Читать книгу The Jasmine Wife - Jane Coverdale - Страница 11

Sara hated herself for her failure to like her new home, even though it was one of the largest and best built in the community, and, at her first sight of it, had to struggle to hide her dismay, though Charles spoke with unmistakable pride in his voice.

“What do you think of it? I like to see it as our own little patch of England.”

The house was an exaggerated version of a Surrey country cottage, burdened with both mock Tudor features and a prim picket fence. There was something ridiculous about it, like an Englishman Sara had met on the ship, who wore heavy tweeds despite the heat and always carried an umbrella.

A dainty path bordered by half-dead roses snaked from the veranda across a faded yellow lawn to the front fence. It was clearly her husband’s pride and joy and as he paused at the front gate he solemnly contemplated the grass, poking at the bare patches with his walking stick.

“My home,” she murmured, but even to her own ears the words seemed wistful.

The servants appeared to welcome them, laughing and generously bestowing blessings on their new mistress. She was swept towards the house while fragrant flowers were thrown in her path. Only one servant hung back, unsmiling and watchful, her eyes fixed on Sara. Even the drab brown of her servant’s sari couldn’t disguise the fact that she was lovely in a way that set her apart from the rest of the servants.

Charles seemed not to notice her beauty. Her presence seemed only to inspire him to anger. “There you are! Quick! Come here at once and meet your mistress.”

The girl crept forward and prostrated herself on the ground before them both, then slowly raised her kohl-rimmed eyes, her expression a mixture of fear and curiosity. She glanced in Charles’s direction as though asking for permission to speak. Despite her heavy gold nose-ring disguising almost half her face, it was plain she was not from South India. Her pale skin and slightly curved nose showed something of Arabic roots.

Charles gave her permission to speak.

“I am Lakshmi, memsahib.” Her huge almond-shaped eyes flashed, then were cast down once more.

“Lakshmi, what a pretty name—it means the goddess of good fortune, doesn’t it, Charles? I hope we will be good friends, Lakshmi.”

The girl gave Charles another furtive look before venturing to speak.

“Thank you, memsahib.”

“That’ll do. Wait over there.” Charles was cross again and Sara couldn’t understand why.

“Is something wrong?”

He answered her at last, speaking as though she were a small child who must be humoured. “Darling, you don’t have to be friends with her, but from now on Lakshmi will do everything for you.”

“Couldn’t it have waited a little? I would’ve liked to choose my own maid. Perhaps we won’t suit each other.”

“My sweet girl, you know you can’t turn up in your own home without a maid; the servants will despise you if you do. Anyway, it’s not for her to decide if you suit her. She’s here to do what you ask of her; that’s all there is to it.”

“I would like her to be happy, just the same.”

“As I said, her happiness is not an issue. She’s a hard worker, that’s what’s important, and trained by Lady Palmer herself. She’s been given to you as a wedding gift and you’re very lucky to have her.”

“A wedding gift? I was under the impression that slavery was illegal.”

“We do pay her, you know.” He spoke with a tinge of impatience in his voice. “Very well, as it happens, and she’s very grateful to have the position, I can assure you.”

“Then I must thank Lady Palmer when I see her,” she replied almost sweetly, though her eyes showed her resentment. “She’s very pretty.”

“Is she? I hadn’t noticed. One can never think of the Indian women as pretty … but of her type I suppose she’s attractive enough.”

Sara smiled up at him, wanting to break down the stiffness between them. “Has she a sweetheart?”

“Of course not …” he spluttered, and shook his head almost violently, as though the idea was unthinkable. “The men won’t have her … She has no family or dowry!”

“Poor girl … Is that why she seems so unhappy?”

He frowned, his patience at an end now. “Sara, my dear, you really do have an over-fanciful imagination. How can you tell if she’s happy or not without even knowing the girl?”

Sara was taken aback by the passion of his response, but at the sight of her shocked face, as soon as the servants were dismissed from the room, he hurried to console her.

“I’m sorry … Forgive me. It’s just that, after all this time, it’s a strain for us both and,” he added, taking her hand to kiss it, “I’m not used to being in the company of such a lovely and accomplished girl. I’ve forgotten how to behave.”

The gentle tone of his voice softened her a little, and she didn’t protest when he put his arms around her.

“I can’t believe you’re here at last.”

“I would have come at once if you’d sent for me.” Her tone was cool. She had to admit to having harboured a secret resentment towards him. It had been a niggling and often painful thought in the back of her mind that if he really cared for her there would’ve been no delay. In her heart she felt he should have swept her up in his arms and insisted on taking her on the ship with him, despite her aunt’s sudden illness. Though, even though she thought it, she studied his face and saw the truth of it. Despite his romantic exterior, it wasn’t his way to be impulsive.

“Well, you’re here now, and we have the rest of our lives together. Anyway, I couldn’t take the risk of you falling ill. You must trust me. We lost two of our community to the cholera this last time, one of them a young woman about your age …”

“Then you do care for me?” she asked with a smile.

“Of course I do, perhaps even more than I did before.”

He put out a hand to touch her hair. “I don’t remember you being so lovely; it’s come as quite a shock to me.”

“Have I changed so much?” She raised her face to his, while his eyes lingered on the tempting shape of her upper lip. He wondered why he’d never noticed it before.

“As I said, it’s almost as though you’re a different person. I wasn’t sure if you still loved me.” His voice was almost harsh now. “I suppose I need you to be devoted to me. Like any new husband.”

“Well, I am devoted to you.” She laughed, surprised at his intensity. “And prepared to love you, even more than I do already, if you give me half a chance.”

He studied her face as she gazed at him. It was impossible not to see how eager and sincere she was.

He nodded, satisfied at last. In truth he was a little disappointed to discover he’d married such a beautiful girl. It had never been his intention to marry for beauty. He felt a wife was expected to be a wife, not an ornament. It made him uneasy to think other men might now look at her with lustful ideas. It increased her power over him, and he hated to be at a disadvantage. He changed the subject at once, not wanting to linger on unpleasant thoughts.

“I’ve arranged for us to leave for Tanjore as soon as I can get away.”

“Tanjore?”

“South of here. you’ll like the place. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other, away from prying eyes. One is never really alone in Madras.”

His eyes lingered on her body, taking time to appreciate her shapely form. She unconsciously crossed her arms over her breasts, at the same time experiencing a strange little flutter in her chest. It was real, after all. She really was married to this man standing before her and he had a right to look at her in that way.

“Our honeymoon … Of course, I’d almost forgotten.” She blushed and looked away.

“I don’t see why you’re so shocked.” He laughed, for the first time showing a touch of humour. “That’s what you’re here for, you know, to love, honour and obey.”

She bit her lip and stared down at her hands, wondering what to do next. Then, before she could stop herself, the words spilled out. “I will love and honour you, but I have no intention of obeying you, Charles, unless I want to, of course.”

He stared at her for a long moment as though weighing up her words and struggling with his own thoughts, then he stepped forward in a determined way and drew her to him, kissing her hard on the lips.

It was the first time they had actually kissed with any kind of intensity, and she wasn’t sure if it was pleasurable or not; his transformation from practicality to passion came as such a shock.

“I can’t wait. I can’t wait to have you to myself,” he breathed. She was aware of his beating heart as she was pressed almost violently against his chest. Then she felt the warmth of his fingers as they stole up the back of her neck and grasped at the strands of her hair, pulling her head back to be kissed once more.

She gave a little gasp. It was almost as if he was another man. Then for a blinding instant she saw a little into his soul. He kept his feelings close, and only sometimes would he allow them to be seen. This was what marriage was about; she must try to understand him, and with that understanding would come a deeper love. It was such a relief, such a relief to know, deep down, she hadn’t been wrong about him after all.