Abounding Might

by Melissa McShane

  A knock sounded at the door. “Lady Daphne? Are you ready?”

  Miss Hanley. She was kind enough, and might well become a friend, if Daphne felt equal to the effort of making friends. As it was, the idea of sharing confidences with someone else made her shrink. This did not stop Miss Hanley from pursuing the acquaintance, and Daphne had not the heart to be rude enough to stop her. “Please come in, Miss Hanley,” Daphne said, brushing out her blonde hair. “I am behind the time, I’m afraid.”

  “The palanquin will wait for you,” Miss Hanley said. She wore rose-colored satin with matching ribbons in her chestnut hair, which framed her lovely heart-shaped face perfectly. The dark spectacles she wore day and night to protect her weak, impaired eyes gave her a sinister look, but her smile was friendly, her lips curved as if permanently on the verge of a kiss. “I have already told the bearers they are not to leave until we descend.”

  Daphne suppressed a shudder. She had yet to become accustomed to Miss Hanley’s talent, which as an Extraordinary Speaker allowed her to send thoughts into the minds of anyone, Speaker or no. It was an eerie experience, as the thoughts sounded no different from her own inside her head, and on the few occasions Miss Hanley had turned her talent on her, she had found it difficult to remember those thoughts did not originate with her.

  Daphne swiftly pinned her hair up and laid down the brush. It was not the most elegant style, but Daphne was not interested in impressing anyone at the ball. She would dance for a few hours, then excuse herself, pleading fatigue. It was even true, if one considered spiritual fatigue equal with physical fatigue. “Thank you for waiting.”

  “It is my pleasure.” Miss Hanley trailed her hand along the wall as they descended the stairs, maintaining her balance. Daphne sometimes wondered just how little Miss Hanley was capable of seeing. She certainly seemed to manage her incapacity well. “You look rather downcast. Do you not enjoy dancing?”

  “I do, it is just that it is still so very warm—the exertion of dancing cannot—though I don’t mean to suggest it is not an honor to be invited to Lady Loudoun’s ball, when I know she intends only to please us.”

  Miss Hanley laughed. “We ladies of the War Office have so few pleasures permitted us in India. We may not travel far, we may not walk unescorted in Calcutta, and the Rajas and Peshwas will not mingle with us socially. And yet—” Her voice dipped low and conspiratorial. “The officers are so very handsome, and so attentive.”

  Daphne smiled despite herself. “You are all but engaged to your young lord in Devonshire,” she said. “Should you not leave the officers to us?”

  “I see nothing wrong with flirting, just a little. Come, Lady Daphne, do not tell me you have no interest in finding a husband?”

  “I intend to marry someday, yes, but only after I have had many adventures.” How she was to have adventures while she was tied to Lady Loudoun’s apron strings, she did not know. She had not realized how very limiting her new assignment would be, nor how pedestrian. It was an unpleasant thought, and she felt suddenly disappointed in herself. Her presence in India was entirely her own fault, and moping would do nothing to redeem herself. She resolved to enjoy herself that evening and leave her dissatisfaction at the door.

  Only one palanquin remained outside Lindsey House when they emerged. It was barely large enough for two, and painted a garish red, with curtains fluttering in the slight breeze that bore with it the silt-ridden rotten-fish odor of the Hooghly River. The bearers stood next to it waiting for them, not appearing to be impatient at their slowness, but Daphne was still not good at reading the expressions of the Hindoos. Daphne climbed into the palanquin, followed by Miss Hanley, then folded her hands in her lap as they proceeded down the muddy road toward Government House and the center of Calcutta. The night smelled of the rain that had fallen heavily all afternoon and the wet odor of the coralwoods lining the road. It was a rich, exotic scent Daphne loved, the embodiment of India as far as she was concerned, and she wished she could bottle it and take it with her wherever she Bounded.

  The palanquin sped up as they entered the outer boundaries of Calcutta, its rocking gait so different from the coaches of London. Ramshackle houses lit by coconut-oil lamps piled atop one another, making a warren of streets Daphne longed to lose herself in. It was not as if she were in any danger of being waylaid, as Miss Donnelly always claimed had happened to other, unnamed women; she could Skip or Bound away from anyone who might try to apprehend her. But she was conscious of not speaking the language, of being visibly different, and feared disturbing the homes of those who had a right to be there. So she merely watched the people passing by, none of whom looked at her or the litter. They were accustomed to the sahibs making their way to and from the English part of town.

  Ahead, flambeaux marked one of the great gateways into the grounds of Government House. The arched gate was topped by a stone lion, its presence a reminder of the power of Great Britain and a warning that the Honourable East India Company, though primarily mercantile, was not a force to be trifled with. Daphne privately considered it a trifle overbearing.

  The long driveway leading to the yellow bulk of Government House passed through bare parkland, mostly short-trimmed lawn Daphne believed would be improved by the addition of trees. The palace itself glowed in the light of dozens of lanterns, and every window blazed with light. The bearers brought the palanquin to the bottom of the wide, shallow stairs leading to a colonnade that in the daytime would shade the doors mercifully. Daphne extricated herself from the curtains and stood with the help of one of the bearers. She had enough presence of mind not to simply Skip to the top of the stairs.

  “It is a lovely building, don’t you agree?” Miss Hanley said, coming to Daphne’s side and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Every bit as attractive as anything back home.”

  “Lovely,” Daphne agreed, “and intimidating. Do you suppose that is what the Marquess of Wellesley had in mind when he commissioned it?”

  “I wouldn’t dare to try to read that man’s mind—not that reading minds is possible. I know everyone is just as happy he is back in England, cruel and warlike as he was. The Company required several years to mend the damage he did.” Miss Hanley took Daphne’s unresisting hand and drew it through the crook of her arm. “Let us enter, and hope the air is less damp inside.”

  The broad, white-tiled entry to Government House had no grand central staircase to draw the eye, an omission Daphne felt spoke poorly of the architect. In all other ways, however, the man, whoever he was, had created a masterpiece. High ceilings crowned with delicate moldings shivered in the light of dozens of lamps, lending a glow to the many resplendent rooms they passed through. Most were lightly furnished in a way that appealed to Daphne’s Bounder instincts. She had as yet seen little of Government House, and wished she had the freedom to explore it fully.

  She and Miss Hanley ascended the narrow stairs to the second floor and passed through a short hallway to the ballroom. Several fine chandeliers dripping with crystal lozenges cast their light across the glossy floor and the pillars lining both sides of the room. An arched doorway at the far end led to another flight of stairs and an alcove in which the musicians prepared to play. The ballroom was already half-full of finely dressed women and men in formal wear or resplendent in Army uniforms. Their red coats were as bright as the palanquin. What was it about a uniform that made almost any man attractive, even to Daphne, who had no interest in forming an attachment?

  “Lady Daphne,” Lady Loudoun said, her sweet voice carrying over the din. Her emerald green satin gown glowed in the light of the chandeliers, which sparkled off the row of diamonds she wore around her throat. “How good of you to come. Miss Hanley, welcome.”

  “Thank you, Lady Loudoun, it is a pleasure,” Daphne said, curtseying.

  “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Come, there is someone I wish to introduce to you.” Lady Loudoun sailed off into the crowd, and Daphne and Miss Hanley followed like beads on a string. �
�Lady Daphne, may I make known to you Captain Ainsworth and Lieutenant Wright, and this is Ensign Phillips. Gentlemen, Lady Daphne St. Clair.”

  The men bowed. Lieutenant Wright, taller than the others and with thick dark hair curling somewhat over his collar, said, “Good evening, Lady Daphne. Perhaps you will do me the honor of standing up with me for the first dance?” His bright blue eyes twinkled cheerfully at her.

  Ensign Phillips had his mouth open as if he’d been about to ask the same favor. He had red hair and an attractive, cheerful face, though Lieutenant Wright was objectively more handsome. “Miss Hanley,” he said instead, “would you care to dance?”

  Daphne stifled a smile. The young ensign gave no hint that Miss Hanley had been his second choice, and she liked him for it. “Thank you, Ensign, I would be most pleased,” Miss Hanley said, catching Daphne’s eye in a way that told her Miss Hanley had seen it too, and not been offended.

  Captain Ainsworth looked as if he wanted to protest—possibly he thought his rank should give him precedence—but he smiled ruefully and said, “Lady Daphne, I hope you will reserve a dance for me.”

  “Certainly, Captain.” Daphne curtseyed. She was accustomed to having admirers, but none who were so overt about it. It was… rather pleasant, actually.

  Lady Loudoun smiled and sailed off into the crowd to greet another guest. Daphne quickly surveyed the room, but could not see the Governor-General anywhere. Surely he must be present… but if not, what a relief. Lord Moira knew why she had been sent to India, and while he was always superficially polite, his politeness barely concealed disdain. He was a military man at heart, veteran of the American Colonial Conflict, and weakness of any kind was abhorrent to him. Daphne prided herself on not fearing anything, but in her secret heart, she quailed at the thought of encountering the earl.

  She smiled at Lieutenant Wright, who offered her his arm and led her to where couples were forming up for the first dance. “You cannot have been in India long,” he said, “as I’m certain I would remember such a lovely face.”

  Daphne wished she dared scrunch up her lovely face and scowl at him. The light in his eyes made his compliment sound insincere. She reminded herself that she had resolved to enjoy herself this evening and said, “Thank you, Lieutenant, I have been in India just one week.”

  “And how do you find it?”

  “Hot. Wet. But I imagine that is what every newcomer says.”

  “We are coming out of the monsoon season and approaching cooler weather. I’ve been here three years and I am still not accustomed to it. The weather, the food, the Hindoos and Mahommedans and half a dozen other heathen types… it must be trying to your delicate sensibilities.”

  “I find it intriguing, actually. I am an Extraordinary Bounder and have always longed to visit new places.”

  “An Extraordinary? How interesting. Are you here on War Office business?”

  Shame and frustration gripped her heart. “I… serve Lady Loudoun and her children. They spend a great deal of time in England, during this season, and of course it would be indelicate for a man to convey them so regularly.”

  “Of course, of course. I suppose we all serve where we’re put, eh?”

  Daphne smiled and cast about for a change of subject. “And how is India, as a posting?”

  “Boring, most of the time. Much of northern India is under British protection, and while the Nawabs and Rajas are not subordinated, they rarely give us the kind of trouble that requires the battalions to move out. Not like the Marathas in the south and west.”

  “And is boring… good?”

  Wright laughed. “I’m afraid it gets many of the sepoys in trouble. The native soldiers, that is. With nothing productive to do, they laze about or fight or gamble… I beg your pardon, Lady Daphne, I should not discuss such matters with a lady.”

  Daphne privately thought this was the most interesting thing he had said all evening, but replied, “I don’t mind. It is good you feel you can be completely candid with me—I do not consider you at all indelicate.”

  Wright nodded, but when he next spoke, it was on banalities such as her title and her family, things that could not possibly cause offense and were therefore extremely boring. She curtseyed to her partner at the end of their dances and allowed him to escort her back to where they had been introduced. Daphne’s exertions had left her feeling warm and she was certain her muslin gown had already wilted. Miss Hanley was nowhere to be seen. “I should not leave you unattended, Lady Daphne,” Wright said with a smile Daphne guessed he used on all the young women he met.

  “Oh, Lieutenant, I would not—that is, I see someone to whom I must speak, you needn’t trouble yourself,” Daphne lied, looking off toward the windows. “It has been most enjoyable meeting you.”

  “Likewise, my lady, and I hope to encounter you again soon.” Wright bowed over her hand and excused himself. Daphne watched him go. He was pleasant enough, but—was that what she had to look forward to? Insincere, handsome young men with whom she might pass half an hour in meaningless pleasantries? Not for the first time, she wished herself back in the Peninsula.

  In which Daphne makes a new friend and meets an old enemy

  he still felt uncomfortably warm, and as soon as Wright moved away she walked to the windows beyond the pillars, where the air was marginally cooler. Fanning herself with her hand, she looked out over the dark expanse of the parkland surrounding Government House. Lights pooled on the ground immediately below, but beyond that, blackness prevailed, so complete that it might have been a starless night. She was seized with an impulse to Skip into it, away from this overwarm room and all her responsibilities, but it was an illusion, and Daphne’s feet were better left touching the ground.

  “Do you tire of dancing already?”

  Daphne turned to look at the man standing—lounging—in the shelter of one of the pillars. He wore a red coat with captain’s epaulets, and his sandy hair was ruffled as if he had run his fingers through it, disordering it. He regarded her with a steady, unreadable gaze, not admiring as Wright’s had been, but not disdainful like Lord Moira, and it made her uncomfortable that she could not interpret it.

  “We have not been introduced,” she said, taking refuge in haughtiness.

  “No, we have not,” the captain agreed. “Captain Fletcher, my lady.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Lady Daphne St. Clair, Extraordinary Bounder. I have seen you in passing in the Governor-General’s quarters.”

  “You are not with Fort William, then?”

  “No, one of the king’s men, attached to Government House.” He straightened and took a few steps toward her. “Are you enjoying India?”

  She wondered briefly how many people would ask her variations on that question that night. “I have not been here long enough to know.”

  “And you spend most of your time conveying Lady Loudoun and her children,” Fletcher said.

  “It does not take much—not that I am complaining, of course.”

  “How else do you occupy yourself?”

  Now she wanted to complain, to shout her boredom to the windows and the night sky. “Well, I… there are activities… sewing, and paying calls—”

  “I see.” Fletcher’s lips twitched in a small smile. “I beg your pardon, but that seems a waste of your time.”

  “I do as Lord Moira asks. I must of course always be available for her Ladyship.”

  “Of course.”

  He was still regarding her with that unreadable expression, and it angered her, as if he were in control of this uncomfortable conversation. “Why do you not ask me to dance, Captain?” she challenged him.

  Amusement lit his features. “I am a Discerner, and choose not to intrude upon your privacy. I do not generally dance.”

  “Oh.” A Discerner, capable of perceiving emotions with a touch. “Then why are you here?”

  “Other than to make awkward conversation with young ladies with whom I am not acquainted?” His smile
broadened. “Lady Loudoun is a firm believer in true love, and hopes to marry off all those who come within her sphere of influence. She believes I am too isolated, and requests my presence as often as I am in town. I have too much respect for her to ignore her wishes.”

  “Well, I have nothing to hide, Captain. You need not worry on my account.”

  The captain’s eyebrows lifted. “You have no secrets you wish to hide away?”

  The memory of Major Branton’s mangled body flashed before her. “No, none,” Daphne declared, willing it to be true.

  Fletcher laughed and extended his white-gloved hand to her. “Very well, Lady Daphne, you have persuaded me.”

  For someone who rarely danced, Fletcher was an excellent dancer, graceful and smooth. Every time their hands met, he smiled, as if he had a secret he did not intend to tell. Far from annoying her, she found it compelling, and wondered what she might do to induce him to share it.

  “How long have you been in India, Captain?” she asked.

  “Nearly eleven years. I came out as a youth and have been back to England only a handful of times since then.”

  “You must miss your family—or am I assuming too much? I suppose you might not like them, and find their absence refreshing.”

  Fletcher laughed. “I am the sixth child of ten in my family. The question is whether they noticed my absence.”

  The idea of having nine siblings was almost beyond Daphne’s comprehension. “I am an only child,” she said, “and have few cousins. I cannot imagine having so many brothers and sisters. Do you like them, then?”

  “I do, as well as anyone might. I am particularly close to my next older brother William. His living is in Buckinghamshire and he has a lovely wife he dotes on. His letters come with such regularity I sometimes forget we have not seen each other in the flesh in years.”

  “I am so grateful that the Government House post is carried by Bounder, and not by ship as it once was. I do not imagine I could bear the separation from my parents if I did not receive regular letters from them.”