The Jasmine Wife: A sweeping epic historical romance novel for women

A manservant appeared before them, staring at Sara with a wide grin on his face, hardly taking his eyes off her except to look around at the crowd, hoping they would notice his importance.

“This is Shakur; he’s my head man.”

As a mark of the position he held, Shakur wore one of his master’s cast-off shirts over his long dhoti. His thin neck stuck out of a frayed collar that was too big for him, but somehow he presented himself with a dignity impossible to ridicule.

He bowed again, pressing his palms together and touching his forehead in a blessing. Sara liked him at once. He grinned at her, showing large perfect white teeth.

“Is this lady the new madam, sahib?” He moved his head from side to side in time with his high sing-song voice.

“Yes, this lady is my wife, and mind you don’t forget it.”

Sara softened the moment with a smile.

“How do you do, Shakur?”

“I am well, madam.” He seemed to study her face with obvious delight and blessed her fervently once more. He admired the fine bones of her hands and wrists, her white skin and her hair … a very auspicious colour … the colour of dark saffron threads.

Sara smiled again with genuine kindness, and he blessed her once more before stealing a hasty look at Lady Palmer and visibly shuddering.

Charles seemed irritated again and took charge. “Enough! Shakur, get the luggage and I’ll see you back at the carriage.”

“At once, sahib!” Shakur bustled around long enough to ensure that his importance had been acknowledged before hurrying off, saying as he left to anyone in his path, “Move along, move along, will you,” in a peculiar imitation of his master’s voice.

Charles had taken Sara’s arm to lead her away, but was distracted by the sight of Sabran, who’d retreated to talk to someone in a waiting carriage standing apart from the chaos of the wharf.

Charles was clearly very put out and flexed his hands behind his back as though trying to control his fury. Sara followed his eyes to where an exquisite girl with a face from a fairy tale was looking out of the window of the carriage, but when she felt herself being observed the vision modestly drew back with such haste it was almost as though she hadn’t existed at all.

Sabran let go of the girl’s hand and threw Charles one of his enigmatic looks.

Sara looked up at Charles’ face, trying to read his expression. His lips were white against his high colour, and his bright blue eyes seemed almost glassy as he stared back.

“Oh, do you know them, darling?” The endearment sounded odd to her ears, but it got his attention. “The gentleman was most helpful. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t come along when he did. Charles, we must thank him.”

“I think referring to Sabran as a gentleman is perhaps too generous. However, you weren’t to know, my dear. We must leave, now.”

“But Charles, something dreadful has happened …”

He wouldn’t look at her, but kept his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

“Yes, I know … Cynthia told me …”

“Then you’ll understand how we are responsible …”

“Not responsible, surely … but I’ll arrange for one of my men to take the child to the nuns. We can’t adopt her ourselves. It would cause trouble amongst the servants. You’ve forgotten how strict the caste rules are here. Anyway, as soon as the real mother realises there’s no money to be had, she’ll turn up. I’ve seen this sort of thing before.”

He took her hand and held it firmly. There would be no more nonsense. Lady Palmer and Cynthia had made their way to the carriage, still surrounded by curious onlookers. They gave her furious impatient glares but, even so, Sara resisted, not being able to tear herself away from the child playing in the dust.

“Charles, we must do something …”

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Lady Palmer would never allow her in the carriage. We must leave at once.”

“Pardonnez moi.”

Charles swung around to face Sabran, who stood before them with an air of barely controlled irritation. He’d been a witness to the scene between the couple and had been waiting for an opportunity to interrupt.

“Fitzroy.” He said the name as though it cost him a great deal.

Charles gave a curt nod in return. “I believe my wife has reason to be grateful to you. I want to reimburse you for your trouble.”

Sabran ignored the offer with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I do not want your money.”

Sabran stared curiously at Sara, then back to Charles. His face showed a faint glimmer of surprise, then a half smile of what she felt sure was derision, accompanied by an exaggerated, almost sarcastic bow, waving a hand before her like a courtier, and dazzling her eyes with a huge rough-cut yellow diamond set in heavy gold he wore on his wedding finger.

Usually she couldn’t bear jewellery on a man, thinking it effeminate and a sure sign of vanity, though on his hand the primitive cut of the stone seemed only to add to his air of mystery, as a sorcerer might use a wand to hypnotise his victims.

She’d caught his flicker of surprise, and even distaste also. She was shocked to see that the man didn’t admire her and might even dislike her.

“I’m here to tell you, madam, I will take the child! That is the end of the matter!” he announced.

Then, bowing again briefly in Sara’s direction, he snapped his fingers at his entourage. “Come!”

“Forgive me, monsieur, but I’m not so sure.”

At first there was a faint gleam of pure white teeth, a polite but failed attempt to cover a snarl, then, while his dark enigmatic eyes swept over her with now unconcealed dislike, he snapped his fingers and his entourage sprang to attention again.

Charles took her hand to lead her away.

“I think the matter is decided at last, my dear.”

“But the old man wanted me to take her!” She touched her heart with the tips of her fingers to emphasise the truth of her words. “I’m sure of it! And he died at peace because he believed, somehow, that I would take his granddaughter.”

There was an uncomfortable silence at her public display of passion, including Charles, who felt compelled to step in and restore order.

“My dear girl, you’re letting your imagination run away with you. Let Monsieur Sabran take her. At least, with him, she’ll be at her own level.”

Again, it took all of Sabran’s self-control to ignore Charles and speak to Sara with a calm voice. “The English have taken everything else from us. You must at least leave us our children.”

Sara stared. There was nothing more she could say, realising the truth of his words.

“But you must come to visit her often,” he said in a softer tone. “You will always be welcome.” His thickly accented voice poured over her like heavy silk. He glanced at Charles to see how he would take the invitation and was clearly pleased to see him bristle and clear his throat again.

“To make certain I’m not ill-treating her,” Sabran added, laughing softly.

“Now!” He slapped his hands together, and everyone jumped again.

“I must go, and so must you. That’s the end of the matter”.

While still dazed by his sudden display of charm, Sara watched as a waiting attendant picked up the child and held her dangling at arm’s length.