The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

“I’m Mr. Anjan Bhattacharya,” he said, “and I’m here on a matter of some importance.

Fairfield set Anjan’s card on the desk without glancing at it. “Well,” he said in a jolly voice, “I’m not taking any pupils this year.” He had a crafty look in his eye, as if somehow Anjan wouldn’t recognize that he was being put off.

“Just as well. I have no interest in a tutor. I took the Law Tripos in March,” he informed the man. “But I did know your last pupil—John Plateford. You did good work with him.”

Mr. Fairfield had not expected flattery. He blinked and was unable to summon up the rudeness necessary to ring the bell and have Anjan thrown away. So Anjan sat on the other side of his desk. For a moment, Fairfield simply stared at him, unsure of the etiquette of the situation. His natural pride, such as it was, won out after a few moments.

“Yes, Plateford,” he said happily. “He received first-class honors.”

“A credit to you,” Anjan replied politely. “So did I.”

Fairfield blinked once more at that and then shook his head, as if to dispel the idea that Anjan might have ranked alongside his pupil.

“I’m a barrister in London now,” Anjan continued. He waited one moment to see if Fairfield would connect his profession with the note that Emily had left.

But he didn’t. Fairfield sat there frowning owlishly at Anjan.

“A few days ago,” Anjan continued after too long a pause, “Miss Emily Fairfield came to me.”

Her uncle sucked in a breath. “You?” he said in shock. “Why would she go to you?”

“Because I’d asked her to marry me,” Anjan said. “And because she wanted to tell me yes.”

“Ridiculous!” Fairfield shook his head, pushing against the desk as if he could thus reject the words Anjan was saying. “Insanity! It’s not possible.”

Anjan might have listed all the ways it was possible—starting with the good-luck kiss she’d given him the prior evening. He might have mentioned the long talk they’d had last night, discussing their future. Instead, he decided to misunderstand the man.

“I assure you,” Anjan said, “there is no prohibition.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Fairfield grimaced. “You know. I meant that you can’t marry her.”

“You mean that I can’t marry her on account of the fact that you object.”

Fairfield looked relieved to have the matter stated so plainly. “Yes. Yes. That’s it. I object.”

“I don’t blame you,” Anjan said. “I am here to relieve you of your objections. I know you must be feeling a little worried about how your niece will be treated.”

“Indeed.” Fairfield puffed out his chest. “I am worried about her treatment.”

“I can understand that,” Anjan said. “My father is highly placed in the civil service. My uncle is the native aide-de-camp for the Governor-General. I know you must be worried that I will think your niece beneath me.”

Fairfield blinked rapidly. “Uh. Well.”

“Never fear,” Anjan said. “I don’t. I’ll care for her as well as any lesser man might. We may be better off than your humble circumstances, but I am just another one of her Majesty’s loyal servants.” The words hardly tasted badly in his mouth as he spoke them.

Mr. Fairfield seemed nonplussed. He skimmed his hand over his head, grimacing oddly. “That was not…”

“Ah. It’s her fits, then? You fear she wasn’t truthful with me about them. Mr. Fairfield, I applaud your desire to make sure that there has been adequate and proper disclosure between all parties before entering into a permanent relationship. But I assure you that I’ve known of them from the start. They’re scarcely worth thinking about.”

“You don’t understand.” Fairfield was beginning to look pale.

“Ah,” Anjan slowly stood, setting his hands on the desk. “It’s because I’m Indian.”

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“I am not sure that Emily is well enough to marry,” her uncle finally said. “But if she were, then, yes, I’d refuse you. Because you’re—you’re—”

“From India,” Anjan supplied helpfully. “It’s the name of a place, not a loathsome disease. You’ll have to learn to say it; we’re going to be family.”

“No, no, of course we’re not,” Fairfield said mulishly. “I don’t have to say anything. I won’t give permission. I won’t.”

“Perhaps you can explain.”

“Because I know your race,” Fairfield growled. “You’re weak and you’ll take ten wives and if you die, you’ll force my niece to burn herself on your funeral pyre.”

“Yes,” Anjan snapped back. “Because it would be so much better to let her have no husband at all, to burn her with pokers while she’s still alive, and to subject her to electric shock. You’ve no call to lecture me on that front, Mr. Fairfield. I, at least, have never hurt her.”