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Several days had passed since the glamorous reception the lady of the Sharma household hosted, celebrating the deal she successfully closed with the British Governor General. Despite the return to daily life and the calmness that settled over the opulent house after the careful preparations for the reception, there was a pervading sense of chill. The ominous feeling that the other shoe was just about to drop hovered over the residents.
Devi, largely left to her own devices after the explosive confrontation with her guardian in the library, reflected on this. Seated under the shade of a tree in her lush garden, she thought ruefully of the servants who scurried past her over the last few days. Even Aishwarya - outspoken, never-hesitate-to-scold Aishwarya - was reserved around her.
Feeling disgruntled, Devi tossed aside the reports she was pretending to work on. Stretching in place, she spied the first-floor window to the study out of the corner of her eye. Because of course, the Precious Miss of West Bengal was not out here in the heat to work on reports in the fresh air. No, she was trying (and so far failing miserably) to catch a glimpse of her recently elusive guardian.
‘That infuriating, intractable, indifferent man’, she grumbled to herself, irritated once again - at herself, her impossible guardian, the blasted Dozen, the Governor General, her uncle and the entire world.
It had been four days since the reception and “The Incident” as she had come to think of her last conversation with Kamal Rai in the Sharma library. Yet, she had seen no sign of her guardian and mentor. In fact, today was the first day he had visited the Sharma estate after he stormed off.
Devi’s blood began to boil again as she recalled this morning’s events. If it hadn’t been for Arhat, her faithful assistant, she wouldn’t even know that the man was in the house!
After a restless night spent agonising over possibilities, impossibilities and everything in between, Deviya Sharma was in no mood to socialise. Forming simple thoughts felt torturous after doing nothing but thinking for four days straight.
A simple breakfast later, she was headed towards the study, determined to at least carry out her responsibilities. Perhaps it would convince her mentor that it was time to loosen the reins he held over her education. However, she hadn’t taken more than ten steps towards the grand staircase leading up to the first floor, when Arhat’s deferential voice stopped her.
“Good morning, Miss Sharma,” Arhat greeted.
Turning towards him, Devi quashed her temper. Poor Arhat had done nothing to deserve her ire. Now, if the man standing before her had been taller, older, handsomer, bossier… In short, if Kamal Rai stood there looking down at her with his soulful brown eyes… Perhaps she would have let go of the tenuous grasp she had over her emotions.
But no, it was Arhat, patiently waiting to be acknowledged.
“Good morning, Arhat. I’m planning to work on some documents. I won’t be needing your help, so you are free to attend to your personal affairs,” Devi told the man. Hoping this would be all the interaction she would have to wade through, she turned once again towards the stairs.
“I’m sorry, Miss Sharma,” Arhat’s voice interrupted, genuinely sounding remorseful. “Mr Rai came earlier planning to look over the mine documents. He asked not to be disturbed in the study, but wished me to give you these reports,” he continued gesturing to several documents he held in his hands.
Teeth gritted, Devi took the documents. Not to be disturbed. He may as well have ordered Athat to bar the study’s doors against her.
Arhat, not an unintelligent man, could see the struggle as Devi fought to maintain her placid expression. He may not know exactly what happened between his former master and current mistress, but clearly, the Head of the Rai house and the Sharma Heir were at odds. He stood unobtrusively and watched as his tempestuous mistress turned on her heels, striding towards the front doors.
Reluctant to draw her attention, and therefore her anger, he still felt compelled to ask, “Are you going to go anywhere, Miss Sharma?”
Barely pausing to answer, Devi tersely replied that she would be in the garden, before leaving the house.
Recalled to the present moment by the sound of a crow, Devi blinked. She had spent so much time over the past ninety-six hours coming up with arguments and rebuttals against those arguments to lay at the feet of one overbearing Mr Rai.
How dare he lecture her about fulfilling her role as hostess and agreeing with her guest of honour and then essentially shut her out! Why did she confess to him like a fool? Did she really think that she, Deviya Sharma, would be able to get a man like Kamal Rai to think of her as a woman instead of as his best friend’s little sister - a friend of his little sister’s?
Sighing, Devi was about to pick up the previously discarded reports when movements from the very window she was trying not to stare at drew her attention. Although it lasted barely a minute, it was obvious that the tall form of a man was standing at the open window gazing in her direction.
Seeing his broad back turned away from her again, Devi felt an unexpected flare of determination, recklessness and stubborn desire to get him to look at her. Five years ago, the determination and the recklessness would not have registered as remarkable. But the death of her beloved brother, long-suffering Kairas who complained goodnaturedly about the tyranny of his sister and nagged her endlessly to be a good little girl, had changed her. No longer was she the impulsively passionate youngest child of the Sharma family.
The fire that raged across the mountain abode that night had also tempered her. The proceeding five years had further instilled patience and moderation in her. Now, she thought before she leapt.
However, even as she began to stand up and walk towards the house, heading towards the study and the man within its cool sanctuary, she could feel the spirit of her younger self returning to her.
Kamal moved away from the window, the fraction of a second of eye contact he had with the fiery Miss Sharma enough to send his heart (his long dormant heart) into working overtime.
He knew with certainty that no longer surprised him that Deviya would be heading in, ready to confront him whether she had to break down the doors or not. Sure enough, he heard the gradually increasing sound of dainty footsteps, the anklet she had no doubt worn this morning jingling out a merry tune that felt incongruous with the conversation that would soon take place.
And then the door was opening and Deviya was standing in the threshold. Taking him in.
Drawing a silent breath to steady the drumming of his heart, he decided to break the silence that enveloped them both. “Good morning, Precious Miss.”
Try as he might, he could not stop the softening of his voice as he uttered the nickname. The people of Kolkata had begun to call her that some time ago. While they infused the words with awe, respect, envy and admiration, Kamal could never stop himself from making them affectionate, turning a common nickname into something intimate, for his use only. He hoped to god that Deviya, his intelligent, dauntless but inexperienced Deviya didn’t hear in his voice the words he could never say.
It appeared that for the moment at least, he was safe from discovery. The narrowing of her eyes made it clear that she had bigger fish to fry than to dissect his tone.
Silently, she entered the study. The study that belonged to her, and that he shamelessly wanted to keep her away from this morning. Still silent, she closed the door and gracefully walked further in, until she reached the wide mahogany desk that separated them. Heart in his throat, Kamal watched as she drew back a chair - the same chair she used to sit in happier times when he and she worked on reports in harmony, no discord between them - no words spoken and denied.
“May I beg for just a tiny moment of your time, Mr Rai?” her usually melodious voice was no longer pleasant. Rather, it held enough wrath to turn even the fiercest warrior into a sheepish, repentant man. Even in the best of circumstances, and happening rather too alarmingly frequently, Kamal had found himself struggling to deny any request she made. And this…
This was a request she never should have had to make. He should have done better than to avoid her for an eternity. It hasn’t done any good anyway. He had only missed her desperately on top of all the turmoil surrounding de Clare’s announcement and the horrifying conclusions he had drawn in its wake.
If I become yours, no one could take me away
Those words haunted his nights. His. No longer would he have to leave her at night. No longer would he have to wake up to thoughts of her - thoughts that left him ashamed, incapable of looking her in her eyes. She would be his - his to protect, his to love, his to hold. And yet, could she, a desperate twenty-three-year-old woman with her entire life ahead of her, truly want him?
Oh, he was still handsome, he knew that. He was one of the most powerful men in West Bengal if not India. He had riches and status.
And yet, he knew without being told that none of that would matter to Deviya. She could be surprisingly pragmatic, but he knew that she yearned for someone to love, someone who loved her.
Still. Could he truly be what a young woman would desire?
He watched Deviya’s expressive eyes progressively get militant as he stayed silent while all these thoughts and doubts flashed through his mind. How can one woman be so adorable while she looks ready to kill me? The words randomly popped up, bringing a heady rush to his veins at the prospect. Perhaps he hadn’t left behind the craving for danger he indulged in his misspent youth as well as he assumed he did…
Realising that he couldn’t stay silent for longer (certainly not if he wanted to avoid physical harm that day), he decided to address her stoically. “Is this important, Miss Sharma? I have some work to catch up on before I leave”.
He earned a scoff for his troubles. “Work that wouldn’t have piled up if you hadn’t been so busy avoiding me, am I correct?” Deviya asked sweetly, in direct contrast to the palpable tension and anger her body language communicated.
“Devi, I wasn’t avoiding you, I was -”
“I’m sure your explanation is fascinating, Mr Rai,” Deviya interrupted. She truly was lucky to be one of the few people who could do that and get away with it. “But I wanted to know whether you had considered what we discussed four days ago”.
Kamal resisted the urge to sigh. However, he couldn’t stop running a hand through his hair, unbound and left to fall freely to his shoulders, and was annoyed to feel the slight shaking in his hand. “Devi -”
Once again, the formidable Mr Rai found himself interrupted. It was getting to be a habit with this slight sprite of a woman.
“Marry me”.
Well, looks like Miss Sharma was not going to talk in circles. To the point, it is.
“Deviya -”
“I understand why you think Vidya and Raj would consider me a candidate to marry de Clare,” Deviya spoke over him. “I hate to agree with you but you are right. My position makes me… vulnerable to their plans. And having a powerful husband could solve some of my immediate problems, especially if my uncle wants to challenge my inheritance”.
Breaking the detachment of her delivery, she looked at him with eyes that begged him to listen without breaking in. “But the Governor General is NOT the only single, powerful man in Bengal. Or are you saying your authority is any less?” she challenged.
Rubbing at his temples to chase away the oncoming headache teasing the edges of his head, Kamal let out a defeated sigh. “Deviya,” he said gently, “my authority is the very thing that stops me from marrying you. Well, mine and yours”.
He saw the incomprehension in her face. He leaned his forearms on the table, fixing intense eyes on the woman sitting opposite him. And didn’t that word knock the breath out of his lungs. Woman. Since when did he stop thinking of her as a vulnerable young lady under his care? At what point in the last five years did she simply become Deviya?
“I told you already, but the woman I marry would have to become mine, a Rai. And so would any children born to us,” Kamal continued, wrestling with the image of children who carried Rai and Sharma features off his mind. “I am the head of my family. And you… you are working to become yours. You cannot leave your house or your name behind. Your husband would effectively do that. Your children would carry your name. Do you see why it would be impossible for us to marry?”
For a beat, Deviya was silent. Kamal was familiar enough with her mannerisms to see the workings of her brilliant mind behind her troubled eyes. Not for the first time, he felt an inexplicable desire to know her thoughts, to have the right to know her so intimately.
“Fine.” At the unexpected acquiescence, Kamal raised a disbelieving eyebrow. It was as easy as that to convince her? Surely not.
And sure enough, she wasn’t done. “I agree it’s difficult. But not impossible. I can retain my surname. One of our children could become the heir to the Rai family and the other can be the Sharma family head. It’s unconventional, but a man who spoke about men working in the kitchen, prepared his meals and tea and fought for a woman to become the head of her family cannot be so very bothered by that?”
“And where would we live?” Kamal asked, willing to at least listen to her. It certainly was an unconventional plan. But he wasn’t so stuck on traditions to be shocked. Yes, he would want to claim the woman he loved and any children they were blessed with and give them his name and legacy. What man wouldn’t? But he hadn’t chosen an easy woman to fall in love with.
“We can share,” Deviya smirked. “Two weeks at one estate, the other two at the second estate, with the freedom to leave the current residence during an emergency. And if you want to, you can visit the Rai estate on the Saundays we reside at the Sharma estate and handle any matters the head of the Rai family has to take care of personally and vice versa. After all, regardless of whom we married, we'll deal with certain issues we don’t want to share with our spouses”.
"Why two weeks?" Kamal asked, curious to know her reasoning.
"Any less and we'll do nothing but packing and repacking and moving between two places. We won't ever get to settle anywhere," Devi began to explain. "Any more, and we run the risk of neglecting one or both estates."
“...You have thought a lot about this,” Kamal observed, truly beginning to consider the idea.
“I had a lot of time on my hands these past four days,” her tone was proud, and yet the slightest bitterness in it sent a pang to his heart. He certainly hadn’t behaved properly and inadvertently hurt the very woman he swore to protect.
“This is very well, but do you truly understand what it means to be my wife, Devi?” Kamal asked, desperately attempting to stop his heart from hoping. “We, neither of us, can afford a sterile, political alliance where we ignore our spouses and live separately. You would truly have to be my wife”.
He couldn’t, he wouldn’t be more explicit. Bold as she may be, she was still an innocent and he didn’t feel up to discussing the matters of the bedroom with her. It had been difficult enough when a distraught teenaged-Amritha came to him, convinced that she was about to die. He would expire if he had to clinically explain lovemaking to Deviya, the woman who he was increasingly finding hard to resist.
“What if that’s what I want, you idiot!” Deviya exclaimed.
Silence.
A pair of brown eyes widened with disbelief, astonishment and barely suppressed hope stared into a pair of equally widened brown eyes. Unlike the first pair, these eyes held a defiance that almost managed to drown out the consternation and self-recrimination of their owner.
“...What?”
“...Can we pretend that the last five minutes never happened?”
Kamal didn’t know whether to laugh or… Well, he didn’t know. How does one react when the woman one loved and lusted after admitted to the same emotions?
“How am I meant to face Kairas?” his whisper was directed towards himself rather than the woman silently screaming at herself. Unfortunately, she didn’t know that.
“Kairas isn’t here!” Kamal could see the ever-present grief for her brother clash with an unfamiliar frustration directed at him within her beautiful big eyes.
“Kai isn’t here,” she continued into the ringing silence. He watched in admiration as she regained control of her emotions. “And do you think he would hate you for this if it spared me from being a sacrificial lamb? You, the man he trusted above everyone else?”
“What if it had been you who -” That was a catch in her voice. He watched whatever train of thought she abandoned torment her and knew in that instant that he would damn the world if it meant that he could take her into his arms, where she would be safe.
“If… if Kai was the one sitting in front of me, thinking about making this decision and marrying Amritha to keep her safe, would you have begrudged him that?”
Sitting back, Kamal pondered that. No, if he and his best friend had traded places five years ago, and he had died in Kairas’s place, he wouldn’t hold any animosity if Kairas married Amritha to keep her from the clutches of the British.
“Kai would certainly be a better brother-in-law than Doobay,” he mused.
The angry flash in Deviya’s eyes told him that the levity was not appreciated. And yet, there. That little twitching at the edge of her rose-petal lips betrayed her. She was amused. Feeling like the tallest man in the world for bringing a smile to her lips, Kamal regarded her. This woman who had thought it through, and was currently fighting so hard to avoid entering into a marriage with a man she didn’t want.
And yet…
“Do you really want this, Deviya? Marrying me, when you could wait for someone you can love. After all, it isn’t a certainty that de Clare would choose you,” he reluctantly said.
“Do you really think I would try so hard to marry a man I didn’t…” she trailed off in confusion as a rosy blush crept over her cheeks. The way she averted her eyes and fidgeted in her seat reminded Kamal of a much younger Ms Sharma, easily flustered and uneasy around men.
“You didn’t, what, Deviya?” his voice, god help him, was less a question and more a caress. And this time, Ms Sharma noticed, if the way she looked at him with a dawning wonder was an indication.
Still, she hesitated. Debating something in her mind. Decision reached, she straightened, looking at him with clear eyes. “I told you that I’d rather be with you than anyone else. You are the only man who has permission to touch me. What do you think that means?”
Her words brought the phantom sensation of her delicate curves pressed against his back to his mind. He recalled the heat of her small hands holding him, and a shiver ran the length of his spine. He knew, had been aware for a long time, that Deviya found him physically attractive. He had known the touch of enough women to recognise when a woman desired him. But he wanted so much more with Deviya, unlike those women from the past whose faces he had already forgotten.
“It can mean a lot of things and nothing at the same time,” he commented, hoping, praying for what he didn’t know. Rather, didn’t care to admit.
The noise she let out was somewhere between a groan, a scream and a squeak and entirely adorable. And there was that word again. Deviya Sharma was adorable. Far too adorable for her own good. Or his own.
He couldn’t fight the fond smile from taking over his face. He didn’t think he even wanted to. Standing up, he rounded the desk, watching as Deviya watched him. Reaching her, he knelt at her feet, taking one of her delicate little hands into his.
“If and IF I asked you to marry me…” his words drew to a slow stop as an expression of utmost happiness spread across Deviya’s dear face. Her hand in his gave a gentle squeeze, perhaps to encourage him to speak, perhaps to communicate whatever thought she couldn’t express with words. Gathering his scattered thoughts, Kamal continued, “Do you think you can be happy, Miss Sharma, married to a man more than twice your age when we will surely find enough opposition from the Dozen to the union?”
“You’re the only man I would be happy to marry,” her frank admission did something to his heart. He didn’t think he had ever felt the sensations currently coursing through his body. But years of donning the Mr Rai persona had taught him to be cautious, to carefully consider every move from every angle and to make sure that there are no misunderstandings in his dealings.
“You understand that this would be -”
“I want this to be a marriage of love,” Deviya interrupted him again. “Maybe… maybe not right now. But…but do you think you can one day maybe see me as a woman and not as Kairas’s little sister?” Her downcast eyes and quiet voice betrayed her attempts to hide her vulnerability. Carefully, gently cradling her chin in his fingers, he raised her face towards him.
“I stopped thinking of you as anyone’s little sister a long time ago, Deviya,” he confessed roughly. “You are more than an equal, never doubt that”.
Her tentative smile gave him the courage to answer her unasked question. “I too want this to be a marriage of love, Precious Miss. Do you think that’s a possibility?” His smile tried to mask the very real anxiety he felt as he asked the question upon which so much hinged.
Regaining her usual spirit, Deviya replied, “With two people so determined to make it so, how can it be anything but ?”
Laughing at her antics, Kamal stood up, gently tugging her to stand with him. Still holding her hand, he gazed down at her, marvelling at the changes a conversation brought to a day that was shaping up to be just as dreary and hopeless as the four preceding it. The task ahead of them would not be easy, both of them knew that. However, de Clare had not sent word yet, so they had time to prepare. And after all, when the Rai and the Sharma joined forces, who could dare stand in the way?
Vidya would certainly try. But the lioness was also grateful to Deviya for saving her life five years ago and always held an affection towards her daughters’ peer, the girl who refused to be cowed before the two Misses Basu. And his relationship with the Basu was forged on the fires of strife, shared grief and responsibilities. It would take some time, but he was certain that Vidya could be convinced to agree to their way of thinking. She was a progressive woman and would surely enjoy the novel solution Deviya proposed to get around the challenge of two house heads uniting in marriage. Once Vidya gave her words, the rest of the Dozen would fall in line, and Raj was unlikely to object. He was preoccupied enough with personal difficulties to create more unease and dissatisfaction among the Dozen.
But all these were problems for another day. Right now he had a Precious Miss to appease after ignoring her. Repent for being a positive bear these past four days and refusing to discuss the matter with her. The sooner he realised that Deviya was more than capable of standing next to him and dealing with challenges that came their way, the smoother their lives were sure to be.