Page 102 of A Modest Independence

“But…what happened to his body? Could someone have taken it? Stolen it or—”

“Stolen it? For what purpose? No, ma’am. His body would have been burned. No one wanted disease spreading. Our chaplain read the burial service over the pit in which the bodies were thrown. A barbaric business.” His lips briefly contorted in a moue of distaste. “It was for the best. Even if they’d pickled him in brine, he’d never have lasted the journey back to England.”

Jenny squeezed her eyes shut a moment. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, Giles.”

Tom’s heart came to a standstill. There was something in the quaver of her voice. Something in the way she said the man’s name.

Oh, Giles.

But no. He must be imagining it, surely. Jenny was only concerned about Giles’s fate because of Lady Helena. It had nothing to do with how Jenny felt about the fellow herself.

Or did it?

Anstruther stood. “I can tell you no more of what happened after. I was taken ill myself. Developed a fever from the heat and had to be removed to Simla to recover.”

Tom rose from his seat, waiting for Jenny to do the same. She remained in her chair for a second or two longer, hands clenched in her lap. And then she stood, her face pale and expressionless.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, “but might I use your washroom?”

Anstruther didn’t look pleased at the request. He nevertheless summoned a servant to escort her from the study. “I warned you,” he said to Tom when she was gone. “Females aren’t equipped to handle such weighty subjects—even when watered down to make them more palatable.”

Tom gave him an alert look. “Did you water down the tale of Castleton’s death for Miss Holloway’s sake? Is there some detail you’ve left out in order to spare her?”

“Only this.” Anstruther came to stand in front of Tom, scowling down at him as if he were an errant recruit. “Castleton was brave—I’ll give him that—but the world is no worse for the loss of him. He was a bounder. A poacher on other men’s preserves. Had he not met his end at a sepoy’s blade, he’d have met it at the end of a dueling pistol.”

A poacher on other men’s preserves.

The words painted an unflattering picture of the late Giles Reynolds, 6th Earl of Castleton. One that wasn’t very much at odds with the image Tom had come to have of the man. “Do you have evidence that he dallied with other men’s wives?”

Anstruther stiffened. “I’ll say no more on the subject, sir.”

Of course he wouldn’t. If he did, he’d risk revealing himself as a cuckold. And, unless Tom was mistaken, Anstruther was the last man on earth to admit he’d been played a fool by his wife and another man—especially if that man was as young and vigorous as Castleton had purportedly been.

“We’ll be a few days longer in Delhi,” Tom said. “If you remember anything else, we’re staying at the Westbrook.”

Unwilling curiosity lit in Anstruther’s eyes. “You and Miss Holloway? Together?”

“And Miss Holloway’s servants.”

“Huh. Damned odd, if you ask me.”

“I don’t recall asking,” Tom said.

Anstruther’s expression hardened. No doubt he would have barked at Tom if Jenny hadn’t chosen that precise moment to return from the washroom. The Anstruther’s majordomo was at her heels.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said.

Tom’s gaze drifted over her. He didn’t ask if she was feeling better. He wouldn’t. Not in front of Anstruther. But he knew Jenny well enough by now to see that she was upset. Her face was ashen and there were damp, curling tendrils of hair at her temples, as if she’d splashed water on her face. Had she been weeping?

The thought unsettled him deeply.

If Anstruther noticed anything odd in Jenny’s appearance, he gave no indication. “You’ll forgive me for not inviting you to stay longer. Your presence has upset my wife enough.” He inclined his head to them in curt dismissal before turning to his majordomo. “Khansama? Show our guests to the door.”

“Yes, sahib.” The Khansama ushered them from the study and out into the empty hall. “This way, if you please.”

Tom walked alongside Jenny in silence, saying nothing until the doors of the villa shut behind them. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“What?” She gave him a distracted look. “Oh. Yes. Quite well.”