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around her. There were at least a dozen women. She smiled at them. Jonathan tugged again at her loose hair, and she looked down to unravel it from his small, insistent fingers.
    “You see . . . your boy is nice and fat. We have kept him fed and very happy.”
    Elena turned and faced the woman who spoke.
    The girl was young, maybe seventeen, and a swarthy beauty. Her round eyes were large and bright, the color of amber. Her nose was narrow and well suited to her oval face. She had a red dot between her eyes, painted in place—Elena couldn’t remember what that was called, but she knew this woman must be Hindi to wear the mark. Her hair was worn in two thick braids on either side of her face and hung clear down to her hips, dancing on the floor where she knelt. The young woman had a beautiful smile, her teeth a bit big for her mouth but very white.
    “I am Maram,” she said. “Your boy is very beautiful. He’s been such a delight to us.”
    Her English was slow and slightly disjointed, as though she weren’t sure she used the right words. It almost surprised Elena to hear her native English tongue in a place where there didn’t look to be any other of her background. She wondered if everyone here spoke English.
    “Where did you learn English?” Elena asked.
    Maram gave a sweet laugh and ducked her head in shyness. “I grew up in a big house where my parents served an English lord and his family. His children taught me. This is how you find me here speaking your tongue not so well, but it helps that most of the men who come to the Pleasure Gardens speak English. They laugh and pinch at us when we say words wrong. They like us to do that.” She shrugged. “I do not mind it so much.”
    “You wouldn’t,” another woman said from the divan, then went back to talking to the girl beside her.
    Elena smiled at Maram and looked around her. Most of the women who had played with her son had more or less wandered off although a few stayed close, watching her little boy with rapt attention but giving her enough space to enjoy the reunion. It was so wonderful to have him in her arms and to feel his warmth; she’d been so cold and lifeless without him.
    She squeezed him to her breast and buried her nose in his hair, breathing in his scent.
    Sitting in front of Jonathan, Laila dangled one of her golden bracelets. Jonathan swatted at it, gurgling and laughing at the bright object swinging before him. Maram chimed in and tickled one of her son’s feet, making him wriggle in her lap.
    “This one will be spoiled with all of us to mother him.” Laila leaned in and blew raspberries on Jonathan’s cheek. He laughed and tried to grab at the golden hoops hanging from her ear. “Won’t you, little love?”
    “Will Amir . . .” Elena started. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but most importantly, she needed to know how her son was received. “Will Amir be kind to my son?”
    “He adores your son.”
    “Oh”—she chewed on her lip nervously, unsure how to respond—“he’s met Jonathan?”
    “How else would the boy be here? He brought him into the harem. Amir said it was a matter of days before you joined us.” Maram snorted her laughter. “Even going so far as to say we shouldn’t get too attached. Men do not understand women’s business.”
    Laila laughed and added, “You don’t mind that we all want to help raise him, do you? We will never be mothers. It is a blessing to have Jonathan here.”
    Maram leaned forward and put her hand against Elena’s cheek—a comforting, accepting gesture. “You are welcome here, too. We will get to know each other later, but for now I must go,” she announced and stood to leave. She winked and left them.
    Elena turned to Laila. “I was worried about how Amir would treat him. Mr. Chisholm told me Amir had no children of his own, so I wasn’t sure whether or not he was fond of little ones.” She shook her head, at a loss for words. “Thank you for the