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our customs on them. They have their own religion. There’s nothing left for those widows, when all is said and done. Who would want another man’s leavings?”
    “Surely the widows don’t go willingly?” Samantha asked.
    “They’re raring to be grilled —some of them.”
    “What about the others?” she asked, staring in disbelief.
    “They take a little persuading.”
    “But what happens to their children?” Mrs. Bright asked.
    “The family takes care of them. It is a family’s duty to care for all its members, in India as here in England.”
    Lady Monteith found this idea even more distasteful than suttee. “As you just pointed out, Lord Howard, one must not try to impose foreign customs on another land. Here in England, it is chacun pour soi. A fully grown man would hardly expect to batten himself on his family.”
    “I’m sure Lord Howard is referring to helpless family members, largely women and children,” the reverend mentioned. “You will find most civilized religions promote respect for the family.”
    Lord Howard nodded. “Suttee is the widow’s means of showing respect for her late husband,” he explained. “And, of course, purdah is also practiced out of respect, but —”
    The reverend looked interested. “That is the custom of secluding the women from public observation, I believe? It seems a bit extreme to me, but there is no harm in it, I daresay, if it is a Hindu tradition.”
    “They go too far with this purdah business.” Lord Howard scowled.
    Samantha stared, and when she decided he was serious, she felt a laugh rise up in her throat. “I see,” she said, “killing ladies is fine, but hiding them from sight goes too far.”
    “How are we expected to get a look at them, enshrouded with curtains as they are?” Lord Howard asked. “Mind you, there is something to be said for a pair of flashing dark eyes glimpsed over a veil. But they ain’t one, two, three with those sapphires in your face, missie.”
    “My daughter is only twenty-six, Lord Howard,” Mrs. Bright felt obliged to tell him.
    He examined her with interest. “I can see she ain’t over the hill. You don’t look over twenty, either, my dear. Still in the first flush of youth. I’m amazed Monteith here hasn’t nabbed you before now.”
    Monteith looked down the table and examined Samantha closely, with a smile lighting his dark eyes. “I have been rather remiss in that respect,” he said.
    “That you have,” Lord Howard warned him. “A lad your age should have had his nursery started long ago. I’m sure the vicar here will agree with me that a man’s purpose for being on the earth is to get married and raise a family.”
    “None of us would dare to disagree,” Monteith said, “and I expect that by the time I am your age, Uncle, I will have done what I was put here to do.”
    “Aye, you may sneer at me if you will, laddie, but there is a difference in our situations. You are the eldest son, born into your wealth and position. I had my fortune to make. A man don’t get a million pounds in the bank by hampering himself with a wife and family. And in India, you know, the choice of ladies was severely limited.”
    Lord Howard continued for some time in this vein. Most of his auditors heard not a word after the magical phrase “a million pounds.”
    When he finally fell silent, Lady Monteith beckoned the footman. “Fetch some champagne, Rutley,” she said. “We must have champagne to welcome his lordship home from abroad, into the bosom of his family.” Then she smiled benignly down the board. “Howard, my dear, tell me more about that magazine fruit seed you brought for our conservatory. We shall root out the oranges tomorrow and plant it. Such fun!”
    Lord Monteith leaned toward Samantha and said in a low voice, unsteady with laughter, “You shan’t have to purchase La Belle Assembl é e next year, Sam. Mama will give you a copy from her magazine tree.”
    He looked, expecting her to riposte.