The Secret of the India Orchid

by Nancy Campbell Allen

“Stop, Sophia,” he hissed. He was aggravated, worried, and finally at his snapping point. “You know very well I never meant a word of that letter.”

  He registered her startled gaze as he eyed the long line of carriages. At the back of the line were three large elephants equipped with howdahs. He pulled her quickly to them and chose the last one, which held the smallest of the elephant saddles. It carried only two people, but Sophia’s reputation was safe. After all, what sort of ­ruination could happen to a young woman when she was seated atop an elephant for all the world to see?

  The attendant touched the elephant’s knee, and the giant animal lowered itself so Anthony and Sophia could climb aboard. She sat back, breathless, and when the elephant lumbered upward she clutched Anthony’s arm with a muted shriek.

  “What on earth . . .” she wheezed and stared down with her eyes opened wide. She swallowed. “Anthony, I don’t care for high spaces, I—”

  He pulled her hand under his arm and linked their fingers together. “Shh,” he said. “You’re perfectly safe. The elephant moves very slowly.”

  “What are you doing? Why are we not in a carriage with Major Stuart and Rachael?”

  “Because I must speak to you alone. About several things.”

  “Such as the Lady Seadon?”

  There was something in her tone that gave him pause.

  “I remember now,” Sophia said. “She had quite set her cap for you before you left.”

  Ah. The questions raised about her tone were answered. “Regrettably, yes. But I never encouraged it, never desired her attention.”

  She glanced at him and then looked straight ahead as the large party filed into the carriages and onto the other two elephants. “What is a woman to think, do you suppose, when a man comes home from war with a reputation like yours? She knows she is pretty, she knows you adore pretty women—”

  “Sophia.” His jaw was starting to ache again. “Please, for the love of Heaven, let me explain. Once we start moving and there is some distance from the rest of the group, I have things I must say to you.”

  She didn’t look at him, but he felt the tremor in her fingers. He wasn’t certain if she was still afraid of the high perch on the elephant’s back or if her anger and frustration with him were at a breaking point. He couldn’t blame her. As far as she knew, he had a woman in every port. More than one. And although she hadn’t seemed to believe it before, Braxton had circulated the gossip again so effectively over the last two years that he could only imagine what she must have heard. He massaged his eyes with his fingers and wondered how to extricate himself—all of them—from the mess.

  Once the last of the guests finally settled in, the carriages began rolling forward. The procession was a long one, and it took some time before their attendant issued the command for their elephant to walk.

  Sophia tensed again, squeezing his fingers tightly, though she was probably unaware of it.

  “See,” he said, seeking to soothe her. “It’s rather rhythmic, like rocking in a chair or a cradle.”

  “Only not nearly so smoothly,” she breathed and closed her eyes.

  Soothing her clearly was not going to work. He opted for distraction and the bluntness of the truth and dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Sophia, I am a spy for Britain’s War Department.”

  Her eyes shot open, and she slowly turned her head toward his. Her mouth grew slack, and she stared, unblinking. He wished she would say something. Anything.

  “I am certain this must come as a shock to you, but I have been on assignment these past two years and have not been at liberty to disclose the truth of it to you or anyone. My reputation as a rogue—it is nothing more than a sham, a cover story to divert suspicion away from my true activities.”

  Still, she stared.

  “I wanted to tell you the truth. I have wanted to so many times.” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated and knowing he was blabbering like a fool and not giving her even a moment to process his admission. “I was compelled to write you that letter because your safety came first—it still does—but there are things now that you must know—”

  “A spy,” she interrupted, blinking once.

  “Yes.” He was winded, as though he had run a long distance without stopping.

  “That is your story? You’re a spy?”

  He felt his own mouth slacken this time. “Well, yes, I—”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she pulled against his fingers but he held tight to her hand. “If you do not wish an association with me, Anthony Blake, I certainly do not care for one with you! You needn’t create outlandish tales, ridiculous tales, merely to put me off. I have never begged for your affection, have never made demands on your time or friendship! And now because you see a woman from your past who you wish to keep at bay, you concoct this . . . this . . . bizarre scheme so that I will stay by your side and make it appear as though you are spoken for? Ha!”

  “Sophia, shh—”

  “I should march straight up to Lady Seadon and say, ‘Here! Take him, please, because he is a philanderer and a liar and you are welcome to him because I want none of it!’”

  He clapped a hand over her mouth and smiled at the four people on the elephant ahead of them who had craned their necks around at her outburst. “Sophia,” he said through his teeth.

  He felt the sharp sting of a bite and yanked his hand away.

  “Do not attempt to placate me or hush me,” she hissed, and he was grateful she had lowered her voice. “I am not a child! I am a woman of marriageable age and when I think of the gentlemen I have brushed aside because I was convinced I could never feel deeply for anyone again, I am ill! I might have fallen in love with someone else, might have had a chance at happiness! I have wasted my youth, and for what? A liar!”

  At that, he laughed. “Sophia, you have not wasted your youth—”

  “Do not laugh at me! Do not even look at me. I want to get down from this elephant.”

  He had never seen her so furious. And cad that he was, he couldn’t help but think she’d never looked more beautiful. “You cannot get down from a moving elephant.”

  “Then tell him I want to stop.”

  “Tell the elephant?”

  She ground her teeth. “Tell the attendant who is driving the elephant that I want to get down.”

  “No. And stop moving around so, you’ll frighten the beast.”

  She stopped moving immediately, and he felt guilty for using her fear against her. “Now, before we arrive at the Club, please tell me the details of the package you received.”

  She glared at him. “Giving up your pretense already, are you? I suspect you realized it for the pathetic scheme that it was.”

  “It is not a scheme; it is the truth. Every word. We can discuss it later, but I would like to know about the broken toy and note that Major Stuart brought to me.”

  She deflated, then, her shoulders dropping. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with fingers that shook. He pressed the hand he still held between his two and rubbed his thumb lightly across her knuckles.

  “Someone sliced Chestnut completely in half, and I do not know how to explain it to Charlie. I do not know who did it, or why, and the note makes no sense to me at all. I can only assume someone seeks to keep me from discovering his identity through Charlie, but now I am afraid that the boy’s life is in danger more than I fear the danger to my own life. I am horrified that someone would be so cruel as to destroy his favorite toy, his security.” Her voice trembled.

  “We can fix the toy,” he said and continued his slow massage of her hand. “It will not be exactly as new, but perhaps we can explain that it was hurt but it has been mended. We can even affix a bandage to it and tell him the wound was sustained whilst Chestnut was doing something heroic.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Something like spying for God and country?”


  He couldn’t help but smile, but he did his best to hide it. She didn’t sigh, or faint, or meekly accept whatever he might say. She came at him head-on as would a hissing cat, and he much preferred that. Now he knew the state of her heart for certainty. At least the state in which he’d left it. Reclaiming it might prove to be more of a challenge than he’d imagined.

  “We shall fix the toy,” he repeated, “and I think it best if you keep away from Charlie for a time. In fact, I believe Dylan may suggest to you and Rachael both that you should consider returning home.”

  She shot her attention back to his face. “Did he tell you that?”

  He nodded. “I hate to say I agree with him. Captain Miller is most certainly dead, and I believe you are in danger.”

  “Major Stuart is delusional—you are delusional—if you believe I am leaving until the matter is settled with that boy. Rachael can return home if she wishes, but I am not going.”

  He ought to have expected it and didn’t know why he was surprised. “Dearest—”

  She flared her nostrils at him, and he held his hand up in supplication.

  “Sophia, you know Jack is your guardian. I must write to him, and ultimately he will decide whether you remain here or go home.”

  She cocked a brow and looked him squarely in the eye. “I shall marry someone here, then. I have already received half a dozen proposals from men I could tolerate well enough, and I have only been here a week. I will remain here and continue to help Charlie and the Denney sisters.”

  He frowned. “Who have you met that you could tolerate? And half a dozen? I thought there were two!”

  “I don’t see how that is any of your business. You are not my brother, after all.” She laughed but there was no humor in it.

  He winced. “It makes absolutely no sense for you to tie your fate to a man you feel you might ‘tolerate well enough,’ merely to remain with people who have, until a few days ago, been complete strangers to you.”

  “The man tells me he’s a spy and then dares reference my ill use of common sense.” She stared straight ahead, again tugging on her hand.

  Still he held it tight, knowing she had her wits about her enough to realize she couldn’t fight him without causing a ruckus other people would see. It was brutish of him, but desperate times called for brutish measures. He had her captive on the back of an elephant, they had the rare liberty of conversing alone without ruining her reputation, and he would hold her hand as though it were the last opportunity he might ever have. Which may well be the case, because the odds of success at maneuvering her alone onto an elephant again were slim.

  Chapter 18

  Sophia couldn’t get off of the elephant quickly enough. Once her feet hit solid ground, she left Anthony without a backward glance and dashed along the side of the dusty road, looking in each carriage for Rachael. She finally found her descending from the second vehicle in the long line, glaring at her cousin. Rachael stepped onto the ground, and Sophia flew at her.

  “I am livid,” she said, as she linked arms with Rachael and pulled her toward the doors of the social club. “I do not believe I have ever been angrier. I have much to tell you, but later. First, I must think. And that one,” she said, motioning her head behind them at Major Stuart, “thinks to make us go home immediately.”

  “I am aware of his plan,” Rachael told her, grim.

  “I am not going home yet.”

  “Nor I.”

  They eyed each other for a moment and then nodded. They approached the front of the building, which resembled a large bungalow, not as large as the Residency mansion, but still impressive in size and structure. Once inside, Sophia noted a mixture of traditional British and Indian décor, with a few hunting trophies stuffed and posed ferociously in the corners.

  One large social room fed into two additional chambers, one of which was used as a drawing room for card games while the other was a ballroom that led out onto an enormous verandah that swept around the building on two sides. Music played in the ballroom, glasses clinked as guests enjoyed champagne, and conversation floated on the air punctuated with feminine laughter and the chortle of male amusement.

  Sophia scowled, her mood foul. “Just as any other gathering at home.”

  Rachael nodded. “Of course it is. East India Company has merely recreated what everybody left behind. If they miss England so much, perhaps they should return.”

  “Hear, hear.” Sophia put a hand on her hip and tried to assemble her swirling thoughts. Anthony was truly stupid if he thought for one moment she would believe his ridiculous tale. She needed time to think, and she certainly couldn’t do it while near him. She glanced over her shoulder and spied his dark, handsome, infuriating head as he ascended the front stairs with Major Stuart. She wondered if Anthony had tried to pass his lies off onto him.

  “I shall be in the ballroom,” she told Rachael. “You’ll find me dancing with all and sundry.” And in truth, she wasn’t more than two feet into the ballroom when she found herself besieged by tea planters, indigo plantation owners, three military men, and a clerk from a local countinghouse. It never hurt a girl to have options, and she was afraid if she couldn’t hang on to her righteous anger and indignation, she would dissolve into a puddle of pathetic tears.

  She was in the middle of a quadrille with the clerk when she spied Anthony standing near the wall in conversation with Major Stuart. She turned her head smartly when Anthony looked at her, and, as she came around again, she focused on Major Stuart instead. Perhaps she could fall in love with him. He likely didn’t suffer from compulsive lying or womanizing.

  In fact, he was single, smart, had a good career, provided a comfortable living for himself, and perhaps he might be interested in her dowry. It was a good enough beginning.

  She made every effort to keep her attention from drifting back to the dark-haired earl at Major Stuart’s side when a fluff of pink tulle in that direction pulled her eyes to him anyway. Lissa Seadon had found him and smiled up at him as though he were a breakfast pastry.

  Sophia rolled her eyes and huffed a noise of disgust before she realized she was hand-to-hand again with her partner, the poor clerk who probably wondered what he might have done to earn her disdain. She forced herself to smile at the man, truly repentant when he stammered his hopes that she was enjoying her evening before the steps of the dance took her away from him again.

  The set seemed interminably long; she felt as though she would keep spinning in the same monotonous circles for eternity, each full spin bringing Anthony and that wretched, clinging woman into her vision again. The quadrille eventually came to its end, and she curtseyed to her baffled partner, who likely was reconsidering furthering an association with her.

  Strains of a waltz began next, and couples flooded to the floor in delight. Anthony was saying something to Lissa Vale, and Sophia felt her nostrils flare. Perhaps he was trying to convince the young woman he was an international man of espionage. And what would Lissa care? All she wanted was his title and money.

  “By some miracle sent from heaven, are you unclaimed for this dance, Miss Elliot?” Professor Gerald stood at her elbow, and she turned to him with a smile.

  “I am indeed unclaimed.”

  He bowed very nicely and led her back to the floor. They settled into a comfortable rhythm. He was smooth on his feet and sure in his movements. She smiled at him and cast about for a conversation opener. She could always remark on the weather, or the differences in climate between India and England.

  “He looks at you constantly, you know.”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “Wilshire. I am an observant study of character, and when you are in the room, he has eyes only for you.”

  She shook her head and looked at a spot beyond his shoulder as he spun her effortlessly around the room. “Mr. Gerald, you are entirely too sympathetic. I fear y
ou will have me in tears when I should much rather remain indifferent.”

  He smiled and she looked at him. He really was rather handsome with those haunting blue eyes fringed by thick black lashes, black hair, and olive-toned skin. What was wrong with her? She didn’t feel anything special when she looked at him, even with one hand holding hers and his other at her waist. His firm shoulder beneath her hand told her he had no need to fill out his suit coat with padding. Should things progress between the professor and Rachael, her friend would be a fortunate woman indeed. Physical attributes aside, he was a good man.

  “You have a past with him, of course?”

  She sighed. “We were close once. I had assumed more than I should. Then he left England and I was quite bereft. I do not desire to return to that emotional place.” She smiled. “So now you know my secrets, and I apologize for pouring them out onto you.”

  “Not at all. I asked. I consider myself your new friend, and I believe you could certainly do worse than encourage the earl.”

  She laughed.

  “He is a good man.”

  Her laughter faded, and she tried to hold on to her smile. “I believe he is. But I also believe he will never be content with the company of just one . . .” She flushed. It was beyond the pale to even broach such an indelicate subject with a gentleman.

  “Just one woman?” he finished gently.

  She nodded miserably, feeling a sting in her eyes, the prelude to a torrent of tears if she couldn’t hold herself together.

  “And what would lead you to assume such a thing?”

  She blinked, incredulous. “His reputation has followed him even here, to India. He is a rake. A scoundrel. He is seen constantly with opera divas and women who tread the boards.”

  One corner of his mouth shifted in a smile. “Miss Elliot, you ought not believe everything you hear. One thing I have learned as a person of two races and cultures—and neither one truly knowing what to do with me—people say all manner of things when they do not understand the truth.”

  She frowned. “But it is such common knowledge—”