The Blonde Samurai. Jina Bacarr

call that hedging.”

      “The Japanese call it business as usual,” James answered in a glib manner. He smiled like a little boy trying to fool his governess. I looked away, refusing to be drawn into his game.

      “Then you’ve been to Japan?” my father asked, surprised.

      “No,” James said, “but I’ve been escorting the Japanese emissary around London. He’s a likable chap with a solid knowledge of English and a good head on his shoulders.”

      Escorting him to the brothels on York Street and the newly fashionable Bayswater district, I imagined, easing myself down on a plush divan after pouring an after-dinner drink from the row of decanters of claret, port and sherry sitting on the sideboard.

      I leaned forward, eager to jump into the conversation. I thrived on lively discussion, from a rousing round of politics, discussing the iniquities of the parties—whether they were Tory or Whig or Labor—to current books and plays. This evening I was eager to discuss the latest filibustering in the House of Commons. I had no desire to listen to their mindless prattle about Japan, a barbaric country where, according to what I’d read in Lord Penmore’s letters, packhorses were the choice of transportation, carrying items for trade from city to city by means of narrow footpaths cut into fields of farmland.

      “The Japanese will beat us at our own game if we don’t beat them first,” my father bellowed, his stiff celluloid collar choking him and turning his face red. I had to smile. I knew he’d rather be lifting a pint with his cronies in a pub. He hated the formalities required of an English drawing room, while my mother reveled in it.

      “What are you saying, Mr. O’Roarke?” the viscount asked, his eyes stealing a glance at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. I tipped my glass to him and smiled. His features softened and he returned the smile.

      “The Great Western Railway from here to Swindon barely tops fifty-three miles an hour and it took you British years to build it.” He looked at my husband and grinned. “I’m certain we can build a railway from ōzaka to Kobé in half the time. And my son-in-law has convinced me he’s the man to handle the deal.”

       So that was the reason James invited my father for this get-together.

      Angry with my husband’s subterfuge, I fiddled with my fan, bending it until it cracked. James had convinced my father there was a fortune to be made by working with the mikado’s government to finance a string of railways across Japan with Thomas O’Roarke investing in the rails, tank engines, wood for bridges and carriages needed. All financial arrangements, his lordship added, would be handled through the Oriental Bank of London.

      He didn’t count on his frustrated young wife playing a game of her own. Bored, restless and sex starved, I remained defiant in my approach to this marriage. I refused to be treated like an aftereffect of his greed and often baited him with subtle, sexual innuendos regarding his secret life.

      As in this instance, when Viscount Aubrey dropped a casual remark that the British government held fast to its goal in bringing Occidental values to Japan. Curious, I asked him how they proposed to change a pagan country cut off from civilization for nearly two hundred fifty years (Lord Penmore’s letters contained material of an informational nature as well as salacious). He answered in his wry manner that the British Legation had already engaged a governess and a seamstress to teach the female gentry of Japan about English household customs.

      “I imagine visiting the mysterious Orient tempts the adventurer in all of us,” I said, envisioning myself floating in a world of silk, flowers and fans. And bare breasted with numerous combs and needles decorating my hair, as I had seen in the tinted photographs of the geisha included in Lord Penmore’s letters. “Including me.”

      “I had no idea you were so interested in Japan, my dear wife,” James said, laying his hand on the back of my neck and rubbing it, making me stiffen. “I see I was mistaken.”

      He kissed my hand, expecting me to quiver. I didn’t withdraw it, signaling to him that I alone controlled my emotions. Instead, I said, “There are many things you don’t know about me, my dear husband.”

      “That’s my Katie,” my father said, smiling at me. “A girl with spirit. I see no reason why you couldn’t accompany your husband to Japan.”

      “Splendid idea, Mr. O’Roarke,” the viscount added, as if the thought were his own. “Your daughter would be a most excellent addition to the British delegation at the mikado’s court.”

      “That’s impossible, milord,” James blurted out, startling me.

      And making me angry. How dare he speak for me?

      He continued, “My wife has no intention of leaving London during the Season.”

      Ignoring his outburst, I replied, “You flatter me, Viscount Aubrey, but tell me, how could I be of assistance to the legation? I know nothing about the Japanese, though I admit I’ve been reading about their fascinating country in Lord Penmore’s letters to my husband.”

      The look of fury on James’s face was instant. Cold, fierce. I swear if he could have, he would have taken the whip to me at that moment so intense was his anger toward me.

      I pretended not to notice and continued discussing the British alliance with the Japanese with the viscount, though I was more interested in contrasting the volatile state of my relationship with my husband with my seemingly innocent remark about the romance of travel.

      “I’m certain the mikado’s court would be honored to receive you and be graced by your wit, Lady Carlton,” said the viscount, ignorant of the drama being played out between my husband and me, “as well as your charm and intelligence.”

      I smiled. I was beginning to enjoy the game. I curled my fingers around my broken fan and tapped it against my cheek in a coy manner. “In that case, how can I resist such a delightful invitation?”

      “What are you saying, my dear wife?” My husband’s voice held an edge only I recognized.

      I lowered my lashes to veil my naughty thoughts from him. “Isn’t it a wife’s duty to accompany her husband to his new post?”

      “Not if he wishes her to stay home,” he countered. “A wife must obey her husband’s wishes in all matters.”

      “All matters, James?” I flipped open my cracked fan and fluttered it about me wildly. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten my way, would it, my dear husband?”

      I could see his eyes flashing with contempt, knowing I had baited him and he couldn’t bow out gracefully in front of Viscount Aubrey.

      I laid my fan down on the divan, fingering the broken spine. I wouldn’t break as easily. I’d made my point, shown him he couldn’t make me surrender to his will. I’d let him simmer for a few days, feed his sexual temperament with provocative thoughts of me watching his every move in the Orient, then I’d invoke a woman’s prerogative.

      I’d change my mind.

      You see, dear lady reader, I had no intention of going to Japan. The idea disturbed me, images of intense strangeness and violence making an indelible mark upon my mind. Besides, I’d made my place here in London and occupied it with a surety and confidence I’d never experienced at home. The viscount would understand my position when I explained my trepidation and withdraw his offer gracefully. After all, what sane woman would wish to travel halfway around the world to such a barbaric country?

      “Katie, me girl, you saved the old man a heap of anguish tonight.”

      “What are you talking about, Da?” I asked, curious. I poured myself another glass of claret, still gloating over how I had perturbed my husband about accompanying him to Japan. I also knew the power of an eloquent silence and didn’t protest when James excused himself and left the gun room in haste with a feeble excuse about finding his manservant to bring more liquor. Most likely he ventured off in search of a plump bottom to vent his frustration upon