Startled by her abrupt change of direction, he said cautiously, "Probably not. How do you define agreeable?"
"In the literal sense of being willing to accommodate the wishes of others," she explained. "My mother once said that the most comfortable marriages are between two people who are both easygoing, who do not always insist on having their own way. When two such people disagree about what to do, the one who cares most about the result will get his or her way, and the other accepts it good-naturedly."
Intrigued, he said, "Your mother sounds like a wise woman. But what if there is a difference of opinion and both parties care greatly about how the issue is decided?"
"Then they fight," she said, eyes twinkling. "But I am an agreeable person—most of the time—and you seem to be also. I don't think we would fight often."
Ian thought of his own parents. His father had always had to have his own way, in matters great and small, and his mother had always submitted meekly. Ian had not been surprised when his sister rejected meekness in favor of rebellion. "I suppose I'm agreeable in the sense you mean, if not always in other ways."
"Very good." She cocked her head to one side. "Do you have any other dark secrets to reveal?"
"One more, and this may be the worst," he said with wry humor. "The lords of Falkirk were border bandits for centuries, so the family seat is built for defense, not comfort. It's one of those frightful medieval castles with twelve-foot thick walls, smoking chimneys, and ancient weapons lurking in dark corners."
"Ghosts?" she asked hopefully.
"Three or four, but they're a harmless lot. Far worse are the drafts. When the wind blows from the North Sea, it would freeze the ears off a stone elephant."
"You should not say such a thing in front of our friend Ganesha," she said with mock reproval. "And don't think you can frighten a Russian with tales of cold. Compared to St. Petersburg, your Falkirk will seem like Calcutta. We Russkis are very good at creating warmth in a frozen land."
Though her words were teasing, they were also absolutely true, for Laura had already created warmth in Ian's frozen heart. "I think I've covered the worst of my dark secrets," he said. "Do you have any to confess?"
Her levity faded and she glanced away, her absent gaze falling on the has relief next to her. "I haven't your ability to be honest about things that are deeply painful, Ian. That isn't a dark secret, but it certainly is a flaw in my character."
"If that's your worst failing, I'll be a lucky man." He smiled a little. "I suppose the only thing that would make me withdraw my proposal is if you have a husband stashed somewhere. Do you?"
She shook her head. "Nary a husband to my name."
Knowing he shouldn't rush her but unable to bear the suspense, he said, "Are you ready to make a decision, or will you need more time?"
Laura reached out and rubbed Ganesha's round, jolly belly with her palm. Ganesha, the happy god, who removed obstacles from the paths of mortals.
"Laura Stephenson is a calm, rational Englishwoman who thinks that what you are proposing is mad," she said slowly. "But Larissa Alexandrovna is a demented Russian, and she says I should grab this opportunity with both hands, for I'll never have another like it."
Hope welling in his heart, he rose to his feet and walked toward her. "Then by all means remember that you are Russian."
Laura turned from Ganesha to look at him. "What was your father's Christian name?"
"The same as your father's—Alexander." He stopped directly in front of her, close enough to touch but restraining the impulse to do so. The last thing he wanted was to alarm her now.
She took a deep breath. "Very well, Ivan Alexandrovich, I accept." Reaching out, she grasped both his hands in hers. "And I hope to heaven that we don't both live to regret this!"
"I won't," he said with absolute conviction. "And I swear I'll do my best to see that you don't, either."
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," she said jauntily. "And what do I have to lose but my sanity and peace of mind?" Her icy hands tightened on his and her voice dropped. "I'm terrified, Ian, but I'm also delighted."
With a gratitude too profound for words, Ian raised her hands and kissed them gently, first the left, then the right. In Cambay, he had realized that he must find something to care about if he wanted to survive.
In this golden-eyed girl, he had found his reason to go on living.
Chapter 10
As they road back to Baipur, Ian said, "Unless you object, I'd like to get married as soon as possible. Within a fortnight, if the legalities can be completed and there's a Christian clergyman available."
Laura drew in her breath. "It seems so sudden. An hour ago I was a dedicated spinster and now I'm planning my wedding." Her brow furrowed as she thought. "But it does make sense to marry soon. There's an English missionary who comes to Baipur, and he should arrive within the next week. I'll have finished settling my affairs here so we can be off the day after the ceremony.''
His gaze slanted over to her. For the first time, she realized that Ian always rode with her to his left, the side of his good eye, so that he could see her easily. "Do you prefer to travel fast and light or slow and comfortable?" he asked.
She grinned. "What if I tell you that I can't stir without twenty bullock carts and forty servants?"
"If that's what Lady Falkirk wants," he said stoically.
"Goodness, you really are agreeable," she said, impressed. "But I prefer riding on horseback with few or no servants. Traveling in state makes me impatient, though Papa and I had to do it because of his position. My maid is a native of Baipur and is to marry soon herself, so she won't want to come with me. I can manage alone until we reach Bombay."
He regarded her quizzically. "You really won't miss having an army of servants?"
"Not in the least." She wrinkled her nose. "I know we must have large households to uphold British prestige, and it does provide work for people who need it, but having so many servants is as much nuisance as luxury. Often it would be easier to do the job myself rather than wait for someone of the right caste to be summoned. Once a dead bird lay in the garden for half a day before the right sort of untouchable could be brought in to remove it. It seemed very peculiar, because I was new in India and hadn't learned that none of the higher cast Hindus could touch a dead body without being defiled."
He gave an understanding nod. "As a junior officer, I found it bizarre that a soldier who would risk his life for me without a second thought would refuse to accept water from my canteen. Still, the Hindu rules about cleanliness are healthy."
"My father used to say that all the customs that seem incomprehensible to a European evolved to meet valid social needs," Laura said. "But to return to the subject of our journey to Bombay, it will be simpler and faster if we travel without an entourage."
"Then we will," Ian said. "By the way, we must go through Cambay, though it's out of the way. I told my brother I'd spend a few days with him before going home."
"You've a brother in India?"
"Yes, David's an officer in my old regiment." Ian made a wry face. "My earlier stay in Cambay was so brief that I didn't see any of my old friends. Frankly, I'd just as soon not have to face them all and answer the same questions over and over, but I did promise my brother."
"Then of course we'll go to Cambay," she said warmly. "Tell me about David, and about the rest of your family."
He smiled a little. "You want to find out about them while there's still time to change your mind?"
She chuckled. "Since I have so few relatives of my own, I quite like the idea of marrying some."
With her encouragement, Ian spoke of his family and his childhood for the rest of the journey back to Baipur. It was the longest Laura had ever heard him talk.
She began to develop a picture of Ian's early life. Raised abroad, he had a wider perspective than most Britons. His father, who had been knighted for his diplomatic services, had apparently been brilliant and difficult, while his mother sounded sweet
but overwhelmed by all of the strong personalities in her family. As the oldest child, Ian had early developed the habit of looking out for others, Becoming an army officer had been a natural progression.
She thought she'd like his two younger brothers, but his sister sounded alarming. Ian finished describing Juliet just as they reached the stables behind the Stephenson bungalow.
As they dismounted, Laura said, "Let's see if I have this right. Your sister is a redheaded Amazon who can outride most men, shoot the whiskers off a mountain goat, then put on an evening gown and reduce every man in sight to languishing sighs?"
He smiled. "That's not quite what I said."
"Close enough," Laura said as she handed her reins to the groom. "She sounds terrifying,"
"I think you'll get along with her very well. Better than..." He stopped abruptly.
"Better than whom?" She took his arm, thinking that the era of keeping her distance was over, and good riddance.
After a pause, Ian said, "Better than most women would. You both have unconventional streaks. While it's more obvious in her case, I think you'll understand each other very well."
"I'm not at all unconventional," Laura protested. "I'm one of the most unremarkable of women."
As they entered the bungalow, he turned that too-perceptive gaze on her. "That's not true. You are something of an original. I wonder why it bothers you to admit it."
He'd been honest with her; she owed him honesty in return. With some difficulty, she said, "When I came to England, I didn't enjoy being a strange little Russian. At school, the other girls laughed at my accent and my peculiar slanty eyes. I couldn't change my eyes, but I did my best to become as much like everyone else as possible. I was happier not being singled out."
"You can be a strange little Russian with me," Ian said. "I like that aspect of you. And I think your eyes are beautiful."
As his gaze met hers, Laura felt a glow of warmth that started in her heart and gradually spread until it encompassed her whole being. Her stepfather had loved her, but Ian was the first person to say that he actually liked the Russian side of her. Perhaps that was why the Larissa Alexandrovna who still lived inside Laura Stephenson had instantly wanted to accept him.
To be grateful for his injury was unthinkable. If Laura could wave a wand to restore him, she would have done it in an instant, even though it would mean that they couldn't marry.
But she couldn't change Ian any more than he could bring the late Lord Falkirk back to life. So she took her own advice and rejoiced in the fate that had brought them together.
* * *
For the next week, Laura was so busy that she had little time to grieve for her stepfather. The other Britons in Baipur accepted her betrothal with pleasure. Emily McKittrick observed that Ian was a bit overserious, but she had no doubt that he would make a splendid husband.
Even Emery Walford sent Laura a short, awkward note wishing her happiness. Then he set off on a district tour of his own so he needn't attend the wedding.
The Reverend James was notified and the wedding scheduled for the next week. Aided by the other two British women at the station, Laura spent the intervening time dismantling the life she had lived in Baipur. Ian arranged for the transportation of the items Laura wanted to keep. Her trunks would be carted to Benares, floated down the Ganges on a barge, then shipped to Edinburgh from Calcutta. Even the tiger skin would be forwarded when it arrived from Nanda.
Before Laura was quite ready for it, her wedding day arrived. Emily McKittrick, who had only sons, had entered into the preparations with enthusiasm. As unofficial mother-of-the-bride, she organized details and expressed regrets that the wedding would be such a small one.
With the help of her maid and Emily, Laura donned her best day dress, a high-necked ivory-colored gown with lace trim and swooping bell-shaped sleeves. Small white rosebuds from her garden were twined through her hair, and she carried a bouquet of brilliantly colored Indian blossoms.
Both Laura's attendants assured her that she was as beautiful as a bride could be, a compliment that she took with a large dose of salt. What she did know was that she was as nervous as a bride was supposed to be.
Judge McKittrick had offered to give Laura away. As he led her down the aisle of the small Christian chapel, her heart was hammering so loudly that she was sure the spectators must hear it. When panic threatened to overwhelm her, Laura fiercely reminded herself that this marriage would be essentially different from that of her parents. She was not like her mother, nor was Ian like her father. She and Ian were levelheaded adults, and together they would build a safe, sane relationship.
But her unpersuaded heart banged even harder when she saw Ian waiting at the altar, tall and dark-coated and stern. What on earth was she doing? In most ways, he was still a stranger. In fact, she only had his word for the fact that he was incapable of marital relations. What if she was the victim of a diabolical plan to lure her into matrimony?
For a moment Laura was on the verge of bolting. Her fingers curled into Judge McKittrick's arm like claws.
Amusement in his voice, the judge bent his head and whispered, "Buck up, my girl. Every bride panics on her wedding day. My darling Emily fainted at the altar, though she claims it was because of the heat. Don't worry, you're getting yourself a fine man here.''
As Laura realized that she was suffering from wedding-day hysteria, her mood swung from terror to a wild desire to giggle. Absurd to imagine that Ian would scheme to lure her into marriage. She wasn't interesting enough to warrant such extreme measures. Besides, her own perceptions had confirmed the truth of what he had revealed to her.
She was struggling to keep her face straight when the judge handed her into the keeping of her future husband. Glancing up, she saw that Ian's expression was strained. He must be as nervous as she. All perfectly normal, since marriage was one of life's most important steps.
But Ian was her ally, not her enemy, and she wanted to be with him. Reaching out, she clasped his hand and together they turned to face the minister.
"Dearly beloved..."
As Reverend James intoned the familiar words, her tension eased. The only difficult moment was when the minister said, "First, it was ordained for the procreation of children..."
Laura involuntarily flinched. She had been to her share of weddings, but never consciously noted that phrase. She almost glanced up into Ian's face, and only her knowledge that doing so would be unpardonably cruel gave her the control to keep her gaze forward. She and Ian might not be able to procreate, but the same service had just said that marriage was a holy estate not to be undertaken only to satisfy men's carnal lust. At least they were getting half of it right.
Then she was taking her vows. "I, Larissa Alexandrovna..." Not only was it her legal name, but Ian's acceptance of her heritage had made her want to marry under the name with which she had been christened.
It was Ian's turn next, and his faint Scots burr was more pronounced than usual. Then he slid the ring onto her finger. It was exactly what Laura had requested: a plain gold band, with no embellishment but their initials and the date etched inside.
Ian's deep voice was steady as he said, "... with my body I thee worship...," though his fingers tightened on hers. Laura felt another complicated pang. She had never recognized quite how earthy the wedding service was.
"Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder." Laura felt a shiver of guilt when she heard the admonition. She would not be entering this marriage if she hadn't known that she could leave if she wanted to, but such a thought was dreadfully out of place on her wedding day.
Finally it was time for her new husband to kiss his bride, Ian's lips were firm and pleasant. As they touched hers, Laura realized with a small shock that they had never kissed before. Warmth flowed between them, easing her doubts. This might be a marriage like no other, but, by God, it was going to work. She would make sure of that.
* * *
With a sigh, Ian stretched out i
n the deep tub of hot water. After two years of living in filth, he never tired of bathing. And the relaxation the bath offered came none too soon, for if the week between engagement and marriage had been a strain, the wedding day had been even worse.
Too many jolly congratulations, too many heartfelt good wishes, too many knowing smiles. Just plain too many people; the weight of their interest and concern had been overwhelming.
The peace Ian had found traveling from Nanda in Laura's company had vanished almost as soon as they became engaged. He's been tempted to suggest that they marry by the old Scottish custom of jumping over a sword. Then they could set off for Bombay immediately.
But even though his nerves had stretched to near snapping point, for Laura's sake he had endured it. Every woman deserved a wedding day where she was the center of attention, and he would not deprive her of that. And it had been worth it, for she had been a luminous bride, her hand trembling, but her golden eyes glowing and her soft voice steady.
She had stayed close all day and her presence had enabled him to endure the wedding breakfast even though he was suffering from his worst headache in weeks. Finally the festivities were over and they had been driven in style to this luxurious pavilion where they were to spend their wedding night. The pavilion was owned by the wealthiest merchant in Baipur, who had given Laura the use of it in honor of his friend Kenneth Stephenson.
Ian and Laura had arrived at the pavilion just as the sun was setting among streamers of fiery light. Situated on the edge of a mirror-smooth little lake, it was an extremely romantic spot to spend a wedding night. Soft-footed servants had provided a supper, of which Ian had eaten nothing. Then the newlyweds had been ushered off to separate bathing rooms.
Ian's was fit for a maharajah, with a giant marble tub sunken in the floor and endless hot water. Laura's would be equally sumptuous.
Wanting nothing more than to be alone, Ian immediately dismissed the servants. Then he stripped off his clothing and lowered himself into the bath. He used none of the scented oils—he was too much a Scot to want to smell like a nosegay—but the hot water was wonderful. He didn't emerge until the bath began to cool, and by that time most of his headache was gone.