by Cheryl Bolen
The Regent Mysteries Continue...
While Captain Jack Dryden would lay down his life for the Regent, he draws the line at endangering his wife in the dark alleyways of Cairo—the place where the Regent's friend and procurer of antiquities has gone missing...
Cheryl Bolen’s Books
Regency Historical Romance:
The Regent Mysteries Series
With His Lady's Assistance
A Most Discreet Inquiry
The Theft Before Christmas
An Egyptian Affair
Brazen Brides Series
Counterfeit Countess
His Golden Ring
Oh What A (Wedding) Night
House of Haverstock Series
Lady by Chance
Duchess by Mistake
Countess by Coincidence
The Brides of Bath Series
The Bride Wore Blue
With His Ring
The Bride’s Secret
To Take This Lord
Love In The Library
A Christmas in Bath
The Earl's Bargain
My Lord Wicked
His Lordship's Vow
Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas)
Marriage of Inconvenience
A Duke Deceived
Romantic Suspense:
Texas Heroines in Peril Series
Protecting Britannia
Murder at Veranda House
A Cry In The Night
Capitol Offense
Falling For Frederick
World War II Romance:
It Had to Be You (Previously titled Nisei)
American Historical Romance:
A Summer To Remember (3 American Romances)
An Egyptian Affair
(The Regent Mysteries, Book 4)
Cheryl Bolen
Copyright © 2015 by Cheryl Bolen
An Egyptian Affair is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
DEDICATION
For Kay Hudson, a gifted writer, who for the past two decades has read every book I've written and has supported me as reviewer and "corrector" extraordinaire
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Forward
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
The Regent Mysteries Series
Contact Information
Forward
Throughout this book I have used the words Orientology, Orientalist, or Orientalism for what present-day readers consider Egyptology. The scholarly study of Egyptology did not come about until at least 30 years after my story takes place. All study of Arab cultures was then known as Orientalism. The days of Egypt's great archaeological expeditions were also decades away.
I have also spelled the place we now know as Giza in the way it was spelled in the early nineteenth century, Gizeh.
My story takes place a decade and a half after the 1798 French defeat by Lord Nelson at Abukir. Four months before that British naval victory, the Egyptians had been conquered by the Napoleon-led French. Both countries were interested in the Suez Canal to shorten routes to India and the Orient. The British were not interested in ruling Egypt—as Napoleon had been. At the time of my story, there were few English in Egypt besides a diplomatic consul. There were more Frenchmen in Egypt, and their consul was a more powerful force than the British.—Cheryl Bolen
Prologue
Lady Daphne, whose preference to be known as Mrs. Dryden was largely ignored, sincerely hoped the Prince Regent had summoned her and Jack here today to seek their assistance in one of those investigations the Drydens had proven to be so capable of solving. Poor Jack had been rather restless of late. It was such a pity that in order to stay in the Capital with his wife he had to forgo the adventures he had enjoyed as Wellington's most successful spy.
How disappointed she and Jack would be if their sovereign had asked them to Carlton House merely to see one of his new (and massively expensive) pieces of art. As fond as she was of their rotund ruler, she concurred with the general populace which deplored the manner in which he squandered the excessively generous funds granted him each year in the Civil List.
As she and Jack progressed up the Regent's staircase that mirrored an identical one opposite, she eyed every painting and statue they passed. In this, the wealthiest city in the world, there was no greater display of impeccable taste--and bottomless pockets--than the Regent's ever-evolving and expanding Carlton House in the most fashionable part of London.
They came to the marble octagon and passed through it and two more anterooms before reaching the throne room. She could not readily see the Regent's throne because two well-dressed gentlemen stood before him, but he quickly dismissed them and welcomed Jack and her. Daphne's first thought was that he must have shed at least ten stone. Then as they moved closer, she was convinced he'd gotten a wider throne. Which was actually quite clever of him. The last time she'd been in this chamber she kept thinking how much the Regent reminded her of Mr. Tom trying to squeeze his furry feline body into one of Papa's shoes.
"So very, very good of you to come today, my lady," he said to Daphne. Then he turned to Jack and nodded. "Captain Dryden." She had not seen the prince looking so robust in a long time. And he really did look much slimmer in his fine black jacket and the expertly tied cravat that concealed the rolls of flab beneath his chin. For the first time, she could understand how he had long ago been referred to as the handsome young prince.
As soon as he had addressed them, he rang for a servant, and when that footman appeared almost immediately, he said, "Procure chairs for Lady Daphne and Captain Dryden."
Other than the throne, there hadn't been a single chair in the chamber. Monarchs were not accustomed to their subjects sitting beside them. But their dear Regent always treated Daphne and Jack almost as he would his dozen siblings.
A moment later, a pair of armless gilt chairs were placed facing the prince. He peered at Daphne. "I beg that you take a seat, and you too, Captain."
After they sat before him, he drew in a deep breath. "I have asked you here today because I am faced with a most perplexing problem." This was punctuated with another sigh. "In the past you two have been able to satisfactorily resolve every distressing situation with which I've presented you." He frowned. "I fear, though, that no one can help me this time."
"Your Royal Highness," Jack said, "I cannot at present speak for my wife--not knowing the nature of your difficulties--but I shall always be happy to offer myself in service to the Crown."
Offer himself? Daphne did not at all like the sound of that. Offer his life? She might just have something to say about that.
The Regent held up a pudgy hand. "Allow me to tell you the nature of my difficulties." It was a moment before he continued. "Do you know what a mummy is?" His gaze shifted from Jack
to Daphne.
"As in Egyptian?" she asked.
He nodded solemnly, as did Jack.
"Good. Let us begin at the beginning. Last year. For some years now I have been interested in Orientology."
She and Jack both nodded. One had only to see his pavilion in Brighton to understand how thoroughly enamored His Royal Highness was over Oriental architecture and decor. The Royal Pavilion looked like an Indian palace designed by a Chinaman in an opium stupor.
"I have had a great many dealings with an Indian, Prince Edward Duleep Singh, who has procured nearly priceless works of art for me from throughout the Orient. Last year he showed me a painting of a highly ornamental mummy's mask with jewels set in solid gold. It came from the coffin of the pharaoh Amun-re. He offered to sell it to me for a very great sum."
For their spendthrift Regent to consider it a very great sum, it must be a fortune.
"Of course, I had to possess it. I managed to sell a few statues and come up with enough money for the purchase. He left last August and told me that once he'd procured it for me, he would send it to London by specially armed couriers as he's always done so readily and reliably in the past."
Jack quirked a brow. "I take it you've not yet received it even though nearly a year has passed?"
"What's more," the Regent added, "no one has seen the prince since he arrived in Cairo last winter. I've been in communication with several British officers who've returned from Egypt. They know many of the men with whom Singh associated, and none has seen Singh."
"Has it struck your Highness that the man may have been murdered?" Jack asked.
The Prince Regent winced, then nodded solemnly. "Especially since he carried with him so many gold sovereigns."
"The international currency," Daphne mumbled.
"The surprising thing is that Prince Singh went nowhere without a veritable army of men who were sworn to protect him. He was never careless, always cautious. I've been dealing with him for two decades--you must see some of the vases he procured for me from the Chinese Ming Dynasty. They're at the Pavilion."
Jack looked grave. "I don't have to point out to Your Majesty that the trail will be exceedingly cold by the time I could undertake the voyage to Egypt?"
Voyage to Egypt? I and not we? She'd certainly have something to say about that.
"Yes, but I have great confidence in your investigative powers, Captain."
Daphne could not help but to wonder which distressed His Royal Highness the most: his failure to take ownership of the mummy's mask or the suspected murder of his old procurer.
The Prince answered her question. "I feel I've been doubly wronged. While I am disappointed I won't take possession of the mask and while I lament the loss of ten thousand guineas, I'm more upset that someone may have murdered my old friend. I feel responsible for placing his life in danger."
"You did not endanger him," Jack said. "The very nature of his dealings jeopardized him."
Daphne could not dispel the notion that Prince Singh might have come into possession of the mummy's mask through disreputable means.
"Nevertheless, I feel responsible."
"I will undertake a journey to Egypt to investigate this for you," Jack said.
"We." Daphne glared at her husband.
Jack turned to her, returning her glare. "It's entirely too dangerous. Besides, you're incapable of taking a sea voyage."
There was that. Her stomach became queasy at the very memory of her wedding night spent jostling about on a man o' war. She hadn't realized when she'd accepted Jack's hand in matrimony it would be holding her spewing basin. Much to her eternal embarrassment.
The Prince directed a sympathetic look at her. "Poor Lady Daphne. The ship's captain informed me of your great distress during the crossing, and I have since discussed the situation with my excellent physician. He has a concoction – ginger is one of the ingredients – that he swears will dispel the most pronounced propensity to sea sickness. He also recommends chambers in the center of the ship."
He paused, his gaze moving to Jack. "I have taken the liberty of procuring a fleet packet boat for your passage. With your consent, I will assign ten of my own House Guards to protect you, and I have secured the services of our country's foremost expert upon Orientology. Mr. Maxwell can serve not only as your advisor but also as interpreter. He is fluent in Arabic.
Maxwell? Why was the name so familiar to her? Then she remembered her sister Rosemary—a young lady enamored of all things Oriental—was reading a book titled Travels Through the Levant. "Do you refer to Stanton Maxwell?" she inquired.
"Indeed I do. Have you read his travels?"
She shook her head. "Not yet, though it is precisely the kind of book I should love to read." Daphne could hardly contain her excitement over the prospect of travel to exotic lands. How she had always longed to see the crumbling pillars of ancient temples, to hear Calls to Prayer ringing from centuries-old Persian minarets, to ride a camel across vast deserts beneath an unfailing sun. "We shall be delighted to undertake such a commission for Your Royal Highness."
Jack gave her The Glare. "I don't think the Orient is quite the place for a lady."
"Together, each of you is stronger," the Prince Regent said. "I was in hopes the pair of you would consider going."
She knew that as good as Jack was at inquiries, he was better with her.
"Rest assured," the Regent continued, "I would never ask if I believed either of you would be in mortal danger."
Not only was this the most exciting prospect in her entire life, but she also truly believed it was just the kind of assignment that would utilize her husband's many talents. He was as adept at understanding maps (a talent she most profoundly lacked) as he was at picking up foreign languages. He commanded respect from all the soldiers serving under him. He was possessed of a very fine, analytical mind. And no one was braver. Get him to Egypt, and he would not only locate the missing mummy's mask, he would find Prince Singh--or find Singh's killer.
She gave her husband an imploring look. "Oh, please, Jack. And Rosemary must come with us. She adores anything to do with the Orient."
He held up both hands. "Then you be the one to tell your father I'm removing his eldest and youngest daughters from the comfort and safety of London to exotic lands in search of a possible murderer."
She pouted. "The Regent said he would never ask us to do this if he thought we would be in mortal danger. Didn't you, Your Highness?"
The Prince Regent nodded, eyeing Jack. "I'll speak with Lord Sidworth myself. I would never jeopardize his daughters. I have a daughter myself."
Jack turned to face the man on the throne, stood, and bowed. "We are yours to command."
Chapter 1
Two months later . . .
Jack ducked to keep from hitting his head on the ship's entry as he came onto the deck. He eyed Maxwell, who stood at the ship's bow, staring into the horizon. No doubt he was watching for a glimmer of land to break the monotony of the endless blue sea. Maxwell shot Jack a recognizing glance. "We should reach Alexandria today."
Stanton Maxwell, the Arabic scholar the Regent had engaged to join them, had been tutoring Jack in Arabic throughout the long voyage. In spite of the vast differences between the two men, they had developed an easy camaraderie during these weeks of confinement aboard the small ship. For so learned a man, Maxwell was exceedingly quiet. Jack was grateful the lessons had somewhat helped the man shed his timidity.
Moving toward the other man, Jack nodded, his glance whisking over the younger man's very modest, very English woolen clothing. Jack tried to imagine the slender man dressed as an Arab. From reading Maxwell's Travels Through the Levant, Jack knew the man had done so, but it was bloody difficult to picture the unprepossessing man with a full dark beard, flowing headdress, and . . . the spectacles the man always wore.
Jack welcomed the salty air and strong winds after the stuffiness in their tiny cabin. Both men solemnly watched the sparkling sea in hopes of gli
mpsing the Orient. Jack's thoughts were not on the Orient or on the missing Indian prince or on the ancient mummy's mask of solid gold. His thoughts were on Daphne. He'd been uneasy about her throughout the journey, fearful her former malady would return. It sickened him to remember the times when ships landed, and bodies of those not strong enough for the voyage were carried off. If they had not been buried at sea.
He thanked God his wife had held up throughout the journey. He must tell the Regent how well his physician's elixir helped to alleviate Daphne's suffering. She had not avoided sickness altogether, but she had been considerably more robust than she’d been on their previous journey.
"Where are the ladies?" Maxwell asked. "I thought Lady Rosemary's eagerness to behold the Orient would have made sleep impossible."
"Oh, she awakened early, but my dear sir, you must be incredibly ignorant of women if you know not how long it takes them to fashion themselves presentable." Most women. Not his Daphne. She cared not a fig what she looked like. And Jack loved her exactly as she was.
Which was opposite of her sister. In many ways Lady Rosemary was mature. Next to Daphne, she certainly was the most intelligent of Lord Sidworth's six daughters. But she acted like a giddy school girl when she launched into a catalogue of all the fine attributes of one Captain Cooper of His Majesty’s Dragoons.
Jack had thought she must be promised to the Captain, but Daphne disavowed him of that notion. To the same degree that Lady Rosemary sang the officer's praises, Daphne disparaged him. But Daphne's impugnment could go only so far, for she would never hurt Rosemary. Daphne always stopped short of reminding her sister that the Captain had demonstrated no more attachment to Rosemary than to any other young lady.