Mary Putney - The China Bride

Her last stop was at the teahouse where she had meditated and Maxwell had made the offer that was going to change her life. If he had not seen her that day, she would not be planning her flight now.

She entered the house through a circular moon gate, so different from the boring rectangular doors of the Fan-qui. Even after fifteen years, she had not visited all parts of the sprawling structure. It was home to Chenqua's grown sons and their families as well as the merchant's wives and servants, so many rooms were private.

She would miss the courtyards, the way buildings and gardens were so intimately woven together that it was hard to say where one began and the other ended. In Britain, she gathered, it was much too cold to build homes around open spaces.

She found Ling-Ling in the lily pond courtyard, perched on the edge and gazing down at the golden carp that glided soundlessly through the depths. As always, Chenqua's Fourth Lady was exquisitely gowned and made up, her beauty almost unreal.

"You have emerged from your rooms early," Troth remarked as she seated herself on the stony rim of the pool.

Ling-Ling glanced up dreamily. "It is certain, Jin Kang. I carry my lord's child." She spread one hand over her stomach, honoring the mystery of burgeoning life.

"How wonderful!" Troth said, trying not to be too envious. "May this be the first of many strong sons. His lordship and the First Lady must be most pleased."

"They are." Ling-Ling smiled. "The tai-tai says it has been too long since there was a baby in the house."

The tai-tai was Chenqua's first and most important wife. Shrewd eyed and silver haired, the First Lady ruled the household with firmness and wisdom. By personally choosing her husband's and sons' wives, she assured harmony in the compound. She'd always been kind, in a remote way, to the half-blood orphan her husband had brought home. Troth said, "In two days I'm going to Macao to visit the graves of my parents."

"Will you burn grave goods there, or don't Christians do that?"

"It is not a Christian custom," Troth admitted, "but I will still honor my mother and father in the Chinese way, since they lie in Chinese soil."

Ling-Ling toyed with the golden blossom of a water lily. "You won't be coming back, will you?"

Troth froze. "Why do you say such a thing?"

"There are many in Macao with mixed blood. You belong there, not here. In Macao, you might find a husband who will honor you and give you sons."

"You have guessed correctly," Troth said reluctantly. "I… I must seek a life elsewhere."

"My lord will be sorry to lose you."

"Please don't tell him!"

"I shan't give you away. You have the right to leave, since you're not a slave, but it will be easier if no one knows your plans." Ling-Ling flicked water from her fingertips, creating a cluster of expanding circles on the surface of the pool. "I've always known your path did not lie here in Canton."

"Really?" Troth said, startled. "I didn't know that myself."

"You were unawakened. But you have met a man who stirs your senses, have you not? You have been different in the last weeks. Will he make you one of his ladies?"

Troth watched her friend in fascination. Ling-Ling's youth and playfulness made it easy to underestimate her perception. "There is a man who has started me thinking," she said carefully. "He will help me establish myself in my new home, but he has no wish to make me his lady."

Ling-Ling arched her elegant brows. "You have much to learn of men, Mei-Lian."

"That is the first time you've ever called me by my true name," Troth said softly.

"It is fitting, since you are leaving to become a woman."

Troth touched her hand. "I shall miss you, Ling-Ling."

Tears glimmered in Ling-Ling's eyes. "And I shall miss you. There is no one else who lets me tease as you do." She glanced at her bound feet in their embroidered lion slippers. "I would not want your life. Yet… sometimes I envy your freedom."

It was said that feet were bound so wives could not run away. Ling-Ling was proud of her position as one of Chenqua's wives and would never dream of fleeing, but her life was a narrow one, and would become narrower still. Widows couldn't remarry, so with a husband forty years her senior Ling-Ling was likely to spend most of her life sleeping alone. She might be content with that-but Troth wouldn't be.

Feeling better about her uncertain future, she returned to her bedroom and washed. Then she opened her treasure box to choose what she would carry across the river today.

Gradually she'd moved her most valued possessions to the sturdy brass-bound trunk that Maxwell had provided. Her father's Bible had gone first, followed by her mother's jewelry and the women's garments that had meant so much during her lonely years as Jin Kang.

Today she took the last of her father's books and a beautifully painted scroll, tying them across her abdomen with a band of cloth before putting on her tunic. Then she made her way to the water gate so she could cross to the Settlement. This close to the end of the season the hongs were bustling, but in two more days they would be silent, and she and Maxwell would be on their way.

She wasn't sure which was greater-her fear or her anticipation.

« ^ »

A pile of mail arrived the day before Kyle left Canton, the last he would receive before he arrived back in England. He saved the letters for that night, to read after he finished packing.

His father's handwriting was noticeably shaky as he described the estate business that Kyle would take over when he returned. His sister Lucia's letter was lively and full of the details of her life, along with an uneven but earnest greeting from her oldest child, the Honorable Edward Justice, very proud of his five years.

As always, he saved his brother's letter until last. Close as shadows in boyhood, they'd grown apart when their father sent them to different schools. At eighteen, a fierce quarrel had left them estranged for years. They'd made peace just before Kyle left for the East, but there hadn't been much time to reweave the fabric of their relationship.

The letters had made up for that. For six years they'd written back and forth. Kyle had said things on paper that he would have found difficult to speak aloud, and Dominic had done the same. Though half a world separated them, he felt as close to his brother as he had when they were boys.

He savored the pages, which had been composed a few paragraphs at a time over several weeks. Dominic wrote an amusing blend of personal information and responses to the letters Kyle had written a year earlier. He ended, I suppose you might be home before this letter finds you. I wonder how many letters are chasing you around the Orient, all of them far better traveled than I?

It's good that you're returning. Wrexham is growing increasingly frail. He misses you, though he'd never admit it. I warn you, though, as soon as you show your face he'll be matchmaking. If anything will keep him alive, it's the prospect of seeing you produce the next generation's heir. You are warned.

He smiled wryly, knowing his brother wasn't joking. The Earl of Wrexham had hated having his heir leave England even though he had a perfectly good spare in Dominic. There would be a list of suitable brides ready when the prodigal returned.

He wrote a quick reply to the letter, even though it wouldn't reach England much before Kyle himself. Then he stripped and packed his Western garments in a small trunk. Gavin Elliott would take it to Macao when he sailed the next day, so Kyle would be able to reclaim his wardrobe for the trip home.

His other belongings were already on the high seas. Troth had been very firm that he take nothing European to Hoshan. The only exception was his pocket pistol and ammunition. The roads they'd be traveling were fairly safe, but one never knew.

He doused the lamp and stretched out on the bed, the sheet resting lightly on his bare skin. In midspring, the nights were already uncomfortably warm. Though he'd developed a tolerance for tropical heat in the last years, he looked forward to England 's cool, invigorating climate.

His thoughts returned to marriage. Some days the prospect seemed perfectly reasonable, even though he could never care for another woman as he had Constancia. Many marriages were contracted without love-success required only kindness, mutual respect, a similarity of background and expectations. Yet when he dreamed of Constancia, he always woke with the bleak knowledge that marriage would be a disastrous mistake, miserable both for him and whatever unfortunate woman he wed.

He'd told no one that he had married Constancia; even Dominic knew only that he'd lost the mistress whom he'd loved with the best that was in him. He'd never met another woman who could match Constancia's warmth and generosity and passion, nor one who understood him as she had. Though she had been dead for six years, she would always be the wife of his heart.

Grieving, he had obeyed her last wish and gone forth to live. But it was one thing to live, and quite another to love.

Kyle slept soundly and rose before dawn the next day, eager to be on his way. First he rubbed his face, throat, and limbs with a lotion that darkly stained his skin. Troth said the effect would last for weeks.

Then he donned the clothing she had provided. The loose blue trousers and tunic were shabby and woven of coarse fabric, purchased from a used-clothing stall. She'd been unable to find old footwear in his size, so she'd bought new shoes and scuffed them until they looked worn.