Soul of Fire by Sarah A. Hoyt Page A

own—and before you look too shocked, madame, let me assure you that men do lie—and that his orders didn’t change, nor that he didn’t catch some horrible disease on ship—which, yes, also does happen—and die and get buried at sea, nor die shortly after debarking, from the shock of the climate or from tainted food—if all these conditions apply, then he is on the other side of this vast subcontinent. And supposing you travel to him by bullock cart, which is the fastest means of transportation you could command—supposing you could command it—to reach such a region as the Punjab . . . you’d take three weeks, perhaps more, to make it to his side. And all on the strength of a comment he made to you during a party, which was that he would be well pleased to marry you, all other things being equal.”
    He reached the end of this devastating recital and stood looking at Sofie, as if challenging her to recognize the flaws in her plan. She saw them all, and starkly enough, and she felt about two feet tall, but she would be cursed if she would admit to this man, this stranger, that she hadn’t thought things through perfectly well.
    “It won’t do, Miss Warington,” he said at last, very softly. “Your plan is impossible.”
    “Oh, you’re wrong,” she said, and stomped her foot, even while she was aware of his being absolutely right. “It will do.” It had to. “William was not just flirting. You don’t understand. He was quite head over heels in love with me. All the young men in his regiment were. They brought flowers and sent gifts and were all desperately, madly in love with me.”
    “Were they? And yet none offered?”
    “Oh, you are vexing. I’ve no doubt they would have offered had I remained in London. Only, Papa wrote demanding that I return home immediately and I—”
    “And you returned. Leaving behind an entire regiment in love with you.”
    Said like that it sounded like the craziest thing she could have said, but she was not about to admit that, either. She exhaled forcefully. “Still, I know Captain Blacklock was neither flirting nor lying. Wherever he is right now, I warrant you that he’s thinking about me and wishing he could be married to me. I’ll warrant you that he—”
    “Perhaps he is,” the man said. “Wherever he is— wherever being the operative word here. It is quite likely you’d get to Meerut only to find your love-struck captain has been sent elsewhere. Or perhaps, if you haven’t misremembered and he was sent over due to some unrest, you’d discover that he is in the midst of a devilishly dangerous situation in which the last thing a man wants is a bride hanging on his arm. And then there’s the fact that even if he’s madly in love with you and wishes to marry you, his circumstances might not be such that would permit his taking a wife. In which case, all his love, and all your arduous travel—which, since you’d have to depend on strangers kindly furnishing you with transportation, is likely to take months—will have been in vain. And by then your reputation will be ruined and your parents, doubtless, in great anxiety over your fate. You can’t do this, Miss Warington,” he said, softly.
    “But I have to!” she said, finally voicing her despair. “Oh, I know that William might not be able to take me in, that he might not be able to take me as a wife, but I will find some other way to survive, then. Perhaps I can be a maid to one of the officers’ wives. Or a governess to the children.”
    “What? When there’s so much local labor offering at very low prices?”
    “Then I’ll . . . I’ll join a mission, or something.”
    At this he cackled, almost derisively. “I don’t see you as a missionary, Miss Warington.”
    “But I must. I’ll do anything but go back home.”
    “Come, you’re young, but don’t be foolish. Surely you realize this is just a scary fairy tale you’ve been telling yourself.” He ignored her attempts at speaking and