Prologue

Calcutta, India, 1857

Lord Albert Michael Cantwell, the Marquess of Salford, was known to be a man of many words.

Never before had there been a time when the marquess found himself at a loss of speech and yet, as he paced the hallway outside one of Lord Canning's many offices scattered throughout India, his mind could not form any coherent thought regarding the incident which had taken place that morning.

His train of thought (which currently did not function, he was sorry to say) was interrupted when an Indian man adorned in a turban, emerged from Canning's office and addressed him.

'Lord Salford,' he said in a thick accent, bowing low.

'Yes, what?' Lord Salford enquired, snapping to attention.

'Lord Canning is ready to receive you,' the man replied, expressionless, before walking away.

'Finally,' the irritated lord muttered under his breath before making his way into the office.

Upon his arrival, Lord Canning - who was engrossed in a pile of paperwork - looked up. 'Ah, Salford, what brings you here?' he asked quite cheerily which outraged the marquess all the more.

'Lord Canning,' he bit out, trying his best to be polite, 'I was hoping to have a word with you.'

'Of course,' he replied nonchalantly, leaning back in his seat. 'What is it?'

'Could you explain to me,' the marquess asked, his voice rising louder with each word, 'why a dozen armed men barged into my study at the East India Company Headquarters, demanding me to get on my knees?'

Lord Canning's cheery mien wavered. 'You were at the company headquarters when it happened?'

'Of course, I was! Where else would I have been?' the flustered marquess shouted, politeness forgotten. Then, remembering that he was, in fact, talking to the Viceroy of India, he lowered his voice, attempting to calm himself. 'Canning, I was assured - by you, no less - that the uprising was merely a trifle, not worth concerning ourselves over.'

'That's what we thought,' Lord Canning replied bitterly, his eyes glazed and focused elsewhere. 'But it seems that the people are drawing courage from the revolt and taking it forward with uprisings of their own. That damned man, Pandey, has made it hard on us. Even the maharajas are revolting!' A dark look shadowed his face and Salford was displeasured at the vehemence on his face.

A short silence ensued as Salford debated how best to break the decision he had made as a result of the break-in.

'I am leaving for England,' he said quite suddenly, breaking the eery stillness of the room.

'For good?' the viceroy asked, lifting his gaze to his, seemingly unfazed by the news.

'Yes,' the marquess replied. 'I find I cannot possibly live amongst revolts, uprisings and the like. All signs point to its growth in the next few months. Besides,' he added, his voice growing soft, 'Marilyn needs me now more than ever.'

'Ah yes. The carriage accident has rendered your Marchioness barren, I have heard,' Lord Canning said, indifferent to the tone of sadness that the marquess's words had carried.

Scowling at the manner in which the words were tossed about, Lord Salford replied, 'Unfortunately, so.'

Lord Canning opened his mouth to speak but no words issued for suddenly, there was a haste knocking on the wooden doors.

'Come in,' Lord Canning ordered and the doors opened to reveal the same Indian man who had let in Lord Salford before. Contrary to the calm expression the man had on earlier, he now wore a mask of extreme trepidation.

'What is it?' Lord Canning asked, irritated at the interruption.

'My lord,' the man said, panting and out of breath. 'A child has been found.'

'Beg pardon?'

'A child has been found, my lord, amongst the dirt and rubble. It seems,' he continued, 'that one of the men killed in the morning's attack had brought along his child.'

Shock and horror were only some of the emotions that crossed the viceroy's face as he strode over to the man and said, 'Well, lead the way.'

The man, bowing, walked out of the room with Lord Canning in close pursuit. Salford found it rather intriguing that a man would bring his child to an uprising and curiosity getting the better of him, he followed Lord Canning.

After a couple of minutes of walking along twisting corridors, they came to a stop before a large oak door, emblazoned with the emblem of the East India Company. Not wasting a moment, Lord Canning, his head held high, strode into the room.

'Where is the child?' he demanded immediately to the hall that was crowded with uneasy and panicked officers and servants. After a few moments of silence, an English officer walked forward with a bundle in his arms. It was then that the revelation hit Lord Salford- it was not a grown child but a mere babe that the man had brought with him!

Stupefied, he walked over to the man and took the baby into his arms. He was well aware that Lord Canning was watching him with an expression of distaste as he cradled the baby.

Lord Salford looked down at the still bundle in his arms and realised that it could be no more than a few weeks. 'Is it a boy or a girl?' he asked no one in particular, his eyes not wavering in the least. The baby was sleeping, a calm expression etched on its face.

'It's a girl, my lord,' the officer replied.

A girl. A baby girl, no more than two or three weeks was lying in his arms. Looking at her gold-tinted face and black curls that were in abundance on her petite head, Lord Salford felt his heart soften. There was something about holding the baby in his arms that made his knees grow weak. Delicately, he caressed the beautiful girl's face.

'How did the baby get here?' Lord Canning asked incredulously. 'What a bloody idiot the man must have been, bringing a child under such circumstances. Bloody savages!' he spit out.

'The man had her in his arms the entire time, all the while shooting anyone in sight,' the officer said. 'He was killed in the firing that we returned. The babe was squalling under the rubble of the aftermath, her father's dead arms still wrapped around her.'

'What of the mother?'

'We're not sure, my lord. We are assuming the child does not have one. Why else would the man bring his babe to a firing?'

Another officer stepped forward. 'What should we do with the child, my lord?'

'Put it in an orphanage,' Lord Canning replied without a moment's hesitation and turned to walk out of the room.

The words left a mark on Lord Salford and surprisingly, he could not bear to think of the little girl in an orphanage. For some reason unbeknownst to him, he did not want to hand over the baby.

'No,' he said, his voice firm.

Lord Canning stopped in his tracks and sent him a look of confusion. 'No?'

'No,' the marquess repeated and held the girl possessively against his chest. 'I will take the girl. I shall adopt her. I have no children of my own and it is doubtless I ever will.'

Lord Canning let out a short laugh. 'You will take the girl? You will take this Indian girl? Are you out of your mind, Salford? Lord knows society will not accept her!'

The urge to cuff Lord Canning engulfed Salford, but her reigned in his flaring temper. 'Yes. There is nothing against an Englishman adopting an Indian girl, is there?' He challenged the viceroy with a look that sent the message of his loathing for him glaringly across.

The viceroy, returning the look, merely answered, 'On your head be the consequences,' before storming out of the room.

Lord Salford looked down at the baby asleep in his arms and smiled involuntarily. He felt a rightness that filled his very soul and a calmness that bellied the tempest around him.

'Hello, little one,' he whispered to her softly. 'I'm papa.'