Yang dashed up another set of stairs and ran smack into a figure. Please let it be Maya, he thought – it wasn’t Maya. It was a tall man with withered brown hair and a look of sick youth. He jumped to his feet and ran down another long hall, the sound of footmen scurrying motivating him to run even faster.

A door opened somewhere. Yang ran past.

“Stop!” a voice bellowed. Female. Someone stepped into the hallway. “Leave him.”

Yang turned. It was Maya. His entire body heaved a sigh of relief. The footmen looked startled. “My lady,” the one Yang had run on the servants’ stairs said. “We –”

“You’ll leave him,” Maya said, asserting a note of power that left Yang in awe. “My brother has wandered out of his laboratory for once,” she gesticulated to the man with the withered brown hair. “He must have need of you.”

The man – Maya’s brother – gave her a curious look. Then he turned to look at Yang and Yang felt his insides fall. “I do,” the brother said, his gaze never wavering from Yang. Stomach churning, Yang looked to Maya. Like the night before, she was in full black, except now, instead of a ballgown, she wore a simple muslin day dress.

The reluctant footmen were led away. Maya turned to him. “In here,” she said, and walked through one of the doors. Inside was a small room, made up of warm browns and blooming flowers in crystal vases. “This is my private receiving room, sit down.”

She sat across him on a cushioned sofa with floral designs. Yang settled in. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and the plushiness of the fabric embraced him. The comfort was disarming. A lump formed in his throat, but he forced himself to speak: “You did this,” he said.

“Did what?” she said, but she did not sound ignorant. She poured tea into two teacups and handed him one. He took it, the warmth seeping into his fingers. “Careful,” she said. “It’s weak – like most English.”

She laughed. It sounded out of spite.

The tea was weak. He swallowed fast to avoid spitting it out. What did they make it out of? The corners of Maya’s lips tilted upward – she was amused by his reaction.

“You told him,” Yang accused, setting the cup of tea on the table before him. “You told everyone.”

Her eyes didn’t flash. Her expression didn’t change. “I did,” she said but it didn’t sound like a confession. Maya held his gaze thoughtfully.

“Why did you do it?” asked Yang, his shoulders tensing.

Maya assessed him coolly. “You wanted an out. Is this not what you wanted?”

Yang was at a loss. “Not like this,” he said, then realised how weak that sounded. He did say he’d take any way out…was this an out?

She cocked her head to the right. “Then like what?”

Yang’s mouth was dry. He almost reached for the tea for another sip. “I- I don’t know. I don't know what I wanted. I don't know what to do,” he admitted. He turned his attention to the wallpaper. It was a light brown with curling blue and pink vines of hyacinth.

Maya’s feet tapped on the wooden floor. “Would you like to hear my opinion?” she asked.

Yang’s eyes flashed. “Have I options?” he said, rhetorically.

She smiled, her straight teeth on display. “The way I see it, you have three options. You can board a ship back to the Orient – go back to China.”

“I can’t,” Yang said immediately.

Her form straightened. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate a stowaway on board – least of all, a Chinese one.”

“I could sponsor you,” she offered, lifting the cup to her lips.

He laughed cruelly. “Do you truly think an English ship would be able to sail so close to Canton that I’d be able to disembark? Or that I’d be welcomed home dressed in English rags?”

Maya took a long sip of her tea. “You’re a smart one,” she said. “How old are you?”

“Twenty,” he said. “How old are you?”

She smiled. “In English society, it’s rude to ask a lady’s age.”

“I’m not English,” Yang reached for the cup of tea, if just for something to hold.

“Nineteen,” she answered. “With three unsuccessful seasons behind me.”

“Why?” Yang asked, and truly wondered why. She was beautiful, charming and intelligent – was her skin colour enough for the English to write her off? It wouldn’t be the first or last time. There were Spanish princesses treated with similar distaste.

“I wear black – constantly. It’s terribly improper. Especially for a debutante – not that I am one anymore – especially for someone who isn’t in mourning.”

“Why do you wear black?”

“Wouldn’t you rather hear your other options?” she asked.

Yang conceded.

“You could leave London – seek employment. Make your living, return to China after the war or build a life here in England,” she sniffed the tea, scrunched her nose and placed it on the table.

“I know nothing about England,” Yang said slowly. “And the English sleep with nothing besides their prejudices.”

Maya nodded thoughtfully. "Blood prejudice," she said, and laughed.

"Blood prejudice," Yang agreed and sighed. “I’m truly out of options,” he said.

“There’s still a third,” she said.

He raised his gaze to meet hers.

“You could join my house,” she offered. “Work for me.”

“As what?” he sounded cautious, but inwardly, he was rejoicing.

She waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t know – a footman? A valet?”

Yang bit his lip. “Can you even make such decisions? Women don’t make decisions in England.”

Maya rolled her eyes. “Women don’t make decisions anywhere,” she said. “But yes, I can hire you. My brother is my guardian. He will not mind.”

Yang took it to mean her father was dead. “Who is your brother?" he asked.

Maya inhaled sharply. “Lord Isaiah Colington, earl of Strathaven.”

“Lofty title,” he said.

Maya said nothing.

There was a story there.

“I think…I think it would be best,” he said. “If I joined your household.”

Maya smiled at him, a gorgeous smile that made his already weak joints weaker. “I’ll have a bath drawn for you and order some livery in your size.”

Yang cast one more glance at her red lips and long black hair that hung loosely down her back and he couldn’t help but think of how deeply she reminded him of home and that that would be his entire undoing.

1. In olden China, literacy was close to non-existent unless the person was noble, a scholar, or just simply, a person of superior birth. This changed later in the twentieth century, with the advent of simplified Chinese.

2. The Bow Street Runners were London’s first police force. They were disbanded in 1839.

3. Presently known as Guangzhou.

4. Reference the First Opium War, when the Chinese moved against British occupation.