Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“There are times when such arrangements are made. Not, however, at the whim of the concubines. These marriages are careful political alliances, gestures of good faith to valued advisers from their sultan. It is a mark of the highest trust to be selected for a role like that.”

“How so?”

“Wives can sometimes be in a position to observe much.”

“They spy for you?”

“They ensure that I have staunch supporters in their husbands.”

“I’ve no doubt Roxelana would serve you well.” As I said the words, my throat clenched, and a chill of horror rippled through me. I hated negotiating as if the girl were some sort of chattel, hated even more the thought of marrying her off to some random and, undoubtedly, unsympathetic man. But so far as I could tell, there was no other way out of the harem.

He put down the pencil and flashed me a look full of power and disdain, his brow lined, his eyes narrow and strong. “No.”

“No?”

“No. Is there anything else?”

“Could we not—”

“There will be no further discussion on this topic.” He nodded sharply towards a dark corner of the room, and a tall eunuch appeared from the shadows. “He will escort you out. I did, Lady Emily, very much enjoy components of our conversation.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the eunuch’s firm grip on my arm stopped the words. He all but dragged me, not easing the pressure of his fingers until he’d deposited me outside the palace gates, leaving me standing, dumbfounded, already feeling the beginnings of bruises.

6 April 1892

Emily, Emily, Emily:

I am writing this letter without giving you a single clue as to where I am. This is due entirely to the fact that I’m a dreadful and unredeemable human being who likes to torment her friends. You’ll forgive me, though, in the end. I’ve embarked on a magnificent trip—one funded by my parents in exchange for letting them plan for me a wedding of the sort you so wisely avoided. Can you imagine what it would take to persuade me to accept such a thing? I need hardly tell you that I insist you and Colin come to New York for the hideous extravaganza.

My poor Mr. Michaels has no idea what he’s in for. He’s agreeable—as a fiancé ought to be—to anything so long as it doesn’t interfere with his responsibilities at Oxford. The nuptials will be between terms, so we’ll have only a brief honeymoon before he has to return to his academic duties. I confess to rather obscene excitement at the thought of watching him lecture and knowing that afterwards we’ll return home together. Every nerve is full of the greatest anticipation. Can you imagine the breadth of our conversation? The perfect joining of mind and body? But of course I need not explain this to you—for at the moment you’ve a greater volume of experience than I and know well the pleasures of an intellectual marriage. How lucky we both are!

Not surprisingly, my dear parents insisted that I travel with a suitable companion, and she has already proven an incredible nuisance. Remember my mother’s friend Mrs. Taylor? She recommended her daughters’ former governess, and my mother snapped her up at once. I call her Medusa, as she’s turned me to stone at least a dozen times since we left England.

Other than that, I’ve little of interest to report. Mr. Michaels has been sending me the most supremely ridiculous love letters every day. I’m sorry to say they’re rather badly written—too scholarly—but the sentiments are heartily appreciated nonetheless.

I am, your most awful and debauched friend,

Margaret Seward

I’d refused to get out of bed that morning, insisting Meg bring my mail upstairs, where I burst out laughing more than once while reading Margaret’s letter. My American friend, daughter of a fantastically wealthy railroad baron, was a kindred spirit whose love of the study of classics had brought us together while I was in mourning for my first husband. Although she was a Latinist (formally trained at Bryn Mawr) and I preferred Greek, our interests overlapped enough to provide for an intellectually stimulating friendship unlike any I’d known before. She’d become, in the span of a few years, as close to me as Ivy, though the two of them couldn’t be more different. Margaret challenged me while Ivy offered comfort, and I couldn’t imagine doing without either of them.

Margaret’s modern thinking and passionate belief in the rights of women inspired me, and the way she managed to convince her parents to support her studies was impressive. She was an expert at negotiating trade-offs with them. A mere year ago, she’d agreed to a Season in London (with the theoretical goal of catching a titled husband) in exchange for a term at Oxford. In the process, she convinced everyone a duke (my dear friend Jeremy Sheffield) had mercilessly broken her heart and so completely won her parents’ sympathies that they hardly balked when a few months later she’d accepted the proposal of a don at Oxford. She had admitted to being rather astonished at having agreed to marry anyone but said that some charms could not be resisted, and Mr. Michaels had them in abundance. It had all turned out brilliantly.

“I don’t like it at all,” Colin said, turning over and rubbing a gentle hand over the now blooming purple marks on my arm when I’d finished reading the letter. “How on earth did this happen?”

“It was entirely inadvertent,” I said, not wanting to confess that I’d angered the sultan. “A guard was leading me out of the palace, and you know how steep the paths are at Yıldız. His grip was firm and I bruise easily.”

“No one’s grip is that fierce by accident.”

“I’d never before considered the possibility of deliberately violent eunuchs.” I folded the letter and tossed it aside, then scrunched the ends of my pillow and dropped my elbows in the center of it, resting my chin on my hands. “But perhaps that’s precisely what he is.”

“If only I’d been there to defend you.”

“Rest assured I have no need of rescuing.”

“I’m well aware of that.” He pulled the pillow out from under me, rolled onto my back, and kissed my neck, the feeling of his legs against the backs of mine bliss itself. “But I do think, my dear, that you underestimate the value of being saved from dire circumstances. You might find it more than a little titillating.”

“I promised you no unnecessary danger, and you must promise me no rescues.”

“I wish you’d rescue me,” he said, biting my ear.

“Stop. I’m being serious,” I said.

“I’m all too aware of it. It’s not so glamorous and invigorating as you think, necessary danger.”

“When have you known me to yearn for glamour?”

“Every morning when you dress.”

“Please, Colin, don’t tease me,” I said. “I need to know that you support what I’m doing.”

“I do. But I can’t say I’m without concern.”

“I’m still waiting for my Derringer.”

“It shall be our first order of business upon returning to England.” He laughed, shook his head. “This is a conversation I never would have thought I’d have with my spouse.”

“Would you prefer an ordinary wife?”

“Never,” he said, kissing me until he could have had no doubt that all serious thoughts had taken flight from my brain. I was so carried away that I hardly noticed the door had creaked open, then slammed shut, then creaked again.

“Madam?” Meg’s voice was low. “There’s a Mr. Sutcliffe here to see Mr. Hargreaves. Says it’s urgent.”

“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Colin said, heaving a sigh. As soon as she’d closed the door, he kissed me again. “We shall continue this later.”

“I’m not sure I can wait.”

“Which, first, makes me adore you all the more, and second, will make it that much better when we reconvene.”

He pulled away, leaving me aching while he dressed, and I did not call for Meg to assist me with my own ablutions until after he’d gone downstairs. I submitted to her ministrations with little pleasure, wanting nothing but my husband. It did not help that she was severe with my hair—my scalp screamed in protest—and fought a valiant battle with my corset, pulling harder than usual to force my waist into submission. The end result pleased her but left me feeling a keen discomfort as I joined the gentlemen on the terrace.

“Good morning, Mr. Sutcliffe,” I said. They were sitting at a table next to the water, a chessboard stretched between them. Colin had opened with the Queen’s Gambit, two pawns moving to take control of the center of the board.

“A true pleasure to see you again, Lady Emily.” Mr. Sutcliffe bent a silver gray head over my hand.

“I’m sorry to have interrupted your game.” I studied the board. “I’d suggest you accept his gambit. It’s not without risk. You’ll lose control of the center, but if you play it right, you’ll open yourself up to a greater freedom as the game goes on.”

“Just who are you supporting in this match, my dear?” Colin asked.

“We had only just begun to pass the time until you arrived and would not dream of continuing now that you’ve joined us,” Mr. Sutcliffe said. “I told your husband that, with his permission, I would like to speak to both of you, as it appears you’re equally embroiled in this dreadful business at the palace. I’m concerned in the extreme about Sir Richard.”

“We all are,” I said.

“The loss of his daughter is a blow from which he may not recover. I’ve seen it too often—not just from my own experience, but in the charity work I do to support families whose children have succumbed to illness. Often poverty is a mitigating factor—bettering their situations may serve to prevent more loss. At least that’s what I tell myself.”