the muddy Hughli River beyond. The British military fortress represented stability in a land where little remained constant as the nawabs and rajahs struggled against each other and the British Army for control of the bountiful East India trade.

  At last, with a sigh, Emily broke the silence. “I have heard many tales of life in London. I am certain I shall enjoy the plays and museums, but I don’t know if I wish to enter Society and waste my days in making calls and other idle pursuits among strangers.”

  Delia placed a hand on Emily’s exposed arm. “You will think differently once you are welcomed home by all your English relations.”

  A bitter laugh escaped Emily’s lips. “Oh, I am certain they will welcome the heiress from the East Indies, even though none would house the penniless orphan from Warwickshire all those years ago.”

  Emily had been but ten years old when her parents were killed in a carriage accident. At the funeral there had been numerous consultations of family members behind closed doors at her uncle’s estate near Coventry, the result of which was that her father’s only brother was u
nwilling to take and raise a child with no income. It had fallen to her mother’s younger brother, Mr. Nathaniel Ashton, then about to embark to Calcutta to make his fortune with his new wife, to take young Emily with them.

  Delia was unable to defend the actions of people she didn’t know, so she had no answer for her friend. She fell silent. As the destitute widow of an army officer, Delia had been subjected to much of the same rejection and humiliation as Emily by Calcutta’s English community. But Mr. Ashton had also come to the young widow’s rescue with an offer to become companion to his niece, and her life was now one of comfort and ease.

  In the distance, the sound of a lone male voice echoed in the hot June air. The warbling singsong cry called the small sect of faithful Muslims to evening prayers. It was a familiar sound in this land of many religions, but still it jarred both women out of their private thoughts.

  Delia avoided looking at the shocking red gown; instead, she gazed into Emily’s amber eyes. “You may want to change. You will scandalize Swarup when he brings our tea.”

  Emily nodded, then sighed. “I cannot believe this will be my last night in Calcutta.” With that she left her companion and returned to her bedchamber.

  Delia remained some minutes on the balcony taking one last look at the British fort, the source of the so-called Black Hole of Calcutta. She’d been a frightened bride in a loveless marriage on her arrival in Bengal three years ago. She pushed thoughts of that time from her mind. Her memories of Calcutta were not so pleasant as Emily’s, and she would have few regrets when the ship sailed for England on the morrow.

  A knock sounded on the sitting room door. Delia entered the room as she patted her lace cap, making certain it was in place, and called for the visitor to enter. Swarup, the Indian servant, slipped quietly in, as was his habit, but to Delia’s surprise he carried no tea tray. He bowed very formally.

  The Indian was of indeterminate age and large in stature, which gave him a menacing appearance. But Delia had never met a man whose nature was as gentle as the young giant’s. His plain white attire included an intricately wrapped turban on his head, making his skin appear dark brown. “Memsahib, there is an Englishman here to see Miss Emily. He says it is very urgent.”

  Delia’s gaze drifted to the door through which Emily had disappeared. Dare she risk inviting the unknown visitor to come up, not knowing if Emily had returned to proper attire? But she could not leave the gentleman cooling his heels in the lobby of the hotel. “Send him up, Swarup, and hold our tea until Miss Collins calls for you.”

  Delia hurried to warn Emily of their impending visitor and was relieved to find her friend once again suitably dressed in a simple lavender muslin gown with black ribbons. It was as close as she’d gotten to mourning colors, her uncle having stipulated that she not drape herself in black. She promised to join Delia and their guest once her brown curls were again neatly secured.

  Within minutes, a tall gentleman with gaunt features, piercing blue eyes and thinning red hair entered the sitting room to greet Delia. There was nothing fashionable about him; the collar of his shirt was neither high nor starched, and his black coat seemed cut more for comfort than style. He bowed and introduced himself as Mr. Hamilton Avery, Solicitor.

  Delia gestured for him to come to a seat near her. “Good afternoon, sir. I am Mrs. Keaton, Miss Collins’s companion. She will join us in a moment.”

  When Emily arrived, Mr. Avery rose and immediately launched into the reason for his intrusion, his face a study of concern. “Miss Collins, no doubt you have heard of Mr. James Carson.”

  Emily wrinkled her brow in thought as she took a seat. Calcutta was a community some hundred thousand strong, but, as in England, the elite moved in what constituted Society at Mrs. Hastings’s assembly rooms and the Chowringhee Theatre. Emily’s acquaintances in the Quality were numerous. “Does he own an indigo plantation near Haora?”

  The solicitor’s face relaxed a bit as he again settled into his chair. “He does.”

  “I fear, Mr. Avery, I know little about the gentleman other than that. I don’t believe he comes into Calcutta very often.”

  The gentleman glanced down at his hands for a moment, then looked back at Miss Collins. “He has had little luck since coming to the Indies to make his fortune. I fear that in the past year what luck he’s had has all been bad. His wife died in childbirth last year, and now he lies near death at his estate from the fever.”

  Delia and Emily exchanged a sad and knowing look. The unfortunate fact of life in this part of the world was that the mortality rate always ran high, especially during the long months of the hot Indian summer.

  Mr. Avery continued before either lady could comment. “That is the reason I have come to you. Mr. Carson has begged me to find someone to return his motherless children to their uncle, who resides near Bath, and I learned at the docks that you are to depart for England in the morning.”

  Emily’s doubts seemed to be reflected on her face as her finely drawn brows drew downward. “Sir, I cannot think that Mr. Carson would wish a complete stranger to take charge of his children. Should he not ask some acquaintance to—”

  “I fear that the gentleman may never recover, Miss Collins, and I think that is in his mind as well. He wants to know that the children are safely on their way to England before the monsoons begin. Otherwise they may be stranded at the plantation for months with no one but servants to see to them, should the worst occur.”

  The torrential rains which plagued the region from June until August were due any day. If the Carson family lost their father, goodness knew what would happen to them during the long months of isolation. How could she, an unwanted orphan in her youth, abandon them in the heart of Bengal? Emily knew she had little choice but to aid Mr. Carson in returning his children to his brother.

  “Sir, I shall take the children to their uncle, but my ship sails in the morning. How will you get them here in time?”

  Mr. Avery’s face puckered into what could only be called a smile for all its tortured appearance. “I was certain you would agree, miss. I have them in the Carsons’ carriage down below. I assure you they will be no trouble, for they have their nurse with them.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a packet of documents. “The one on top is for you. It is the Earl of Hawksworth’s direction and funds to compensate you for the children’s expenses. The other papers are letters for the children’s uncle.”

  Emily glanced at her companion as she took the packet, but her friend’s face was an unreadable mask. Perhaps Delia thought her employer was being impetuous to be taking on such a responsibility, but the shy companion offered Emily no rebuke. “Delia, please summon Swarup and arrange for rooms for the addition to our party and send word to Captain Blackmon of the change in our needs as well.”

  With that, Emily looked to Mr. Avery. “Shall we bring the children inside, sir?”

  The young heiress followed the solicitor downstairs and out into the street in front of the hotel. A huge, ancient traveling carriage weathered by the hot tropical sun stood surrounded by a crowd of dirty street urchins. Mr. Avery shooed away the gawkers, then signaled to one of the brown-skinned servants, and the door was opened to reveal an astonishing sight.

  Crammed into the carriage were three children. An infant was sleeping in the arms of an ayah, an Indian nurse, whose eyes reflected fear, although of what Emily could not be certain. There was also a little girl of perhaps five and a young lad of six or seven seated on the opposite bench. Most startling, however, was that the small space also included a goat, an oversized birdcage with two large parrots—one red, one green—and a tiny black dog of mysterious lineage who was sniffing the goat as if he’d found his next meal.

  Emily’s hand fluttered to her mouth even as her stomach plummeted. “Surely you cannot mean for me to travel with this collection of animals as well as the children, Mr. Avery?”

  The solicitor looked a bit sheepish as he drew her away from the open door. He lowered his voice. �
�The goat is to provide milk for young Wesley, but I didn’t have the heart to tell Miss Honoria and Mr. Jamie they couldn’t keep their pets if the goat was making the journey.”

  As if sensing that they were being discussed, the oldest of the Carson children picked up the small furry dog and with large, pleading blue eyes, called, “Our pets will be ever so good, miss. Please don’t make us leave them.”

  Emily suddenly remembered her old pony, Buttercup, whom she had been forced to leave behind so many years before and the pain of that loss on top of losing everything else familiar. She smiled at the boy Mr. Avery had identified as Jamie. “Very well, I suppose we shall have our very own traveling menagerie.”

  The lad, face beaming, jumped down from the vehicle and moved away as the solicitor stepped forward to assist the other members of the family. It took some minutes for Mr. Avery to pry the birdcage from Honoria’s fingers, but at last he convinced her that her birds were indeed going with her. He handed the cage to Emily as he helped the child step to the dusty street.

  The birdcage proved heavier than Emily thought, and the parrots squawked and fluttered their wings before settling down. But to Emily’s surprise, the large green bird suddenly piped, “Here Kali? Awk! Here Kali?”

  “Why, they can speak!” Emily smiled down at Honoria who watched as if the unknown lady meant to make off with the birds.

  The little girl with a cherubic face and long, dark ringlets hanging from beneath a ruffled white cap moved a bit closer to her pets. She hooked her small fingers into the woven reed slats of the cage. “Janus talks to Kali. Juno never says a word.”

  Emily knew that Calcutta had a temple dedicated to the goddess Kali. She smiled at young Honoria’s imaginative assumption that the bird had mystical powers. “One of your birds can speak to the Indian goddess?”

  Honoria shook her head. “No, to our Kali.” The child pointed to the little black ball of fur which squirmed in Jamie’s arms as the boy stood some distance away watching the Indian servants unload their trunks. Emily at last understood—one of the parrots had learned to call the dog from hearing the phrase repeated by the children.