Read The Bride Wore Pearls for Free Online Page B

friend to me, no more.”
    “Ha!” Lucan threw his arms over his chest. “So you are not in love with him?”
    “Good Lord, Luc! Do not be ridiculous.”
    “But you are going to marry him.” Lucan lifted his chin almost challengingly.
    “I might,” she said coolly. “Or I might not. I have not yet consulted the stars.”
    Lucan gave a dismissive grunt. “Stars or no, Raju told Aunt Pernicia you were, just before he left on his wedding trip—specifically, that as soon as Lord Bessett returned from his Fraternitas business in Brussels, our family would have ‘a happy event’ to announce.”
    Inwardly, Anisha cursed her own stupidity, as well as Raju’s big mouth. Lucan’s Aunt Pernicia was Pamela’s much-elder sister, a venerated member of the ton, and a gossiping old tabby. And Bessett was one of London’s most eligible bachelors.
    But Anisha maintained her cool posture. “Well, Raju isn’t here now, is he?” she said, setting both hands on the table and leaning into him. “So the only happy event you’d better be anticipating is the payment of your gaming debts— before either Claytor writes Raju or Aunt Pernicia catches wind of it.”
    Lucan’s cheeks flushed bright crimson.
    Anisha forced a sugary smile. “Now what is it to be, my dear? Social ruin? A fraternal flogging? Or that shiny new phaeton?”
    Lucan threw up his hands, but any comment he might have made was forestalled by the entrance of their butler.
    Higgenthorpe gave a tight bow at the neck. “I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said, “but Claytor is in his lordship’s study with some papers which require your signature.”
    Claytor, her brother’s secretary, handled all the family’s business affairs. Lady Anisha sighed and glanced down at her attire. As no guests had been expected, she was dressed for the privacy of her home, and in the comfort of the traditional clothing she often favored.
    Today Anisha had thrown on an old lehenga cholis , a diaphanous skirt and short tunic that had been her mother’s, both heavily embroidered with fine gold thread. To ward off the English chill, however, she’d tossed over it a plain cashmere shawl such as any English lady might have worn. Like her odd collection of jewelry, the combination was a metaphor, she supposed, for the whole of her life.
    She folded her hands serenely in front of her. “I should go up to change,” she replied. “Kindly ask him to wait.”
    The butler bowed again and turned as if to go.
    At the last instant, however, Anisha frowned. “Higgenthorpe, you’ve dark smudges under your eyes,” she said. “You are struggling to sleep again?”
    The butler’s smile was wan. “I fear so, ma’am.”
    “Your vata dosha, ” she murmured. “You have an imbalance again. I will make a mustard oil for your feet, but you must rub it on each night before bed. Will you?”
    “Of course,” he said swiftly. “And the powder, ma’am? For my milk?”
    “You have run out?” she said. “Higgenthorpe, you must speak up.”
    “One hates to be a bother,” he said quietly.
    Anisha shook her finger at him. “You are no bother,” she said. “Have Cook set out fresh gingerroot in the stillroom, then fetch some cardamom pods from that odd little fellow in Shepherd’s Market—and mind he doesn’t sell you the green, for it isn’t at all the same. I will make it tonight after dinner.”
    Higgenthorpe looked relieved. “I would be most grateful, ma’am.”
    “And you will remember to spend a few moments focusing on your breath?” she suggested. “Do you wish me to show you how again?”
    “Oh, no, my lady,” he said. “I do it every night without fail.”
    “Excellent,” said Anisha. “Oh, by the way—I mean to go down to the St. James Society at two o’clock. Will you please have the red-and-black phaeton brought round?”
    “The phaeton?” Alarm sketched over the butler’s face but was quickly veiled. “Yes, my lady.”
    Anisha moved to follow him out, but