Under the Mango Tree E-Book

Meredith Bond

• Herausgeber: Anessa Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

In 18th century Calcutta, Lakshmi Rai has grown up under and in the mango tree in her mother's garden. Escaping there from her chores every chance she gets, she hides amongst the branches to read and study even though reading is unheard of—even forbidden—for a good Bengali girl. Only her brother knows and aids her in her passion for learning—until the day the Englishman comes into the garden and stood under her mango tree.
Now all sorts of forbidden thoughts are entering her head—many of them having to do with the handsome Englishman, Lord Huntley, the man with blue-green eyes. But can a girl from a good Bengali family even dare to dream of such things? If she does, what else might be possible under the mango tree?

Leseprobe

In 18th century Calcutta, Lakshmi Rai has grown up under and in the mango tree in her mother's garden. Escaping there from her chores every chance she gets, she hides amongst the branches to read and study, even though reading is unheard of—even forbidden—for a good Bengali girl. Only her brother knows and aids her in her passion for learning—until the day the Englishman comes into the garden and stood under her mango tree.

Now all sorts of forbidden thoughts are entering her head—many of them having to do with the handsome Englishman, Lord Huntley, the man with blue-green eyes. But can a girl from a good Bengali family even dare to dream of such things? If she does, what else might be possible under the mango tree?

Table of Contents

Title Page

Under the Mango Tree

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

About the Author

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Books By Meredith Bond

Under the Mango Tree

Meredith Bond

Chapter One

Calcutta, India 1783

THE TART JUICE from the not-quite ripe mango dripped down Lakshmi’s arm. This was her favorite way to eat a mango—up in the mango tree, perched on a branch, the fruit just plucked. She’d torn the skin open with her teeth, peeling it back to reveal the succulent golden-orange fruit.

Of course, her mother preferred her to eat the fruit after it had fully ripened. She should sit properly like a young lady in a pretty silk sari, daintily picking up the pieces with just the tips of her fingers. If her mother had even caught her wearing this ratty old cotton sari she would have been soundly scolded—but her mother wasn’t here any longer.

The pain that lanced through Lakshmi’s heart was just as fierce as it had been merely a month ago when they’d brought her mother’s broken body in from the road. She’d been caught between a stampeding herd of cows and some vegetable carts being pulled to market. It was a freak accident, everyone had said, but that hadn’t changed the outcome—Lakshmi’s mother was dead.

Never again would she scold her daughter on proper comportment. Never tell her…

No. Lakshmi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was here to recapture some of the joy of the summer, to relive happier times that used to be an everyday occurrence only a month ago. She was here to enjoy eating her mango and sitting in her favorite tree, and try to forget about her new existence and responsibilities.

She licked up her arm to catch every drop of the delicious juice, sighing as the sour-sweet taste burst to life on her tongue.

“What a lovely garden!” The voice nearly startled Lakshmi into falling from the tree. She caught herself, grabbing hold of the trunk.

“Thank you. It makes my mother—our family—proud.” The heavily accented English of Lakshmi’s twin brother drifted up to her. He, too, was still getting used to the fact that their mother wasn’t here. This garden had been hers, but now it was Lakshmi’s responsibility, along with everything else in the house. “Do you have a garden?” her brother asked whoever he was speaking to.

“There is one at the house where I’m staying, although I haven’t had much of a chance to spend time in it,” a man said. His English was impeccable, but Lakshmi had never heard his voice before. Who was he?

“And, of course,” he continued, “at my estate in England there is an extensive garden. My mother also loves gardens. In the summer time hers is filled with roses and all sorts of pretty flowers, most of which I’m afraid I cannot even begin to name.”

An Englishman? Lakshmi grasped the tree trunk even harder, trying to peer through the leaves.

This was a very nice diversion, indeed! Carefully, she placed her mango seed in the joint of the branch above her, so she would have both of her hands free. She shifted herself as quietly as possible so she could see better.

“I do not know the names of many of the flowers here either,” her brother laughed. “But they are pretty.” He paused by a bush across from the tree where Lakshmi was watching. “These are not very pretty, but smell.”

The Englishman bent down and sniffed at the plain, drooping white flowers poking up from amongst the green leaves.

“My goodness! That’s incredible. I don’t know that I’ve ever smelled anything so fragrant.”

Ganesh looked very pleased with himself, as if he had anything to do with how magnificent the flowers smelled. “They’re called bel phul. We use them at weddings and girls put strings of them through their hair to smell nice.”

The Englishman smiled and nodded. “It’s lovely.”

Who was this her brother was speaking with? She’d never even known her brother was acquainted with any Englishmen.

“Where do you stay? Your estate?” Ganesh asked.

“It’s in Kent,” the man answered. “It’s about three hours’ ride from London.”

“Ah,” her brother said, as if he knew exactly where Kent was. Lakshmi nearly laughed at what a liar he was. She had studied the map of England and knew that Berkshire lay to the north and west of London—but her brother had fudged his way through that geography lesson.

He did the same with a good number of his lessons. Those, which he truly had to learn well, he asked for Lakshmi’s help. Others that interested her, she learned on her own, borrowing the books her brother’s tutor left for him. It wasn’t that her brother wasn’t as smart as she was; he simply had no interest in studies, not like she did—and she wasn’t even allowed to receive private tutoring. Naturally, since she was a girl, it would never occur to their father to offer her lessons.

Instead, it had been her role to learn how to run a house and manage servants. To learn how to cook and see that everything was comfortable for the men of the house—chores that she found beyond boring. And she was certainly not supposed to study geography, mathematics or English, as she did with her brother.

It helped him to learn, though, if he explained his lessons to her. At least that’s how she and Ganesh rationalized her studies to themselves.

But now, clearly, he had an Englishman to help him with his English lessons. Lakshmi ground her teeth in jealousy.

She turned and flattened herself along the branch. Like a snake slithering along, she scooted further out to where the leaves thinned. She needed to see this Englishman better.

He was tall. That was the first thing that struck her. He topped her brother by a good three or four inches. His hair was an odd sort of light brown and cropped short.

She willed the man to turn toward her so that she could see his face, while he and her brother conversed about nothing. Turn. Turn. Tur… oh!

He did turn. But then he looked up—straight at her!

Lakshmi sucked in her breath and held it, praying that he couldn’t actually see her through the leaves.

But he had. His eyes…

Oh, my, his eyes… Blue—no, green—no, an odd mix of them both!

They were the oddest, brightest colored eyes she’d ever seen! Well, she’d never actually seen anyone with eyes other than brown, but she’d seen pictures of men with blue or green eyes. But his... His were both at the same time—and they had widened when he’d caught sight of her.

Lakshmi’s hand flew to her mouth. Silently, she pleaded with her own eyes for him not to say anything, not to reveal that she was there. If she was discovered, her father would be furious. To be seen by a man, first of all, was not allowed, ever. To be seen by an Englishman… She couldn’t even imagine how much trouble she would be in. And she didn’t want to.

The man stumbled for a moment over his words but caught himself. He turned quickly back to her brother and continued on with what he was saying as if nothing had happened.

Silently, she released her breath and dared to take another.

The man took a step closer to the tree, his eyes flicking up at her again.

Lakshmi shook her head frantically. The branch she was on shook ever so slightly with her movement. She was too near the edge. She backed away, moving closer to the trunk.

But as she did so, her sari slipped up her leg, caught on the rough bark of the tree.

She reached around and pulled it down, feeling heat flood her face, praying that the man hadn’t seen her. She was doomed. She knew it. She was caught and would be beaten within an inch of her life. She could already hear her father’s shouts, feel his fury. She had no idea how her aunt, who had been kind enough to come and stay with them during this difficult period, would react. She would think that her mother had never taught Lakshmi how to behave properly.

Too late, Lakshmi hid her face, breathing in the deep, rich scent of the tree and the mango juice, still sticky on her hands.

But she couldn’t stay with her face hidden. She had to see those eyes again. She had to see, even though she trembled now with fear. She peered through her fingers.

His eyes were sparkling with laughter at something her brother had said.

“I completely understand. Families can be difficult,” the Englishman said, laughing again.

“Do you have brothers?” Ganesh asked.

“Yes, I’ve got…” He paused for the briefest moment. “I’ve got one, two years younger. And I’ve got a sister.” A smile quirked up his lips and a sad expression settled in his eyes. Perhaps he was missing her.

“They are in England?” her brother asked.

“Yes. My brother is managing my estate while I’m gone, and my sister, well, she’s probably in London by now for the season. She and my mother were preparing for her to be presented when I left.” He paused, and then laughed. “Goodness! She may have already found a husband for all I know.”

Her brother’s head tilted to one side. “Found a husband? You mean your father has arranged a marriage for her,” he corrected the man gently.

“Er, no. My father has passed. And in England, young ladies find their own husbands.”

Lakshmi grabbed the branch, quickly shifting her weight toward the center again. She’d nearly fallen! Females decided for themselves who they would marry? How could that be?

“How do they do that when they cannot meet men?” Her brother asked, as if reading her mind. He forced a laugh. “You must be funning!”

The Englishman smiled. “No. Young ladies are presented to society when they are of age. There they are introduced to eligible men.”

“Really?” Ganesh recoiled physically, either not believing or not liking this idea.

Girls introduced to men! Face to face. The words raced around Lakshmi’s mind. What an idea! How absolutely scandalous! Nearly as scandalous as being found up in a mango tree with your sari hiked up around your knees. She could hear her mother’s voice scolding her.

She peered down at the Englishman again, but he wasn’t looking up at her. He wouldn’t give her away, but she couldn’t see his handsome face any more. He had turned and was now following her brother back to the house. For some reason, Lakshmi felt an emptiness open up inside of her.

“JAMES! I THOUGHT you were going to see Mr. Rai today,” Peter Bascomb said when he saw James come into his house. His closest friend since his school days, Peter had been kind enough to offer James a place to stay while he was putting together his business here in Calcutta. As a representative of the East India Company, Peter lived in a nice house right in the center of the city.

“I was. I did,” James said. “Are you busy?”

“I was about to head out to my office, but it can wait.” Peter turned to the liveried footman standing nearby and requested tea to be brought into the drawing room.

“So, how did it go?” Peter asked as he shoved back that lock of dark, red hair that was always falling into his eyes. He settled himself in an overstuffed, gold brocade chair and indicated for James to take its pair.

“It was…interesting,” James said. “How old would you say Mr. Rai is?”

Peter looked at him strangely, squinting his already small eyes. “I don’t know, forty? Forty-five? Why?”

James started to laugh. “That’s what I thought. The Mr. Rai, a Mr. Ganesh Rai, I met today couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen.”

“What?” Peter sat up.