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Chapter One
India -- 1892
"Wild blood! it's a taint in the blood. I've heard it said that every generation of Dangerfields produces one of them. They call it the Dangerfield devil."
Mrs. Leacock, beginning to fan herself vigorously, continued, "All those generations of inbreeding ... what do they expect? They call Melchester 'the Eccentric Earl' bebind his back, but at least he hasn't done anything too outrageous yet ... but I think it's a positive outrage that he lets Rowena go her own way! That girl Will come to a bad end one day -- I can feel it. That temper ... do you remember the time she half whipped a groom to death because he had forgotten to rub, down her horse? And she's the only white woman In the province of Jhanpur who has ever witnessed a public execution. The colonel told me he was stunned to see her there in the first place, and that she didn't tam a hair, either!"
"Something," Mrs. Leacock pronounced awefully, "must be done! You know how my dear husband hates to interfere, but I shall ask him to speak to the governor. We cannot have a scandal here, and especially one involving a young Englishwoman and a native prince!"
It was the custom of the Englishwomen who had followed their husbands to the small province of Jhanpur to gather together for tea every afternoon. When Mrs. Leacock, who was the bishop's wife, or Mrs. O'Bannion, whose husband commanded the small English garrison, presided at such gatherings they became tea parties, with the rules of protocol and etiquette strictly adhered to. Dainty iced cakes, sweet fruits, and thin sandwiches cut into pretty shapes by a well-- trained cook were graciously served .Either of the two ladies sat graciously behind a silver tea service, making a pretty ceremony of pouring.
On this particular afternoon, Mrs. Leacock was the hostess, and as she served the last steaming cup of tea she leaned forward, lowering her voice slightly.
Speaking of discipline' she continued, "I must confess that the natives are not alone in their lack of it! I tell you, my dears, that girl's behavior grows more outrageous every day!"
Ever since the Earl of Melchester, who was British governor of Jhanpur, had brought his granddaughter to live with him, Rowena Dangerfield had been a source of speculation and comment among the small British community.
"Oh, heavens!" Mrs. O'Bannion said, sitting up straight, "are the rumors true?"
"I learned from our groom, Mohammed Khan, that she has taken to meeting the young prince on her rides. And if you'll remember we were talking about him only last week, about how glad the maharajah must be that his son has stayed so long on a visit."
"Oh, dear! You think this is why he's stayed?" Little Mrs. Loving, whose husband was a very junior subaltern, opened blue eyes very wide.
Mrs. Leacock smiled graciously to show that she forgave the interruption.
"Everyone knows that the Shiv Jhanpur is far fonder of the fleshpots of Bombay and Delhi than he is of the province he'll rule one day. He was educated at Oxford, like his father, but that doesn't really make too much difference to these native princes-they follow their old ways as soon as they return here!"
"But, Marion!" Mrs. O'Bannion looked visibly agitated. "Surely-what I mean is, is the governor aware of this? As-as peculiar as some of his ideas are, I do not think ... "
"You know as well as I do, Amy, that he allows that girl to ran wild! Allowing her to visit the palace, and even to-to visit the women's quarters! It's unchristian, posiively heathenish that these Indian princes should be allowed to continue with their old custom of having so many wives! Why, even the prince has five, at least. He was married to the first of them when they were both no more than infants!"
"Oh!" Mrs. Loving breathed, and the older women gave her understanding looks.
"You haven't been here long enough, my dear, to understand how very primitive these people can be!" Mrs. O'Bannion sniffed knowingly.
"Of course not!" added Mrs. Leacock. "And you haven't met the governor yet, have you? My husband, who is a dear, sweet, chafitable man has reached the point of despair. I mean, one expects the governor to set an example, but he hasn't been to church for years, and neither has that hoydenish, arrogant granddaughter of his. I mentioned it to him myself, I said 'It would be so pleasant to see dear Rowena in church some Sundays; after all we do live in a country of heathens, and if children are not taught their own religion while they're still young enough to be influenced . . .' and then, my dear, he cut me off! He wouldn!t let me say another word, merely frowned down at me in that bushy-browed way and said curtly that he did not wish his granddaughter's mind to be cluttered up by dogma! I can tell you, that left me speechless I sometimes doubt if he's a Christian, himself."
"But you were telling us about Rowena," Mrs. O'Bannion persisted, and her friend gave a long-suffering sigh.
"Yes, of course. Well, to my mind its all part and parcel of the way shes been brought up. She's never been to school, and when I mentioned once that my own dear Marcia would be going to an excellently recommended boarding school in England, all he did was raise one eyebrow and growl 'Is that so, madam? Well,I'II not have my granddaughter's mind rained by pianoforte lessons and watercolors. She'll get her education from me.' He had boxes and boxes of books brought here -- some of them from France and Germany. And if the girl isn't out riding, or on a tiger shoot she has her nose in
The Wildest Heart. Copyright © by R Rogers. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
