Chapter Text
It was one of her earliest memories, tracing the intricate golden swirls etched upon her father’s forearm. The loops and arches and whorls, so familiar to her yet she had long ago lost any memory of the hand that imprinted them there.
They seemed as old as time, but even in the dimmest of lights they glowed like embers in a newly stoked fire. And beneath her own tiny hands, Kate found comfort there. It was stitched into the tapestry of his rich, russet-brown skin and the gilded impression left behind - comfort, safety, and once, love. Her appa wore that as proudly as her mother’s handprint.
I am blessed to have been marked so, her father would whisper to her late at night, when the skies would darken and the heavens grew heavy with the impending monsoon storms.
When the first forks of lightning fractured the brooding sky, he would cradle her in his lap and Kate’s little hand would trace the imprint of her mother’s, each beat of her heart entwined with a loop of a gilded fingerprint. Once her head lay snug upon his chest and her frightened little breaths started to echo his deep, steady exhales, he would regale her with the same story she had heard a hundred times.
It was quite the scandal, he would tell her, his voice light with mirth despite the gravity of that word.
The story of how her mother had stumbled home, confused about the mark upon her shoulder that she could not rub off, earned from a boy she had only just met. It had been fleeting, so her father claimed. Accidental. Fateful. She had tripped in the market, and he’d reached out to catch her. An unknown girl with eyes of molten amber. Then, there it was. His handprint. Painted upon her skin indelibly in bronze. Her father’s mark. Her match.
The village elders had met to douse the scandal of a mark so brazenly visible upon her shoulder. A wedding was hastily arranged and before witnesses, her appa, too, was marked by the young girl's hand in the more proper place upon his forearm.
And so, they became two of the lucky few who found their match, their other half, their first touch painted upon each other until the end of time. Her appa and the girl with amber eyes. A girl who would soon become just a mark upon his skin.
Though I never needed her mark to prove we were a match, he would say, eyes watery as they fixed upon a phantom face only he could see, his voice rasped by the cruel talons of grief. I knew it before I even saw her. I felt her, in the deepest part of my soul. I knew she was waiting for me. That she was mine, and I was hers.
What did you feel, appa? Kate’s little voice would ask, trembling with wonder.
One day you will find out for yourself, my sweet Kathani. One day.
…….
An extract from Essays and Aphorisms on the Phenomenum of Soulmarks, by Dr T. L. Dorset, 1811
It has been theorised for many years that the gradual decline in soulmark occurrence is some great punishment from the gods. That the greed and pestilence we breed as a civilisation, and increasingly spread across this sacred earth of ours, has brought the wrath of our celestial fathers.
It is said that in ancient times, almost all found their match. Today, only a handful of us poor souls are so destined. Perhaps there is some mystical reason. Perhaps it is punishment. Perhaps, as this author suspects, it is merely a result of population increase and spread. Or perhaps, as it has been propounded by many of my peers, this is the beginning of the end of the soulmark itself. We cannot say for certain.
But, having dedicated my life to studying the origins, history and, in my belief, the continued existence of soulmarks in our modern era, I am certain of one thing: somewhere, between the sand and the stardust, there is another soul meant for ours. There is one hand that will sear its place upon our skin and our hearts. The only question is: how far are you willing to go to find them?
……
It was not long after her father became nothing more than a fading mark upon Mary’s arm that Kate realised he was wrong. He was a great man, her appa, but he was wrong.
Somewhere between the crippling grief and all consuming loneliness that shadowed her desperate scramble for her family’s survival, the fairytales and magic he had dreamed for her simply flitted away. Love, and all the beauty and hope that it promised, became something so abstract and distant from Kate’s reality, that she grew to understand that there was nothing out there for her.
The longer she was adrift in the churning ocean of life, the more she understood how rare it was to find your match. Her mother and father had been lucky. The exception not the rule. Her father, especially, was rarer still. He was an enigma amongst society who had not one, but two soulmarks upon him. Though that was no surprise to Kate, for people like him deserved love. One of the good, brave and worthy people that were made for the whimsy and romance of matches and golden handprints etched upon their skin. That was not the path for Kate. Before her, and behind her, was only sacrifice for others.
She did not reflect on that fact bitterly. Kate had known for some time that she would not have a match. You see her father would often reminisce of an intrinsic pull from deep within, an intangible feeling, rooted within his mind and soul, woven into the very fabric of his being. He spoke of fingers that would never settle, that prickled with a need to touch. Restless hands always reaching for something that was never there. A heartbeat with an echo of another, a hollow tattoo calling out to be found.
Kate had none of that. Her entire world was survival. There was no room for whimsy nor romance in her story. No comfort could be found in the belief that some other person was fated to sweep in and save her from the loneliness that stalked her. There was no other half searching for her across the plains of this earth nor the ocean that now crashed and rolled beneath her feet.
There was no siren call from one heart to another sounding in the ether. There was nothing.
Nobody.
Only…only as the waves roiled and churned, tossing Kate’s body and mind until she knew not what was up nor down, today, perhaps, maybe, there was something.
Something intangible. Something new. Though her fingers grew numb with cold beneath the thick, worn leather of her gloves, something stirred for the first time. A tingling in her fingertips, as if she were swirling her hands through the soft sands of the riverbed beside her old childhood home.
Tightening her grip upon the brine-encrusted railing, the cool metal numbed the sensation. No, she told herself. Today it would not do to be distracted, nor to give in to fancy. Today, Kate needed to keep her wits about her.
Turning her face to the bow as it thrashed its way through the English Channel, she called her mind to order. There was much to do to prepare for Edwina’s debut, an endless list of activities Kate must undertake the moment they reach port. There were appointments to be made with the modiste, the ladies maids would need to be briefed on the hair styles that suited Edwina best, and of course interviews to be arranged with eligible gentlemen. That was where her mind should be. On Edwina. Always on Edwina.
Before her, looming white cliffs broke through the sea haze, and the salt of the sea stung like glass upon her wind-battered cheeks. And there it was again, that feeling. Like a flutter of anticipation skitting along her spine. Expectation crawling across her skin. Every beat of her heart came now with a pause, an expectant stillness between each pulse, a call that received no response.
As she was want to do, Kate dismissed the unknown with logic. Merely arrival jitters. Six months trapped upon this rickety ship, and now to be faced with a jagged shoreline shrouded in mist, it was no surprise that Kate would feel nervous.
That was all it was.
“Isn’t it beautiful,” Edwina enthused beside her, appearing just as the ship shuddered to a stop. Great ropes as thick as a man were hauled and tugged between the sea-worn sailors and the longshoreman. Her sister peered out across the dilapidated dock sitting squatly beneath a gloomy sky above with a bewildering look of joy. The young girl bounced on impatient feet, her cheeks prettily pinked and eyes aglow as she admired the view. Edwina always saw the beauty and hope in everything. Edwina was a pure soul. Edwina was destined for those glimmering marks.
“It’s a little more dreary than I had imagined,” Kate replied flatly, but smiled when her little sister rolled her eyes and dragged her towards the waiting gangplank.
“Everything will always be gloomy if you compare it to your beloved India,” Edwina chided affectionately, as she skipped as light as air down the rickety wood and planted her slippered feet upon English shores for the first time. “Can you not see the possibility in the unknown?”
Once I did, Kate thought to herself, remembering her life before. When she too dreamt about what could be, rather than having to fight to survive in what was.
“Isn’t this all so exciting?” Edwina grinned back, her voice raised over the clattering noise of the docks and into the crowds that had gathered to greet the ships arrival. “Just think, any of these fine gentlemen could be our future husbands.”
“Edwina,” Kate complained with patient frustration. “We are not here for me, only for you.”
“But maybe?” Edwina grinned, and Kate’s treacherous heart stammered in her chest.
Perhaps once Kate had imagined herself finding a kind man, someone who made her smile and kept her safe - after all, plenty of happy marriages were based on companionship rather than a golden match. Only, then Kate had spent those few precious years of her youth preparing her sister, rather than seeking a husband of her own. Now, at the advanced age of six and twenty she was a spinster, with no titles nor wealth to her name. Kate was under no illusion that she would garner no interest in the young and fashionable ballrooms of London. Her time had passed.
“Come along,” Kate took Edwina’s arm, squeezing it fondly in the hope that her attention would soon be diverted. “We must find our carriage.”
The London docks rose calamitously around them and indeed provided endless distraction to Edwina. Her sister strode eagerly forwarded, all but dragging Kate behind her in her enthusiasm.
Looking upon her, Kate realised the last vestiges of her little sister’s girlhood seemed to have been left behind in their homeland. The girl, no, the young woman, navigating a path through the chaotic motion of the harbour had all the poise and grace of an English lady. At once, she delicately side-stepped fishermen hauling baskets of stinking fish and the lecherous sailors gawking at her, all while dipping her pretty head elegantly to the gentlemen who tipped their hats in her direction. Kate was filled with pride. Edwina had grown more beautiful and refined than Kate had dared dream when she’d first started preparing her for this moment all those years ago.
As their carriage rattled through the filthy streets of East London, Edwina hung out of the open window so as not to miss a single spectacle. Ignoring her sister and mother’s pleas for decorum, she continued to remark excitedly upon everything they passed. The newsboys waving the latest papers, still fresh from the printing press. The rag-and-bone man hollering for trade down grimy streets as his rusty cart creaked beneath his hodge-podge collection piled high.
Soon, the narrow, dilapidated lanes of the east opened up to wide streets bustling with pristine horse-drawn cabrioletes and carriages. Edwina seemed fit to burst with excitement. Her squeals at the first sight of the elegant domes of St Paul’s attracted curious looks from many of the top-hatted gentlemen ambling upon the paved streets, and a few titters from the bonneted ladies perusing the grand shop windows.
Edwina grasped her sister’s arm at each new discovery, eager to share her wonderment, and Kate smiled indulgently at her endless enthusiasm. Only, as evening advanced upon them and the carriage finally settled upon the smooth cobbles of a smart Mayfair street, Kate found she could not even manage a polite nod at her sister anymore. She had become entirely occupied trying to manage the peculiar sensations creeping over her once more.
The jostling of the carriage had become a gentle ebb, her sister’s genial chatter transformed into a melodic, soothing hum, and the harsh lines of Kate’s nerves had grown smooth as silk. Something stirred within her. Like a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering deep inside, their wings gossamer soft as they whispered their secret to each other. Though she tried to fight it, Kate’s breath grew leaden and deep, and the feeling grew and fortified until it was all she was aware of.
Her blood pounded so loudly in her ears that she was quite deafened, and as the fire crawling along her skin reached a fever pitch, Kate feared she might burst right out of herself. Her lips moved of their own volition, murmuring a word, a prayer, a name - she could not be sure.
“Kate?” Edwina’s tone was rich with concern. “Are you quite well, you look most peaked.”
Kate managed a smile that tempered her sister, who was all too quickly distracted again by some great wonder beyond the carriage. Thankfully, the interruption had allowed Kate dominion of her senses once more, and she was able to settle herself back into the plush seats of the Danbury carriage until they arrived shortly afterwards at their destination.
Kate was relieved to disembark into the fresh night air. The coolness did much to clear her fogged mind. It was only the tingle in her fingertips that did not desist. It was there as they greeted the footman; it was there as they were shown their guest quarters; it was there when Kate was finally alone and therefore permitted to peel off her constrictive leather gloves. Her fingers prickled and chafed like an itch she could not scratch. Beneath a weak candlelight, she carefully studied each pad, certain there must be some rash or mark, something to explain how they commanded her attention. Only there was nothing. Just the swirls and ridges she knew so well.
…..
An extract from The Young Ladies Guide to Society: From Debut to the Altar, by Mrs Delphine Livingstone, 1807
A respectable lady must never be seen without gloves. From the eve of their thirteenth birthday, it is essential that the skin of one’s hands is covered at all times - except when bathing or sleeping.
Mulberry silk is recommended due to its thickness, while also keeping one’s hands suitably soft to please their future husbands. Should one not be able to afford such luxurious fabrics, then lesser silks or even plain cotton may suffice, as long as the skin is covered at all times.
Even then, extreme caution is advised whenever one is in the company of the others. Soulmarks, though rare, could occur with persons of any class or creed or gender if one is not careful. To be entirely safe from matching with an undesirable partner a young lady must never touch another, under any circumstances.
It is only upon the formal establishment of a courtship, and beneath the eyes of a respectable guardian, that a couple may touch. A single hand upon the forearm is considered appropriate to discover if they are fated.
But be aware - a young lady who rejects a good match purely due to some fanciful and archaic desire for a golden handprint will suffer the consequences. In this modern marriage mart, where soul matches are as rare as diamonds, such idealistic young ladies rarely fare well.
In fact, there is only one thing less appealing than a young lady suffering an overly sentimental countenance - and that is an unwed girl already sullied by the mark of another. That is a shame that no young lady can survive.
…….
The English morning dawned pale and still beyond the heavy pleated curtains of Kate’s chambers. The night had been long and sleepless and the new day’s arrival came as a relief.
While the rest of the house slumbered on, Kate crept to the sliver of light peeking through the velvet to find out what lay beyond. An early morning haze doused the sprawling gardens in a dreary grey, as if they were submerged beneath a nebulous sea. The little foliage that breached the surface was gnarled and twisted, like angry limbs reaching out from the shadowy world beneath. Back home, her window frame was a riot of verdant green dotted with blooms of fuschia and sunset orange, resplendent beneath an azure sky. Here, Kate was faced with only lifeless shades of grey.
Despondently, Kate retreated back to her grand bed, with its indulgently soft covers and full, feathered pillows. Still, she could find no comfort there. Her mind was still adrift in that raging storm she had been battling in all night, and her thoughts tumbled over each other to be heard.
It had been a gamble, that was certain, bringing the family to this strange land. Only, Kate had promised her father she would care for Edwina, and ensuring her sister’s happiness had become Kate’s great purpose in life. To her father - and though she would deny it outwardly, to Kate - true happiness meant finding her soul match. So, Kate spent every drop of her energy and penny of their money making that dream come true for her sister.
After observing the toings and froings of the Indian marriage mart from a distance, Kate was convinced that the modest ballrooms and meagre list of eligible bachelors would not do to expedite her sister’s search. Very few debutantes were lucky enough to find a match each year but Edwina’s chances would be greatly increased where there were dozens of suitors to pick from, rather than a handful. And so to London they went.
It had not been easy but then not a day since her father’s passing had been. Selling all their worldly goods and putting all her hope in Mary’s old friend, Lady Danbury, Kate had paid her family’s fare to London and bid goodbye to the only life she had ever known.
Only, the closer they drew to the English shore, fear of failure loomed ever-present in Kate’s mind. What if this was a mistake? What if Kate could not navigate the complex world of the Ton? What if they could not find Edwina’s match?
True soul matches were rare and becoming rarer still. Those awful gossip papers her sister devoured - months out of date by the time they reached Bombay - spoke of dozens of marriages last season but only two were confirmed as soul matches. Only two couples went to the altar with those tell-tale golden swirls upon their forearms.
Of course, Kate knew Edwina could find happiness in an unmatched-marriage, but there was not a doubt in Kate’s mind that Edwina was destined to find her soulmate. And Kate would do everything in her power to make it so. Only then would Kate’s great purpose be fulfilled and she could return to her beloved India. Successful. Satisfied. Alone.
As she thought it, she screwed her eyes closed, wishing away the image that formed in her mind. There would be no time for loneliness, she told herself. Kate would fill her days with her work and writing to Edwina and the little nieces and nephews she was sure would soon follow the wedding, and with embroidery and drawing and walks and rides and…
Kate sighed, pressing herself back into the pillows, wishing for rest. For some quiet in her mind so she could simply sleep away the hours until the rest of the house stirred.
Only, it was no use. It was as if her heart would not calm. It beat, beat, beat in her chest, louder than she had ever known and it would not quiet. And it was there again, that pregnant pause between each thump. A call with no response. A silent echo in the empty cavern of her chest.
Restlessly, Kate cast off the bed covers and strode back to that slither of light between the curtains. The sky was still pale with dawn, only now it was dusted with pinks and streaked with gold from the weak sun. The new light revealed what lay beyond the manicured beds and maze of well clipped paths. A wilder, untamed landscape of rolling hills had emerged from the mist, the wide open space taunting her. The grand oaks that were dotted here and there waved their branches in the gentle breeze, as if beckoning her to explore their lands.
It was not proper, she knew. It would not do to be out alone, unchaperoned, in some unknown woods in this unfamiliar country. It would be better to stay here and wait for the house to awake.
If only her heart would stop this pounding. If only it would cease for one moment so she could let herself think, to convince herself the rational thing to do. To stay. To wait.
It was no use. Her feet made the decision her mind would not, and before she could stop herself, there was a riding cloak upon her shoulders and leather reins wrapped around her hands.
This was what she had needed to clear her mind. Six long months cooped up on that boat and all Kate had longed for was a stinging breeze whipping at her cheeks and the world rushing by.
She finally felt free. No burdens, no duty, no obligations. Just fresh air and speed and the resounding call of her heartbeat.
And then him.
All at once, he was there, with a thundering of hooves and a billow of a midnight blue cloak.
Woah there.
At once Kate felt that she was back on the boat. The ground unsteady beneath her, her body both grounded and entirely weightless at once. Her mind…her mind soaring in a sky that stretched endlessly to the horizon.
Incapable of logical thought, Kate forged ahead, ignoring his calls for her to stop - to wait. And he gave chase.
Close on her heels, matching her pace, chasing or racing she was not sure, it urged her forward and faster. A smile spread across her face. The rush of blood through her veins as he edged closer and closer made her feel more alive than she had in months - years even.
On and on she rode, and on and on he chased, until she saw her winning chance - a clearing in the thicket. It would be a reckless jump, but then that was what was needed. The reins stretched taut around her hands and her mare grew tense, but Kate squeezed firmly and they were both lifted clear from the ground. A moment of stillness, of utter silence, of floating, before they landed with a thud upon the hard ground.
Kate spun in the saddle but she already knew he had not followed, knew she had won. Victory, she mused, and she rewarded herself by properly viewing her adversary.
Atop his midnight black stallion he struck a grand figure. The perfectly white cravat, the crisp starched collar, the fashionable top hat sat above an aristocratic nose - he was the Ton personified. A wry smile played on her lips. There was something even more satisfying about besting a man such as him.
Only, then her eyes settled upon his face. Upon his eyes, his brown eyes, as deep and rich as mahogany warmed beneath the afternoon sun. A warmth spread through her too, starting in her chest and reaching all the way down to her fingertips. And when he smiled, the whole dark forest around her grew incandescent with stardust.
Beneath her, her mare shifted impatiently. Jolted from the strangely heavy moment, Kate found herself cantering away. After all, what good could come from lingering with unknown gentlemen in the forest.
Though, when he found her a few moments later, she could not pretend she wasn’t a little amused by his perseverance. Of course she rebutted his attempt at small talk and balked at his unfounded accusations that she was lost, though still she found that she indulged him. And herself. They teased and laughed and smiled and his eyes gleamed with a thousand secrets - his or hers, she was not sure.
For two strangers she could not account for the ease that settled between them. The lightness that weaved its way into her voice, the infectiousness of his smile, the way the sand seemed to slip so quickly through the hourglass in his presence. Had it been mere seconds or hours? Later she would be unsure, only that it had ended all too soon.
Other riders passed too near, and her fear of being seen with him, the scandal she would bring upon Edwina should they be spotted, forced her to gallop away. His voice rang in her ears as he called after her, and his smile followed her back through the thickets and trees.
It was not until she stood beneath the withering glare of Lady Danbury a little while later, feeling fresher and more alive than she had in some weeks, that she realised how steadily her heart beat. There were no pregnant pauses. No more call. Just a calming thump, thump, thump.
Though Kate being Kate, she paid it no mind. No doubt it was merely the fresh air and exercise that had cleared her head. And anyway, she was late to break her fast, and Edwina was due at the modiste, and then Kate needed to help her refresh her pianoforte skills after six months of no practice, and Kate should really oversee the unpacking of their trunks, and pressing her sister’s dresses. There was little time for her mind to dwell on it any further.
It did, however, dwell upon that gentleman. On his smile. On those deep mahogany eyes. It was true that had not come here to seek a husband, and yet…and yet in those few moments beneath his gaze perhaps there had been a small fracture in that belief. A slight frisson of excitement in her chest that maybe her return alone to India was not so inevitable.
And it lasted a whole day. A whole day where she walked about with a lighter step. Where her smile came more easily, where she pondered that bit longer on choosing her dress too, twirling in the mirror alongside her sister for once. The pale blue or the silver, or would he like her in sunset orange?
When the conservatory had loomed before her, an amber glow upon an inky black sky, Kate found herself giddy with her anticipation. Golden chandeliers sparkled above them, candles glinting against glass so the room appeared bejewelled. On the dance floor, the swirl of the ladies silk dresses fluttered about them like the butterflies within her chest.
The opulence of the Ton was a feast for the eyes, and Edwina and Mary were quickly distracted like magpies amongst treasure. It was easy enough to steal away from the others, to search the sea of new faces for the only one she knew.
Then there he was again. His grace in the saddle was clearly not matched upon the dance floor as he awkwardly stumbled through a quadrille with his partner. Kate had smiled, hidden as she was amongst the crowd. He seemed stiffer here, his face set in displeasure. Still handsome, but it was nothing like when he smiled.
Later, Kate would wish she’d just stopped there. She should have let him be just an idea, just a fleeting dream. Only Kate never quite knew when to stop. So she followed him outside, and heard it all. His self-serving tirade of the futility of love. How archaic soulmarks were, how naive it was to dream of true love. How love would have no place in his marriage. How he would actively seek compliance and duty over affection. Her naive impression of who he ought be was quashed as quickly as it had formed.
In her hurry to leave, a blasted potted plant cracked beneath her feet. Once more, he appeared, unexpected and this time unwanted.
Your personality is as deficient as your horsemanship, she’d spat out bitterly, the barb pointed on her tongue. When she’d left him sour faced and open-mouthed, she wondered if she had pushed too hard. Usually she could temper herself against the endless folly of men but there was something about him that clouded her common sense. Perhaps it was her disappointment that he wasn’t … more.
Only it was no matter. Not to Kate. Not to practical, no-nonsense Kate, who didn’t have time for dallying with unworthy gentlemen.
But oh, what a fool she was. Even after all these, all this time convincing herself it would never be, one flash of those sweet dimples and she had let herself think… to Believe that maybe…
Foolish. She was so very foolish. It didn’t matter anymore. Whatever she thought he might be was wrong. By the time she had cooled her temper with a turn in the gardens and returned to the ball, she had already cast away any thoughts of those mahogany eyes as she searched the floor for Edwina.
There she was, her sweet, innocent sister, beaming as she spotted Kate approaching. Beckoning her over with an excited wave, Edwina seemed fit to burst in her impatience. As Kate observed the slight flush in her cheeks, she realised her sister was not alone. A pair of broad, velvet-clad shoulders hovered beside her. Ah, Kate thought - allowing just a frisson of Edwina’s joy to filter through to her - her sister must have danced with a suitor of note.
Kate advanced, relieved to be focused once more on something other than him. A reminder that she was here for her sister, for Edwina, for her bon. And possibly now for whoever this man might be.
Edwina said something in soft tones to the gentleman, who turned, following her gaze to Kate. The deep mahogany eyes mirrored the same dismay as her own.
An introduction was attempted but Kate tested even Lady Danbury’s patience as she rudely dragged Edwina away, her sister pouting the entire carriage ride home as Kate did everything she could to cast those damned eyes from both of their minds.