Monsoon Mists Read Free

large handkerchief and surreptitiously loosened his neckcloth a little, pulling it away from where it stuck to his skin. Then he hurried after her as she began to walk towards the nearest bench.
    ‘Shall we …’ he began, but Zar had already stopped.
    ‘Sit down? Yes, of course.’ She gathered her skirts and seated herself, spreading them out around her, which left him only a small space at the end of the bench. Normally she preferred Indian clothing, as it was much more suited to the climate here, but she had to acknowledge that English fashions came in useful for keeping suitors at a distance. The small hoop with its wide petticoat and overdress was a very effective barrier. If Mr Carmichael noticed her deliberate ploy, he was too much of a gentleman to comment, but he swivelled towards her as much as her gown would allow.
    He cleared his throat. ‘I, er … understand you are a widow, Mrs Miller.’
    ‘Yes, that’s right. My husband died last year.’ Zar was sure he already knew this and much more besides, but she humoured him for the sake of politeness. No one ever mentioned her wealth; that would be plain vulgar.
    ‘Then you must be very lonely. It’s difficult for a woman on her own, I dare say.’
    ‘Not at all, I enjoy solitude.’
    He looked baffled for a moment, then forced a laugh. ‘Oh, I see, you jest.’ Another guffaw. ‘Very funny, to be sure.’
    Zar kept quiet. She’d learned that the less she said, the sooner the ordeal would be over and done with.
    ‘The thing is …’ Mr Carmichael cleared his throat again. ‘The thing is, Mrs Miller, I was wondering … that is to say, as you do not seem to have formed an attachment to anyone presently stationed here at the Factory, I thought … what I mean is …’
    Zar wanted to scream. For heaven’s sake, spit it out, man!
    ‘Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’ Mr Carmichael finally forced the words out in such a rush that, had Zar not been expecting them, she might have missed what he said.
    She looked out over the balustrade to the more or less sleeping city around them and shook her head. ‘I thank you for your kind offer, but I’m afraid the answer is no, Mr Carmichael. I’m very sorry.’
    ‘I know it’s a bit sudden and we haven’t known each other very long. I own, perhaps, I should have waited a bit, but I thought that with you in such a precarious situation and—’
    ‘Mr Carmichael.’ Zar turned to him and pinned him to his seat with her most earnest gaze. ‘Please believe me when I say that nothing would induce me to marry at this time. I’m perfectly happy without a husband and should I need any male assistance, I have a stepson who can take care of anything I ask him to.’ No need to tell Mr Carmichael that William was the last man on earth she’d go to for help.
    ‘But …’
    Zar stifled another sigh. Some men were incredibly obtuse. ‘I consider this matter closed, Mr Carmichael, and would thank you not to refer to it again. At any time,’ she added, just to make it perfectly clear.
    ‘I see.’ Mr Carmichael’s expression turned sulky, in the manner of a small boy, which did nothing to make Zar change her mind. He wasn’t bad-looking and she had no doubt he was a decent enough man, but she didn’t feel anything for him and couldn’t imagine marrying him, so she kept her eyes fixed on his. He finally seemed to understand and backed down. ‘Well, then, I suppose I should take my leave,’ he muttered.
    Feeling sorry for his wounded pride, Zar took pity on him. ‘I thought you wished to take the air as it’s a bit cooler up here.’ She stood up and waited. ‘Shall we at least walk around the perimeter? There is a lovely view of the river in the moonlight.’
    He hesitated for a moment, then offered her his arm, which she accepted, although she was careful only to place a few fingers on his sleeve with the lightest of touches. ‘By all means, Mrs Miller, by all means.’
    Zar breathed a