Lady Eleanor Mary Cantwell, daughter of the Marquess of Salford, is a proper young lady. With her golden complexion, raven-black hair, and manners befitting a princess, Lady Eleanor has always been deemed a belle. There is just one problem.
Lady Ele...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Calcutta, India, 1857
Lord Albert Michael Cantwell, the Marquess of Salford, was known to be a man of many words.
Never before had there been a time when the marquess found himself at a loss of speech and yet, as he paced the hallway outside one of Lord Canning's many offices scattered throughout India, his mind could not form any coherent thought regarding the incident which had taken place that morning.
His train of thought (which currently did not function, he was sorry to say) was interrupted when an Indian man adorned in a turban, emerged from Canning's office and addressed him.
'Lord Salford,' he said in a thick accent, bowing low.
'Yes, what?' Lord Salford enquired, snapping to attention.
'Lord Canning is ready to receive you,' the man replied, expressionless, before walking away.
'Finally,' the irritated lord muttered under his breath before making his way into the office.
Upon his arrival, Lord Canning - who was engrossed in a pile of paperwork - looked up. 'Ah, Salford, what brings you here?' he asked quite cheerily which outraged the marquess all the more.
'Lord Canning,' he bit out, trying his best to be polite, 'I was hoping to have a word with you.'
'Of course,' he replied nonchalantly, leaning back in his seat. 'What is it?'
'Could you explain to me,' the marquess asked, his voice rising louder with each word, 'why a dozen armed men barged into my study at the East India Company Headquarters, demanding me to get on my knees?'
Lord Canning's cheery mien wavered. 'You were at the company headquarters when it happened?'
'Of course, I was! Where else would I have been?' the flustered marquess shouted, politeness forgotten. Then, remembering that he was, in fact, talking to the Viceroy of India, he lowered his voice, attempting to calm himself. 'Canning, I was assured - by you, no less - that the uprising was merely a trifle, not worth concerning ourselves over.'
'That's what we thought,' Lord Canning replied bitterly, his eyes glazed and focused elsewhere. 'But it seems that the people are drawing courage from the revolt and taking it forward with uprisings of their own. That damned man, Pandey, has made it hard on us. Even the maharajas are revolting!' A dark look shadowed his face and Salford was displeasured at the vehemence on his face.
A short silence ensued as Salford debated how best to break the decision he had made as a result of the break-in.
'I am leaving for England,' he said quite suddenly, breaking the eery stillness of the room.
'For good?' the viceroy asked, lifting his gaze to his, seemingly unfazed by the news.
'Yes,' the marquess replied. 'I find I cannot possibly live amongst revolts, uprisings and the like. All signs point to its growth in the next few months. Besides,' he added, his voice growing soft, 'Marilyn needs me now more than ever.'
