Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(47)

“God.”

Sebastian watched Randolph sip his wine. So far, the discussion was comprehensible. He didn’t expect this to last.

“So everyone…ascends, as it were?” Randolph asked.

“Some manage it, some don’t,” replied the Indian gentleman with a shrug.

“Those who lead holy lives?” Randolph said.

“It is rather a process than a…straight line.”

“And those who don’t, what happens to them? Are they damned?”

“No.” Mitra’s smile was kind and understanding. And somehow a little sly as well, Sebastian thought. “They return to the source through the great destruction that occurs at the end of each cycle.”

“Cycle?” Randolph asked. He leaned forward. Sebastian recognized the fascination beginning to gleam in his brother’s blue eyes. If Randolph had his way, they would be here for the rest of the evening. Longer.

“Time begins to end and ends to begin,” said Mitra.

“That is a striking phrase,” Randolph interjected.

Mitra nodded acknowledgment. “Death is but a gateway to the next cycle, to birth. This is also true of the universe itself. Rather like the rhythms of nature, you might say.”

Randolph considered. “So you think the entire universe…er, reincarnates?”

“Ha, I like that,” put in Georgina’s father. “Very neat.”

“It is a bit more complicated than that,” said Mitra.

“Ain’t it always?” said the marquess. “He says that about every point we try to make, eh, Sebastian?”

It was a polite effort to include him in the conversation. Sebastian acknowledged that. And perhaps a sign that Georgina’s father was minded to forgive him at last. He would much rather have been left out of it, however. What with his brother gazing expectantly at him from across the table, and the marquess’s beady eye fixing him from the side, he felt like a bug about to be squashed. He decided on a simple nod. After all, things mostly were more complicated than he wished. Nearly always, in fact.

Randolph acknowledged Mitra’s remark with a gesture. “I’m sure there’s a great deal more to it. But you know, I think the central core of religion is rather simple—whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye so to them.”

“The Golden Rule,” said the marquess.

Mr. Mitra smiled. “Indeed, the Mahabharata teaches, ‘This is the sum of duty; do naught unto others what you would not have them do unto you.’”

“Mahabharata,” Randolph repeated, clearly savoring the sounds. “That is your holy book?”

“It is one of our sacred writings.”

“So our philosophies have that idea in common.” Sebastian’s brother looked pleased at the thought.

“And with many others in the world,” Mitra replied. “The Buddhists say, ‘Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.’ And in China the Confucians teach, ‘Do not do to others what you would not like yourself. Then there will be no resentment against you, either in the family or in the state.’”

Randolph’s face positively glowed with interest, as well as a healthy dose of intellectual competition, Sebastian thought.

“The Jewish Talmud says, ‘What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow man. This is the entire Law; all the rest is commentary.’” Randolph sat back as if he had scored a point.

“And the followers of Mohammed that ‘No one of you is a believer until he desires for his brother that which he desires for himself,’” replied Mitra mildly.

Randolph grinned. “You are clearly a very learned man, Mr. Mitra. I am delighted to have the chance to exchange opinions with you.”

“Our traditions are very ancient,” Mitra replied.

“And not all talk,” exclaimed the marquess. He was practically squirming at being left out of the conversation. “We’ll show you. Won’t we, Mitra?”

“I’m not sure it is a good idea…”

“Of course it is. A capital one! Been meaning to get to it for days. We were only delayed by the ‘accident.’” Georgina’s father surveyed Sebastian. “We’ll set things up for tomorrow. Then we’ll see what you’re made of, my boy.”

The relish in his green eyes filled Sebastian with deep foreboding.





Ten


Georgina looked around the chamber her father had been using for his esoteric explorations, at the far end of the castle’s older east wing. She hadn’t been here since her father had taken up these studies; it wasn’t a particularly comfortable part of the building. The walls and floors were stone, the fireplaces large and drafty.

Georgina wondered whether Mr. Mitra or her father had arranged the furnishings. The windows were heavily draped, the only light coming from a great candelabrum on a low table in the center of a thick Turkey carpet, brought from another room, she thought. The candles threw dancing shadows over a circle of eight mismatched armchairs. She recognized some of them from other places. Otherwise, the room was bare.

She was curious about whatever Papa had planned. She was also worried that he seemed to see it as some sort of test for Sebastian. Despite everything, Papa continued to eye her betrothed with suspicion.