The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(57)

She shook her head, not seeing the relevance.

“I worshipped my father. I used to think he could do anything,” he told her. “That’s the way of it, when a man teaches you everything. And then, when I was sixteen, I learned otherwise.”

She squeezed his arm. “Everyone is fallible. Even the best of men.”

“No. I didn’t mean that I discovered he had flaws. I meant what I said. There is one thing my father is not allowed to do.”

She waited for his answer.

“He cannot vote.”

She looked up in surprise, her eyes widening. “That’s…that’s…”

“Imagine,” he said, his voice tight, “that there was someone who owed you nothing and gave you everything. A family. A place in the world. Love. Imagine that the entire world around you said that he was worth nothing. What would you do for him?”

“For her,” Jane whispered involuntarily. She took her hand off his sleeve and hugged her arms around herself. “When you have almost nobody… For her, I’d do anything.” She was silent for a moment longer. “That’s what Bradenton promised you? A vote on the Reform Bill?”

He nodded. “More than that. Not just the vote, but the credit for changing his mind. He’s the leader of a group nine strong. He’s grooming Hapford to join them. If I can bring the entire group in, it will prove my worth. It will be the first step forward.” He looked away. “Miss Fairfield, I won’t apologize to you for the choice I must make. Bradenton and his set will all be in town in a matter of days—all nine of them. I don’t know.” He made a frustrated sound. “That is—I think I would be better off leaving. Now.” He spread his hands. “Parliament will sit in a few weeks anyway. It is time to get on.”

Mine.

Maybe it was rash on her part. Maybe it was injudicious. But then, Bradenton had broken her cactus and she wanted him to pay.

“Tell me, Mr. Marshall,” she said. “How would you get on with your first step forward if you brought back eight votes instead of nine?”

“I’ve been trying precisely that. You just saw me talking to Hapford.” He stopped and looked at her. “But the rest of them…the bonds of friendship count for much, and if Bradenton speaks ill of me…” He shrugged.

“That’s the thing,” Jane said. “I’ve never met them, but Bradenton doesn’t even have a solid hold on Hapford. He cannot truly control the other men. And if you could do something to put a little pressure on those bonds of friendship…”

He just looked at her.

“They’re going to be here,” she said. “It’s the perfect opportunity. You only need a little something. Enough to get them to listen to you rather than him. You’ll have the votes you want, minus one. You’ll get the credit.” Her voice dropped. “And Bradenton, well… I think that would really annoy him.”

He blinked. “My God.” A slow smile spread across his face. “But how would it be done?”

“Oh, Mr. Marshall,” Jane said, long and slow. “I have been thinking of nothing else.”

After her last conversation with Mr. Bhattacharya, Emily had felt unsettled. She’d watched Titus more carefully, trying to be…well, not obedient, but at least more respectful.

It had made absolutely no difference to his behavior, but she’d found that the less she raged at her uncle, the more she could bear.

Now, standing on the side of the brook and waiting for Mr. Bhattacharya to arrive, she felt nervous all over again. What if he decided that he didn’t want to see her? What if he decided that her uncle’s approval was paramount? Her heart raced with every little noise, imagining it to be his footfalls. The palms of her hands tingled, as if her skin remembered his.

And then she saw him and she felt herself burst into a smile as he drew near. He was always an excellent dresser. Far too many Cambridge students were quite slovenly—that was what came of wearing robes over their clothing, she supposed; they stopped caring about what they believed few others could see. Mr. Bhattacharya was always neat and clean, his clothing evenly pressed, his hat situated firmly on his head.

“Mr. Bhattacharya,” she said, as he came nearer.

He came to a halt a few feet away and regarded her quizzically with his dark eyes. “Is that the way you’re planning to greet me?”

She flushed at that. “Did you have something else in mind?”

He was surely talking about a kiss. Not on the lips—the idea of that made her whole body flutter with nervous anticipation. Lovely, sweet, anticipation, a yearning that filled her with sudden force.

“You don’t remember my given name, do you?” He spoke a little ruefully.

Oh. He was talking about that kind of greeting. Emily blinked, dispelling the force of her want.

“Of course I do. It’s Anjan.”

He broke into a smile to match hers.

The meeting after you held a gentleman’s hand was, Emily decided, more awkward than the one before. Was she supposed to snatch his hand straight off, like some prize already won, or did she need to work up to it?

He took another step forward.

“Pretty Emily,” he said. “Clever Emily. Sweet Emily.” He reached out, then, but he didn’t take her hand. He brushed one of her curls, fingering her hair ever so softly.