A/N: At first, I tried setting this in Colonial India, but, due to my nonexistent knowledge of history, that didn't work out too well. I hope you enjoy this new setting just as much.

Present Day, Mumbai, India

I wake up with a headache. Not a head-splitting kind of ache, an I'm-just-going-to-annoy-you kind of headache. I expect it is because of the heat, but Mumbai is always hot. No, that wasn't it. I sit up in bed, rubbing my head when I hear my mother enthusiastically plonking down the stairs above my bedroom. That was why.

I peek downstairs through a crack in my bedroom door. "George! George! Have you heard? The Netherfield bungalow has been rented out at last!" Mother says, her voice quivering with excitement.

"Really?" replies my father, altogether disinterestedly, but setting down his book. "And where did you hear that choice morsel?"

"The ayah* heard it from one of her friends. And you know what else she told me?" Father picks up his book again and didn't bother to respond. Mother, somewhat disappointed by her husband's response, but plows on anyway. "It is to be occupied by a very handsome man who just happens to be extremely rich and British!"

I groan, and they look up for a minute. They can't find the source of the noise, though, so they continue their conversation.

My father studies his wife's face a moment before replying. "Really? And why should I be interested?"

"Oh, George. Do be practical." I know exactly what she means by this statement and my father finally gets what she's talking about.

"Oh, I see how it is. You want to get one of our children married off to this man!"

"And why not?"

"Well, for one, I can't imagine who would want to marry them. Apart from Lizzy, maybe, who seems somewhat quicker than her sisters. The rest have nothing much to recommend them." I wince. It's typical of my father to put things that bluntly.

"How could you say that?" my mother gasps. "Jane is beautiful enough to catch the eye of every eligible man, and Lydia is so friendly she could charm the laces off a shoe. Kitty would do well to learn from her," she adds thoughtfully.

"She hates being called that, you know," Father says. I'm a little surprised he's noticed that Kitty, sorry—Catherine, has demanded that she only be addressed by her proper given name. My little sister is growing up.

Meanwhile, my other sister has been getting ready. Jane heads downstairs, and my mother pounces on the opportunity for a fresh audience. "Jane! Have you heard? Netherfield's been let out!" Jane confesses her ignorance, and Mother gladly fills the gaps in her knowledge. I get ready quickly and try to sneak past the charming mother-daughter tableaux. I am in no mood to humor my mother.

As soon as I'm done with breakfast, I'm out of the house. I'm done with college and I have my degree, but job placements haven't come in yet. I have to wait for a phone call that would finally place me, but it might not come for months. Still, at least I'm guaranteed the job. My relatives in England think the system is weird, but well, that's the system in India. Nothing I can do about it.

For that matter, my family in England think a lot of things are weird. They found it strange that he married my mother, who seemed like a largely unsuitable choice. They found it strange that my father, who was doing well enough for himself in England, wanted to move to India. They especially didn't like it when we adopted Lydia from a local orphanage.

"But she's Indian," they said when they saw the photo, as if they'd never seen a brown person in their life. "She won't ever feel like she belongs." Well, my parents said baloney to that and stuck to their original plan of going through with the adoption. I'm glad. I may threaten to kill her when she sets foot inside my room or tries to touch my computer, but she's still my sister.

I guess they've gotten used to it by now. We visit them every year two years or so, so this is where all my memories of the place stem from.

My Mumbai is very different from the Meryton I was born in. I was barely five when I moved here, but I instantly fell in love with the bustling metropolis. There was just so much more to do here! You could walk along Juhu Beach, if you didn't mind the trash and grime. I don't care; I love the salty spray of the Arabian Sea and feeling the wind entice the tamest hair into knots that tickled my face. I love going to the gymkhana to watch and try my hand at sports of every kind. The Oval Maidan, with its lush green field and unmatched cricket pitch, can be counted on to provide excellent entertainment with its various impromptu matches.

These places are all an easy ride by train, but you have to be an experienced commuter to handle the network during rush hour. To get to places on time, you must learn to (in no particular order), hang from the windows, hang from the poles on the doors, deal with hawkers and smelly fisherwomen, and reserve your spot (standing or sitting) before someone pushes you out the door. I'm an expert at all of these essential skills by now, and I'm grateful for this as I hop on the densely packed train to my destination, the Greenbriar club.

*maid

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