Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

T he world was made of dreams again.

Bruised bones and all, Lord Harman would rather be here than anywhere else in the world. Far from flat and boring, London seemed full of possibilities. Life seemed full.

"Waresham escaped." The thought startled her.

Whereas Harman had already thought it. "I won't give him such quarter next time."

"I'm sorry." Her sympathy, her understanding was palpable. He was not a man of violence, but…

"I'll never let him harm you."

"I know."

It changed things for him, in him, all that confidence from her.

And it made him kiss her again.

A flutter of blue caught the edge of his vision.

Reluctantly, he parted from Alara, just enough to speak. "Don't take it amiss, but I think I see our lady in blue."

Instantly she looked round. "She's not my lady in blue," Alara said with great certainty, but he saw her spot the woman.

She was walking down the pavement toward a waiting phaeton too light for the weather. Its horse looked as tired as she did.

"How shall I stop her?" His new betrothal felt delicate; Harman would do nothing to damage it.

"How shall I fetch the ring? " whispered Alara, and he realized she was wiggling and twisting in order to try to reach the thing.

"Do you still have it?"

She wrapped her arms under her bosom. "Yes."

He wanted to talk a great deal more about the location of the ring and how they might best retrieve it, but if the woman in blue disappeared, he had no way of tracing her.

"Stay with me," he told her, then more loudly, "Madame," he called as she reached the phaeton's side.

Her jerk and wince made him realize how unnerved she was. Either from this night, or whatever series of events in her life had made it so necessary to return her ring.

"I don't know you," she said without turning, loudly enough for others to notice if they cared to hear, and mounted into the phaeton before Harman and Alara drew close.

He'd no idea what to say.

Fortunately, Alara did. "Have you lost something?"

Her voice, feminine, no doubt less alarming, caused the young lady to pause. "Several things," she said with palpable bitterness. "Why do you ask?"

It gave them time to draw near the phaeton.

The driver, round-faced and suspicious, glared down. "Get away."

"It's all right, Bill, let them talk." The woman studied Alara, not him. "Do we know each other?"

"I'm sad that we don't," said Alara with her customary sweetness. She was far more charming than she knew. "We don't wish to seem forward, or frighten you. But we've been entrusted with something of yours that we—this gentleman, rather—needs to return."

The girl looked warily, hopelessly, in Harman's direction.

Alara spoke for him again. "He's not a bad man."

"Why would she think I was a bad man?" Harman couldn't help asking. He wasn't intimidating in the least.

Though he had lost his hat and smelled of gunpowder.

He supposed Alara had a point.

A footman approached them, perhaps to ensure the carriage-rider was well, or see if he could be of service.

"We await Mrs. Griffiths," Harman told him, "perhaps you would find her and ask if she is ready to leave."

"More people?" The lady in blue shrank back into the phaeton's shadows. "I am overtaxed, my apologies?—"

"Just wait! If you'll just wait a moment, this gentleman would like to return your ring."

The young lady fell still as death.

"You don't really have it?" she whispered, sounding far too old for her age and like a desperately hopeful child at the same time.

"I do, but—" He could see Alara's flush even in the dark. "You must let me fetch it. It's—it's caught in my stays."

Harman could see the girl's faith wavering, break. "You are teasing me," she said with a flash of fury. "If you knew what hell it's been. My grandfather trusted it to me, and only thinks the worst of me now it's gone."

Horrified, Alara turned his way.

Hoping, trusting he'd know what to do.

He did. Holding up the front of her cloak, holding it closed, he said, "Fetch it out."

She looked up and down the street, clearly shy.

He just nodded. "Go ahead. I won't let anything happen to you."

That decided her. Delicately, the way she did everything, she bent a little, reaching under her own dress the way he had not an hour before; the sight made him hard, just remembering.

Then she ducked lower, and he winced as he ducked with her, feeling pulls in his side.

It would be a gentle honeymoon, but then after all, he had the rest of his life to be rough.

If Alara wished it.

Finally she had hitched up the skirts high enough to get her small hand past the waist of her gown, over the top of the stays and down to where she'd wiggled up the ring.

He'd have to ask her later to show him exactly the path she'd taken.

"Here it is," she said, dropping it in the lady's hand before Harman even had a decent look at it.

It was gold, with a blue stone; that was all he saw.

The girl's face changed. "You have no idea..." Her face beamed with open emotion now, and it was gratitude, aimed toward Alara. "You have no idea."

"I don't need an idea," said Alara, giving the young lady a little curtsey, still swathed in her cloak. "Perhaps we'll meet again, under better circumstances. Till then you needn't say a thing."

The girl said nothing to Harman; but then again, Harman realized, he himself had done very little.

Not that anyone would have known it from the way Alara moved against his good side as the young woman in blue departed, her tired horse pulling into the street.

Before he could say anything to Alara, their footman reappeared. "Mrs. Griffiths' compliments, and she is very comfortable playing cards, she says."

Harman dropped a guinea in his hands. "Keep an eye on her, see that she gets home safely. And here's another; find some friend to help. Two of you is better."

The boy's eyes widened and he nodded so violently Harman only hoped he kept his head on for the rest of the night.

"What about Lord Zachary?" Alara didn't move from his side, only eyed the hall behind them warily. Light and noise still spilled from its windows.

"He's a grown man; he can deal with his grandmother himself."

"I shan't go to the blue parlor. My mother will have to come out here."

Alara might still be timid about sailing across the sea, but she no longer had to be timid about Lord Harman. He had asked to marry her; she had accepted. Her mother might not make it easy, but Alara was about to put to use all those hours of instruction.

Not the poetry or the needlework; the marriage law.

"It will take her some time to dress," Harman observed. "It's nearly morning." He slumped with exhaustion in the receiving room chair, looking tired, and in pain. She needed to see to his hurts.

Well, she was about to arrange that.

"My mother won't be slow."

And truly in less than ten minutes Zehra arrived in the west receiving room, her husband trailing behind.

She greeted her daughter with horrified silence. Alara shored up her courage by reaching out for Harman's hand. It was right there, large, warm and strong; its strength and heat flowed into her with his touch. She found it very reassuring indeed.

"What has happened?" Zehra wore a thin veil over her dressing gowns, two stacked atop one another. "Where is Mrs. Griffiths? Why is he here? What have you done?"

"I've promised to marry Lord Harman, madame," said Alara, standing up to give her mother a very proper English curtsey.

Her mother stood, gaping. It was visible through the veil. "You haven't."

Alara fixed her mother with an oddly meaningful look. "I have," she said, "and I am of age. We have not agreed on the mahr, but the contract is made."

"No!" Zehra's hands clutched in midair. "A verbal contract? Like a hill peasant? Tell me you did no such thing."

Her father simply sat down in a large winged chair opposite Lord Harman. "Good man," he said laconically, and felt in the drawer of the teak table next to him, likely for some snuff.

"Your guardian was not there," Zehra parried swiftly.

"My father? He is not Muslim," Alara said, holding on to her calm. It was easier than she had expected.

"Me, then."

"I am of age." She turned to Harman. "Ask again."

"Gladly." Tired as he was, warmth came back to his face. "Will you marry me, Miss Trace?"

"Yes, Lord Harman. I will." Then she turned back to her gasping mother. "That is a contract."

"No! Alara! Without anything written? How much for the mahr?"

"How much can you give me for my widow's portion, sir?" Alara asked her sprawling beloved.

"Bit early for that," he grumbled, "but as much as you like."

She wondered fleetingly how much money he did have. Not that it mattered; her own portion of her mother's money would sustain them if they needed it.

She doubted they'd need it.

"No!" Zehra Chaush stomped one slippered foot; it was silent. "You need witnesses."

This had gone on long enough. "Muslim men," agreed Alara. "As the groom should be."

At that, her mother paused. One graceful hand gleaming with jewels under the thin silk veil she wore. Alara thought she was looking. Listening. Watching for a trap.

How alike they were , Alara thought with a burst of tenderness for her mother.

"My marriage may not be legal under our law," Alara said softly, and even her father had perked up with attention. "But then neither is yours."

She held her mother's gaze, unwavering.

And when Zehra did not speak, Alara said, "Without an ambassador here to care for our interests, who is to dictate the law, madame? Apparently you. And if you can, so can I." She spread her hands. "Even if answers are impossible, decisions must be made."

For the first time, she saw her mother watch her like an equal.

"You don't mean to behave as if you are married," Zehra questioned her evenly.

"I certainly do." She still wanted to feel safe; and that meant staying close to her John. Nothing else mattered half as much; not money, or contracts, or governments or laws.

For better or worse, Alara was as British as the rain; but she found she didn't care about a church wedding, not when Harman sprawled painfully in his seat, waiting for her to sort out her family and go with him.

That was all she needed. All she wanted.

"It's shocking."

"The best thing about being out of society, Mother," Alara said lightly, shrugging one shoulder. "No one will see what I do."

They all just sat there till the tragedy leaked out of the thing for Alara's mother. She sank into one of the low red chairs.

"But I don't want that," Zehra finally said, sounding like a pouting little girl. "Without a nikahnama? I don't want that for you!"

Alara was pleased to discover it didn't cause her a moment's wavering. She didn't feel timid now. "That's all right, mother," she said calmly, "I do."

"No, this can't be right. You had your chance. I've written to so many matchmakers. My cousin! A house on the Bosphorus! You can see Ayasofya from the roof! This can't be happening. Sir Theodore, what do you intend to do?"

"Nothing," said her husband, sensibly, offering Harman some snuff. Which he declined.

"But I—" She turned to her daughter again. "You denied his suit! You had your chance! What are you doing now, changing your mind?"

"Denied his suit?" Alara wondered if she so often craved calm and explanations because her mother was so confusing. "I never denied Lord Harman's suit, madame. He never offered for my hand before tonight."

"No, of course not. That's not the way it's done. You were introduced as children, and you had plenty of time to get to know one another. Lord and Lady Ayles agreed with me. If you had shown any inclination toward one another?—"

"Mother, we were children. People don't marry when they're children. "

"Of course they do! That's how it's done. If two families wish to draw closer by arranging a marriage for their children, they make sure they meet and see how they like each other." Zehra threw her hands in the air under her long, sweeping veil. "You seemed to like one another well enough, then when you were separated, nothing! I thought you might ask after one another over the years, but no. We accepted— I accepted that there was nothing between you."

"Nothing between us? What about when we grew older? Oh, mother, that was a very bad plan."

Lord Harman cleared his throat. "I think my family is going to have to take some blame."

Zehra flung a hand gratefully towards him. " Thank you!"

"I don't know what you mean." Alara reserved judgment.

"I think my parents might have given you the idea that an arranged marriage would be acceptable," he said, ducking his head as if it pained him to admit it, "but they also told me often that Alara would soon be sailing back to the Ottoman Empire. Essentially, that marrying her was impossible."

"We were children! " Alara couldn't stop saying it.

Under her veil, Zehra had grown dangerously still. "And why would they do that?"

"I haven't yet asked them, madame," said Harman, leaning forward over his knees. "But trust me, I will."

"I'll be very interested in the answer. Still, you could have had such a spectacular match," she insisted again in her daughter's direction. "Wouldn't you have preferred a warm house? No, I see you wouldn't." One hand dangled a little wistfully over the arm of the chair, the jewels winking through her veil. "I suppose I should have expected it. Just like me. A debilitating taste for an Englishman derails the best possible intentions, I suppose."

Her father just folded his hands over his belly, hooking one ankle over the other.

He looked smug.

The four of them stared at each other in the flickering candlelight.

"Mother," Alara couldn't help saying again. "You do realize we were children. "