The Wedding Bed (The Sun Never Sets, Book One) Read Online Free Page B

drinking excessively at the time. I believe that clouded his judgment." She began to expand on that sentiment, but thought better of it and continued briskly, "The ship was commandeered by the authorities and the cargo confiscated. A scandal ensued and my father lost everything. We were reduced to selling our home in Madras and moving to Calcutta. Shortly thereafter my father died."
    "My sympathies."
    His words held a clipped, perfunctory edge that was impossible to miss. Calla brought up her chin and coolly met his eyes. "I relate these events not to engage your sympathies but to adequately disclose my predicament. I believe it only fair that you know exactly with whom you are dealing."
    "In that case, may I say that I appreciate your excruciating honesty."
    This was not going well. Not well at all. Nonetheless, as there was no direction for her to go but forward, she doggedly continued, “Which brings us directly to the matter of our betrothal.”
    Derek blinked. “Did I miss something? That seems a rather extraordinary leap.”
    “ On the contrary,” she returned. “As I mentioned, my family was financially devastated by the scandal. My eldest sisters, Rose and Violet, had already married. But the rest of us lost our home, our dowries, my mother’s pension, everything. So when your mother offered a bride price for me, you can imagine how difficult it would have been to refuse.”
    A bride price .
    The words se nt a chill down Derek’s spine as an awful understanding set in.
    Rarely was the confluence of Eastern and Western traditions a smooth one, but that was particularly true when it came to the matter of matrimony. British brides brought dowries with them into marriage. Just the reverse was customary for upper-caste Hindu woman from the south, like his mother. Their tradition demanded the groom’s family pay for the privilege of taking a woman in marriage. It was considered an essential sign of respect to the bride’s family for their willingness to part with a beloved daughter, as well as demonstrated proof of sufficient financial means to care for a wife and children. 
    “How much?” he asked baldly.
    She named the sum, and it was only with concerted effort that Derek was able to keep his jaw from dropping open. Still, his shock must have been visible, for Miss Staunton arched a delicate brow in a look of wry acknowledgement. “Apparently you’ve been very generous in the funds you’ve been supplying your mother.”
    “Too generous, it would seem.”
    Derek set down his untouched teacup and stood, dragging his fingers through his hair. Bloody hell . While he had relegated the whole business of marriage to an unpleasant event that would occur in some vague, distant future, his mother obviously saw it as a sacred duty that demanded her immediate attention.
    As marriage in India was treated as an alliance between families, rather than a union between individuals, it did not take a great deal of intelligence or foresight to imagine that his mother (whose friendship with Mrs. Charles Staunton had only deepened with time), might hope to one day link their families. In other words, he’d been an idiot not to have seen this coming sooner and taken pains to stop it.
    But now? The timing couldn’t possibly be worse.
    The throbbing headache he had experienced earlier became a piercing spike through his skull. He could send the Staunton girl away, of course. Refuse her. But that action, while relieving him of his obligation, would bring nothing but shame and humiliation to his family.
    Bloody, bloody hell.
    A soft metallic tinkling sound caught his attention. He turned to see a cluster of thin silver bangles, each studded with an assortment of tiny cabochon stones, wrapped around Miss Staunton’s right wrist. The bracelets, traditionally worn by the women of Delhi, jangled softly together as she fussed with the tea service, creating a juxtaposition that was oddly disconcerting—formal British porcelain and