Jane Coverdale - The Jasmine Wife - A sweeping epic historical romance novel for women

He thought her eyes were rather lovely, even though framed by thick, almost black eyebrows, but she was undeniably intelligent and highly accomplished. Several nights spent listening to her play his favourite pieces on the piano was proof of her talent, that and the fact she had lived in and survived India, when so many children hadn’t, made her a far superior candidate for marriage than any other woman he’d met in England.

Despite her shortcomings, he saw her as a potential wife because he was sure she adored him, even though she did at times have an annoying habit of contradicting him on matters he felt she should know nothing about.

Being an orphan only added to her charms. There was no doting parent to make demands on her time and take her away from her wifely duties and, despite the fact her parentage was a little cloudy, he’d been assured her father had been educated at Eton, was English through and through, and had left his daughter a small annuity for her personal use only, the comfortable sum of five thousand pounds, which would be his on the day of their marriage.

Though when faced with the real prospect of marriage, there was the sudden realisation he might not be able to please himself any more. He’d momentarily forgotten about the pleasures of his club, and the freedom bachelor life brought. It was pleasant to be always available to balance the table at dinner parties, and to be surrounded by admiring women hanging on his every word.

Then there was the thrill of big game hunting, the drinking till all hours with his male friends, whose company, he had to admit, he preferred more than any woman he’d ever met. And, of course, there were all the other delights India had to offer. A thrill ran up his back at the memory of past pleasures. There were indeed compensations for a life spent as a single man, and a wife would be sure to get in the way of all that.

He’d decided after all to return to India and resume the pleasant life he’d always lived. It was only when Sara had told him about her potential engagement to another man that he had felt a sudden pang of regret. Somehow, he’d always imagined her as his own to take or leave as the whim seized him, and now there was someone else in the picture he felt as though something had been stolen from him. The thought of the other man being in the way meant nothing to him. He felt sure she’d choose him over anyone else, regardless of the consequences.

When she agreed to marry him, though, it came as a shock. But, like a man, he accepted it and there was no turning back, despite at first an almost overwhelming urge to run in the other direction.

In the end, though, it was his desire for a son and heir that finally convinced him he’d made the right choice. And he liked her, really liked her. She’d be a splendid companion for him. Now, all she had to do was fulfil the role that was expected of her, and there was no reason why their marriage should not be a success.

For Sara, alone in her room at the end of the momentous day where she had at last fulfilled the destiny expected of her, she stood before the mirror and closely examined her reflection, running her fingers over her face as though to smooth away the lingering signs of doubt. The blinding realisation had come to her as quite a shock. She’d agreed to marry a man she didn’t really know and would go to the other side of the world to live with him.

Only a few months before, the question might not have arisen, but now she asked herself … What would the ladies from our Female Emancipation group say?

It was while she had been running errands for her aunt that Sara had been stopped by a young woman bearing a placard saying, “Women of the World Unite!”

She was almost mannish in her dress and clearly not wearing stays.

“Come on in,” the girl said, laughing. “We don’t bite, and you look like it might do you some good.”

The church hall was almost empty; even so, the speaker talked with a truth and passion difficult to resist. She spoke of the unfairness of the marriage laws, and why women should have the vote; the terrible injustices inflicted on their sex, and of the foolish and restrictive nature of the female dress. For Sara, it was the beginning of an understanding she had always been dimly aware of, but, once enlightened, had changed her thinking from that day forth.

Now she saw tyranny everywhere, especially in her own home. It appalled her to see how her aunt had to pacify her husband in order to keep him content. Where once she’d grudgingly accepted the petty rituals of warming her uncle’s slippers before the fire, or listening silently while he expressed his opinions, she now eyed him with a deep and bitter resentment, longing to say what she really thought, but having to bite her tongue for the sake of peace.

The young woman in the plain blouse and skirt, known to her later as Mary, had shouted out her warnings with a raised fist, and Sara was very aware of the truth of her words.

Though she was sure she was in love with Charles, deeply in love even, and she was equally sure she was marrying a man who loved her. Also, it was three days before her twenty-third birthday, considered far beyond the turning point of being either an eligible young lady or a hopelessly lost old maid.

But it wasn’t just the fear of spinsterhood driving her to accept him.

There had been a terrible row, a row that had caused such a storm she felt it was impossible for her to stay in her aunt’s home a moment longer.

She had been secretly meeting with the Ladies Emancipation group under the pretence of attending bible studies with other so-called respectable girls when she’d been discovered.

Someone had mentioned Sara had been missing from the bible meetings for some time. Then a pamphlet on women’s rights had been found in her room and placed before her outraged uncle. For a moment she considered denying it was hers, then she admitted it and, what was more, admitted it proudly, and announced she would continue to go to the meetings no matter what.

For her uncle it was the final straw and he washed his hands of her, only making it clear he wanted her out of his sight as soon as possible.

Now, though, none of that mattered.

She could go back to India at last, India! Mother India! Her lost home that lately had haunted every thought and called her with an urgent and relentless cry, even as she slept.

They married on the day of their planned departure, in the church Sara had attended for nearly seventeen years, knowing a few hours later they’d be together for the rest of their lives.

She took a furtive look at him through her silk veil, hoping for a look of reassurance, as she was almost overwhelmed with sudden feelings of doubt. Though, when he felt her eyes upon him, instead of a returning smile, he seemed to visibly pull himself together, straightening his shoulders and swallowing hard.

Her heart sank. It seemed to her that Charles was steeling himself for something unpleasant, something he must endure, and see it through to the end at all cost.

A screeching note from the organ made her jump, and her stomach gave a sickening lurch. It came to her in a blinding flash. She may not love him after all! And perhaps he didn’t love her! And was already regretting his choice even though he’d just spoken the words, “I will” in an almost inaudible shaky murmur.

When it came her turn to speak she hesitated, caught between a desire to make a run for the open door of the church and a yearning to cling to the man who offered her a lifeline to a new world.

She glanced around in a frantic effort to find an answer, but saw instead the face of her aunt, alarmingly pale, though smiling bravely, and her uncle, nodding furiously at her with a tight grimace on his lips, clearly willing her to get it over with.