On the other hand, this does sound like fate playing her usual tricks. Here am I, virtually at the end of my stay in India-a sojourn expressly undertaken to broaden my horizons vis à vis marriageable gentlemen, exposing me to more specimens of varying character so that my well-known “pickiness” might become better informed-and I finally stumble on one who affects me, and after an entire day, I have barely learned his name and station.

It is no help that Aunt Selma remains in Poona, too far away to provide advice, and so all my information needs must come from my uncle, although Uncle Ralph does answer without thinking of the motives behind my questions, which is all to the good.

Until I know more about Major Hamilton, I cannot know if, as I am starting to fervently hope, he is “the one”-my “one,” the gentleman for me-so my most urgent need is to learn more about him, but from whom?

And I need to spend more time with him, too-but how?

I must devote myself to finding ways-I have only a few days left.

And after all these years of waiting for him to appear, and coming all this way before meeting him, sailing away and leaving my “one” behind just doesn’t bear thinking about.

E.

September 10, 1822

The Governor’s Residence, Bombay

Emily frowned at the Indian houseboy standing in the patch of sunlight slanting across the silk rug in her aunt’s parlor. “He’s leaving?”

The boy, Chandra, nodded. “Yes, miss. It is said he and his other friends have all resigned their commissions because they are so cast down by the death of their friend the captain.”