The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

Emily let out a long breath. “I’ll try to be good,” she finally said. “To reach him with reasonableness.” She laughed. “I’m not sure it’s possible.”


“I’ll visit,” Jane said. “I’ve worked it out with him. I’ll still see you. I’ll be able to slip you money, so that if you ever need it—if you have to bribe physicians yourself—you’ll have it. You have a little more than a year until he’s no longer your guardian. Once you turn twenty-one, there is nothing he can do to hold you here.”

“I know,” Emily said. “I love you, Jane, but…” She swallowed. “Don’t worry for me. I shall manage on my own.”

Jane smoothed her sister’s hair. “Who knows? Maybe Titus will get better.”

Emily laughed. “Maybe. And maybe he… But no. I won’t make fun of him.”

“There’s a plant on my desk,” Jane said. “A cactus. I want you to keep it while I’m gone. So you’ll have something of me.”

“Oh, God, Jane. I always forget to water plants. I’m going to kill it.”

“Forget to water this one.” Jane smiled. “You’re supposed to.”

Her sister nodded and curled up against her.

“Was it worth it?” Jane asked. “This man you were slipping out to meet… Was he worth it?”

Emily paused. “He’s going to be a barrister. He asked me to marry him. I’ve not given him my answer yet. I was waiting for some kind of a sign. And now this thing has happened with Titus.”

“Titus is never a sign of anything but Titus,” Jane said. “Does your barrister love you?”

Emily waited even longer before answering. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “It’s hard for me to read him. He says that I’m pretty.”

“Anyone would say that, silly. You are. But he was meeting you in secret. I can’t like that. Is he a rake?”

“He’s the farthest thing from a rake. I told you, he’s gentle. Except when he’s not. When he’s angry, he speaks his mind quite clearly.”

“Does this not-rakish gentleman have a name?”

She could feel her sister stiffen beside her with some inexplicable tenseness. “He does.”

Was it someone Jane knew? Someone she had mentioned? Not the Marquess of Bradenton, she prayed. Let it not be him. But she didn’t ask. She didn’t push. She simply waited. And after about half a minute, Emily continued.

“It’s Anjan,” Emily said. “Anjan Bhattacharya.”

Jane’s eyes widened in surprise. There were a thousand responses she could give. She mulled them all over and finally settled on one.

“Tell me,” she said sleepily. “Tell me all about him. Does he say your name the way you say his?”

Her sister pondered this. “He told me once that my guardian should hold me precious. But Mama didn’t. Papa didn’t. Titus, oddly enough, has come closest, and he, well….” She sighed and turned in the bed. “That leaves only you, Jane. You’re the only one who has ever thought me a treasure.”

Jane gathered her sister in her arms, holding her close. “Of course, Emily. Of course I do.”

“So who did you have?”

Jane’s throat tightened. Emily had never asked that before. She’d always been the younger sister, never thinking that Jane might need someone, too. Jane shook her head numbly.

“And now you’re going away.” Emily’s own voice was hoarse. “Promise me that you’ll take as good care of yourself as you did of me. Promise that, and I’ll manage to take care of myself.”

“Emily.”

But her little sister kissed her fingertips and set them against Jane’s forehead. “Promise. Promise that you’ll do it.”

Jane folded Emily’s hand in her own. “I promise,” she whispered.

Chapter Sixteen

Anjan Bhattacharya hadn’t known how much he cared until Emily stopped coming. The first day she’d not appeared at their agreed-upon meeting, he wandered up the banks of the brook where they normally walked. He strolled down the other side, where there was no path, only unbroken fields boot-high in winter grasses.

Maybe she’d not been able to get away.

He walked and he waited. After an hour and a half passed, he left.

He waited the second day at the usual time. He waited and he waited and he waited until his feet were sore from standing. He waited until the sun slid from the sky and kissed the horizon, until even his vast well of hope had begun to run dry.

On the third day, a servant was there for him. She frowned at Anjan. “Are you…uh…Mr….uh…”

“Yes,” he replied, because he answered to Mr. Uh almost as often as he did to his own name.

“This is for you,” she said, holding out a square of paper. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

Dear Anjan, Emily had written. My uncle has discovered everything. I’ve tried twice, and I can’t get away to see you. I might be able to make it one day, but I can’t ask you to wait for weeks on end on such hopes.

The world, he decided, was vastly unfair.

I have been considering everything you said the last time we spoke. I enjoyed the story you told me, but I’m not sure what to do about it yet.