He met her eyes. “It’s arrack.”

“I know.”

He signaled to the barboy to bring another glass. While they waited, beneath the table’s edge she opened her reticule and drew out MacFarlane’s packet.

The boy delivered the glass, and Delborough poured a half measure.

With a smile that went awry, she accepted it and took a small sip. The sharp taste made her nose wrinkle, but her uncle had allowed her to partake of the liquor in an experimental fashion; she knew of its fortifying properties. She took a larger sip, then lowered the glass. Quashing the impulse to look at the brown-haired major, she fixed her gaze on Delborough. “I asked at the gate and they told me. I’m very sorry that Captain MacFarlane didn’t make it back.”

Delborough’s expression couldn’t get any stonier, but he inclined his head. “If you could tell us what happened from the beginning, it would help us understand.”

They’d been MacFarlane’s friends; they needed to know. “Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat. “We started very early from Poona.”

She told the story simply, without embellishment.

When she reached the point where she’d parted from the gallant captain, she paused and drained her glass. “I tried to argue, but he would have none of it. He drew me aside-ahead-and gave me this.” She lifted the packet. Laying it on the table, she pushed it toward Delborough. “Captain MacFarlane asked me to bring this to you.”

She finished her tale in the minimum of words, ending with, “He turned back with a few men, and the rest came with me.”

When she fell silent, the distracting major on her left shifted. Spoke gently. “And you sent them back when you came within sight of safety.” When she glanced his way, met his hazel eyes, he added, “You did the best you could.”

The instant she’d sighted Bombay, she’d insisted all but two of the troop return to help their comrades; unfortunately, they’d been too late.

Setting a hand on the packet, Delborough drew it to him. “And you did the right thing.”

She blinked several times, then lifted her chin, her gaze on the packet. “I don’t know what’s in that-I didn’t look. But whatever it is…I hope it’s worth it, worth the sacrifice he made.” She raised her gaze to Delborough’s. “I’ll leave it in your hands, Colonel, as I promised Captain MacFarlane I would.” She pushed back from the table.

They all rose. The brown-haired major drew back her chair. “Allow me to organize an escort for you back to the governor’s house.”

She inclined her head graciously. “Thank you, Major.” Who was he? Her nerves were fluttering again. He was standing closer than before; she didn’t think her lightheadedness was due to the arrack.

Forcing her attention to Delborough and the other two, she nodded. “Good evening, Colonel. Gentlemen.”

“Miss Ensworth.” They all bowed.

Turning, she strolled back down the verandah, the major pacing slowly alongside. She waved to Idi, who fell into step behind her.

She glanced at the major’s carefully blank expression, then cleared her throat. “You all knew him well, I take it?”

He glanced at her. “He’d served with us, alongside us, for over eight years. He was a comrade, and a close friend.”

She’d noticed their uniforms, but now it struck her. She looked at the major. “You’re not regulars.”

“No.” His lips twisted. “We’re Hastings’s own.”

The Marquess of Hastings, the Governor-General of India. This group, and MacFarlane, had worked directly for him? “I see.” She didn’t, but she felt sure her uncle would be able to enlighten her.

They emerged onto the verandah steps.

“If you’ll wait here for a moment?”

It wasn’t really a question. She halted and, with Idi beside her, watched as the major raised a hand, attracting the attention of a sepoy sergeant drilling his troop on the maidan.

The sergeant quickly presented himself. With a few words, the major organized a group of sepoys to escort her back to the governor’s residence deeper in the town.

His innate yet understated air of command, and the attentiveness and willingness-even eagerness-of the sergeant to obey, were as impressive as his physical presence.

As the sepoys hurried to form up before the steps, Emily turned to the soldier beside her and held out her hand. “Thank you, Major…?”

He took her hand in a warm, strong clasp, met her eyes briefly, then half bowed. “Major Gareth Hamilton, Miss Ensworth.” Releasing her, he looked at the well-ordered sepoys, nodded his approval, then turned again to her.

Again met her eyes. “Please. Be careful.”

She blinked. “Yes, of course.” Her heart was thumping unusually quickly. She could still feel the pressure of his fingers around hers. Drawing in a much-needed breath, she inclined her head and stepped down to the dusty ground. “Good evening, Major.”

“Good evening, Miss Ensworth.”

Gareth stood on the steps and watched Emily Ensworth walk away across the sunburned ground toward the massive fort gates. With her porcelain complexion, rose-tinted and pure, her delicate features and soft brown hair, she looked so quintessentially English, so much the epitomization of lovely English maids he’d carried with him through all his years of service.

That had to be the reason he felt as if he’d just met his future.

But it couldn’t be her, couldn’t be now.

Now, duty called.

Duty, and the memory of James MacFarlane.

Turning, he climbed the steps and went back inside.

3rd September, 1822

My room in the Governor’s Residence, Bombay

Dear Diary,

I have waited for so long, and will admit that I had fallen into the habit of imagining it would never happen, that now it might have, I find myself rather cautious. Is this what my sisters meant when they said I would simply know? Certainly, my stomach and my nerves proved to be singularly sensitive to Major Hamilton’s nearness-as Ester, Meggie, and Hilary foretold-but how reliable is that indicator?

On the other hand, this does sound like fate playing her usual tricks. Here am I, virtually at the end of my stay in India-a sojourn expressly undertaken to broaden my horizons vis à vis marriageable gentlemen, exposing me to more specimens of varying character so that my well-known “pickiness” might become better informed-and I finally stumble on one who affects me, and after an entire day, I have barely learned his name and station.

It is no help that Aunt Selma remains in Poona, too far away to provide advice, and so all my information needs must come from my uncle, although Uncle Ralph does answer without thinking of the motives behind my questions, which is all to the good.

Until I know more about Major Hamilton, I cannot know if, as I am starting to fervently hope, he is “the one”-my “one,” the gentleman for me-so my most urgent need is to learn more about him, but from whom?

And I need to spend more time with him, too-but how?

I must devote myself to finding ways-I have only a few days left.

And after all these years of waiting for him to appear, and coming all this way before meeting him, sailing away and leaving my “one” behind just doesn’t bear thinking about.

E.

September 10, 1822

The Governor’s Residence, Bombay

Emily frowned at the Indian houseboy standing in the patch of sunlight slanting across the silk rug in her aunt’s parlor. “He’s leaving?”

The boy, Chandra, nodded. “Yes, miss. It is said he and his other friends have all resigned their commissions because they are so cast down by the death of their friend the captain.”

She resisted the urge to drop her head in her hands and tug at her braids. What the devil was Hamilton about? How could he be her “one” if he was so cowardly as to run home to England? What about honor and avenging a friend-a comrade and fellow officer killed in the most ghastly and gruesome manner?

A vision of the four men as they’d stood around the table in the officers’ bar swam across her mind. Her frown deepened. “All of them-all four-have resigned?”

When Chandra nodded, she specified, “And they’re all heading back to England?”

“That’s what everyone says. I have spoken with some who know their servants-they are all excited about seeing England.”

Emily sat back in the chair behind her aunt’s desk, thought again of those four men, of all she’d sensed of them, remembered the packet she’d placed in Delborough’s hands, and inwardly shook her head. Any one of those four turning tail was hard enough to swallow, but all four of them? She wouldn’t lose faith in Hamilton just yet.

They were up to something.

She wondered what.

She was due to board ship on the eighteenth of the month, sailing via the Cape to Southampton. She needed to learn more about Hamilton, a lot more, before she left. Once she was convinced he was not as cowardly as his present actions painted him, as he was going home, she could-somehow would-arrange to meet him again there.

But first…

She refocused on Chandra. “I want you to concentrate on Major Hamilton. See what you can learn of his plans-not just from his household but from the barracks and anywhere else he goes. But whatever you do, don’t get caught.”

Chandra grinned, his big smile startlingly white in his mahogany face. “You can count on Chandra, miss.”

She smiled. “Yes, I know I can.” She’d caught him gaming, which was forbidden for those on the governor’s payroll, but on learning his need for rupees to pay for medicine for his mother, had arranged for him to have money advanced from his pay, and for his mother, who also worked in the governor’s mansion, to receive better care. Ever since, Chandra had been her willing slave. And as he was quick, observant, and all but invisible in Bombay’s busy streets, he’d proved extremely useful in following Hamilton and the other three.