Synopsis

Augusta Travers has spent the last three years avoiding the stifling expectations of New York society and her family’s constant disappointment. As the nation’s most fearless–and reviled–columnist, Gussie travels the country with her Kodak camera and spins stories for women unable to leave hearth and home. But when her adventurous nature lands her in the middle of a scandal, an opportunity to leave America offers the perfect escape.

Arriving in India, she expects only a nice visit with childhood friends, siblings Catherine and Gabriel, and escapades that will further her career. Instead, she finds herself facing a plague epidemic, confusion over Gabriel’s sudden appeal, and the realization that what she wants from life is changing. But slowing down means facing all the hurts of her past that she’s long been trying to outrun. And that may be an undertaking too great even for her.

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Praise

“Duffy shines in elegant, flowing prose and delicate precision that underscores the nineteenth-century setting.”— Booklist, starred review

“An author to watch.”— Library Journal

“Duffy’s writing is beautiful, deep, and contemplative.”— Jocelyn Green, Christy Award-winning author of Shadows of the White City

Excerpt

Gussie bounced in her seat and stared out the window, admiring but unable to fully appreciate the mist-shrouded hills rising and falling in a kaleidoscope of emerald. Maharashtra’s arresting beauty couldn’t compete with the knowledge that the train brought her ever closer to her dearest friends.

Everything had happened so quickly that Gussie hadn’t had the opportunity to write and let them know of her visit before leaving home. And then, when she arrived in England, she’d decided to surprise them. She leaned near the window, attempting to see past the tracks stitched ahead of them in a crooked seam. Catherine was going to be delighted—she’d always loved Gussie’s larks. Specs, though . . .

Gussie blew her lips. Specs disliked both surprises and larks. But he had written her so many fond letters, and their friendship spilled through the years like a ribbon unfurled. He couldn’t possibly be dismayed by her appearance.

Still . . .

She tugged her lip between her teeth. Specs always had been a stickler for following convention and rules. He was a serious sort. Not entirely dour but definitely grave. She thought of his thin, solemn face, round glasses perched atop his long nose as he looked up at her—he had been an inch below her in height the last time she’d seen him. Gussie had inherited her grandfather’s stature, whereas her sisters remained acceptably petite. There weren’t many men she didn’t match inch for inch, if she didn’t stand over.

Maybe she should have sent a message and told them of her visit. It would be disappointing in the extreme if she arrived and didn’t receive the reaction she hoped for. Could she bear Specs’s disapproval?

Gussie rubbed the pebbled leather of her camera bag, which was strung across her torso and resting in her lap. She couldn’t do anything about it now. Besides, even after her most disastrous childhood escapades, Specs eventually came around and forgave her. He would this time, as well. And Catherine’s letters had spoken of her husband, John, as a kind spirit. He might have influenced Gabriel MacLean.

With her doubts and worries addressed and conquered, Gussie leaned her head against the seat and napped.

“Memsahib,” someone said, jostling her shoulder.

She jerked upright and glanced around, blinking. The train had stopped, and outside the window, a wave of passengers fanned out over the platform. She squealed, thanked the startled porter, and leapt from her seat.

Out on the platform, Gussie looked around, recognizing nothing, and a laugh rose to her lips, spilling out to skip along the wild mass of color, babble of languages, and press of vehicles. Even when she’d traveled to the very edge of civilized America, there had still been a sense of familiarity. Nothing in South Dakota had reminded her in any way of her life in New York City, but she still understood it. Understood the language, the social structure, the manners, the context.

India, though, worked tirelessly to overwhelm her. To delight her. To surprise her. And below that thought, simmering in a place she’d never taken the time to poke around, there arrived a thought so outlandish, she wondered if her sleep-addled mind had yanked it from a half-remembered dream.

India felt like a homecoming.

She belonged here. In this place as scattered and audacious and alive as she was.

From Chapter Seven pages 52-54

About the Author

Kimberly Duffy is a Long Island native currently living in Southwest Ohio, via six months in India. When she’s not homeschooling her four kids, she writes historical fiction that takes her readers back in time and across oceans. She loves trips that require a passport, recipe books, and practicing kissing scenes with her husband of twenty years. He doesn’t mind.

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