Cynthia Bailey Pratt

by Splendid You

  “Very touching.”

  “It is rather pleasant to be the product of such a love match, Mr. Archer. I don’t remember her well, but I remember them together. I want my father to have such happiness again, believe me.”

  “I do believe you.”

  “The problem,” she said ruefully, “is Father’s stubborn nature. If he sets his mind on something, there is no changing it short of murder. His heart is no more changeable than ... than ... well, than mine. Unfortunately, the lady on whom he has set his heart was married.”

  “To an unfeeling brute, no doubt?”

  She arched one eyebrow, an infuriating habit that he had himself. “Perhaps. But then again, he could just have been one of those men who have little use for women. There are many such men, I believe. Aren’t you one?”

  Simon coughed and ran his fingers over his satin lapel. He realized what he was doing and stopped instantly. “On the contrary,” he said. “I am very fond of women—very fond. I merely don’t care to be married.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Very felt the same way. It is a mystery to me why, in that case, he married at all. She’s much too sweet a woman to be ignored that way.”

  “You know your father’s—

  “Of course! She often stays at the house. All quite aboveboard so long as my aunt is there. Her husband lived most of the time in France ... in the Dordogne region, I believe. He came home to see her twice in five years. He had a ... um ... ‘friend’ himself.”

  “And he didn’t object to your father’s relationship with his wife?”

  She sat back and said, “Father, I might mention, though he isn’t tall or very impressive, is quite burly and very strong. He is the one that taught me how to shoe a horse.”

  Simon said, “Surely your father could have arranged a divorce for the lady?”

  “In an instant, were she not a most devout Catholic. Religion has been her solace for so long; one would hardly expect her to abandon it merely because it had become inconvenient.”

  “Naturally, she has her principles....”

  “Naturally. However, I am glad to say that this story does have a happy ending. The husband died some months ago. The moment she comes out of mourning, Father will marry her, despite her protests. She doesn’t believe herself good enough for him, which is nonsense, as Father will spend his life proving to her, no doubt.”

  “Provided you are married?”

  “Regardless, I think. Father doesn’t believe that the three of us will find it hard to live together, but Mrs. Very and I are agreed that it will not serve. My aunt is happy to retire from her position—I think I have been rather a trial to her.”

  “You amaze me,” he said with a grin that she instantly answered with one of her own.

  “She will take a pleasant allowance from Father and go live in Bath. That has been her dream since she was a little girl.”

  “A strange object for a lifelong dream. Bath is very dreary now, though once it was the last word in elegance.”

  “It is not a dream I share, but it is hers, so why shouldn’t she have it?” She looked down at her hands. “As you have guessed, Aunt Morris and I have not always existed in harmony. Yet I cannot help but be grateful to her, for if she has taught me one thing it is that I do not wish to live as she has done. I have no brother to be useful to and I will not dwindle into a mere housekeeper for my father. Or, indeed, for any other man. If we were to enter into the arrangement I have ... proposed, I would be your partner and expect to share in both the dangers and the pleasures of our work.”

  As though in a vision, Simon saw what the future would be like if he were insane enough to accept Miss Hanson’s proposal. She had shown herself to be impetuous, oblivious to the propriety of her actions and, taken all together, exactly the sort of woman he most disliked.

  He could imagine her becoming so interested in working that his meals would never be served on time. She’d allow too much familiarity on the part of the native servants so that nothing in the house would ever be done properly. In a few years, her fresh complexion would he coarse and dark from the unrelenting sun because she was the sort who would always forget her hat, or find it too restrictive. Her figure would probably go, too, after the first few children ... but of course, theirs would be a platonic union, dedicated to science.

  Thinking of the energy and enthusiasm that seemed to infuse her every action, Simon knew on that point, at least, he was fooling himself. All else he’d imagined would probably come to pass in the life of any man shortsighted enough to marry Julia Hanson. Yet it was absurd to think that a man with blood in his veins could spend day and night in her company and not want to know what embracing Julia, passionate about so much already, would be like. He himself was already far more aware of her as a woman than was good for his peace of mind.

  Yet was undoubted sexual bliss worth a lifetime of burned dinners, insolent servants, and intellectual arguments instead of peaceful female acquiescence? Simon told himself that he had—more often than not—found sex a disappointment. It was pleasant while it lasted, but it cost more in self-respect than he wished to pay.

  “I’m afraid it’s quite impossible,” he said.

  And yet... there were the letters they had exchanged. The woman he’d seen there had been charming, wise, and astoundingly intelligent. She’d shown a vivid interest in even the most mundane events of his daily work and given him many helpful ideas along the way. Sometimes only the unflagging confidence that she expressed gave him the strength to go on when his excavations had proved fruitless once again.

  It was for this reason that Simon added, “I’m simply not the sort of man who will ever marry.”

  “Why not? I know I never shall, now. But why not you? You are relatively young, very good-looking ... you don’t mind my saying so, do you?”

  “My mother thinks I am, but I don’t spend very much time looking in the glass.”

  “You may believe your mother,” Julia said. He was glad to see her smile. For a moment, he’d thought he’d hurt her too much by refusing her. Her eyes had seemed to wince. Now he realized she’d never expected him to accept. Perhaps she’d cherished a half-reared hope, but she would have known that any decent man would refuse her offer.

  She continued, looking at him dispassionately, her head to one side. “Yes, quite good-looking, bright, fairly witty when you forget to be stern, and I mink you could be, all in all, young love’s dream.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake ... !”

  She laughed. “So why not? I’m sure there are half a dozen friends of your sisters who would marry you with glad cries.”

  “If I married half a dozen, I would be arrested.”

  “There! You see! Fairly witty. Besides, you need only marry four to be quite au fait in a Muslim country,”

  “I know a few men with more than one wife. If your aunt is an object lesson to you, my friends are the same to me. Besides, I already have my ‘harem.’ They are asleep upstairs. Four women who rely on me absolutely.”

  “I can’t wait to meet your sisters,” Julia said. “What are they like?”

  “Nice girls,” he answered after a moment’s consideration. “Jane can be a minx. She’s the youngest, and somewhat spoiled. Amanda spends too much time reading novels. She is always mooning about and tends to forget things. Lucy is the eldest and is best fitted to run the house. Mother doesn’t always have the strength to manage the servants or to keep the accounts. My father did all those things and Mother never needed to learn.”

  “So Lucy is the one you trust the most.”

  “She’s a very good sort of girl. Reliable.”

  ‘They have no interests outside the house?” Her tone was not provoking, yet he was slightly nettled by the tenor of the question.

  “I don’t think so. They go to parties when they can. Lucy was actually presented at court when she came out. The other two will make their curtsies next year thanks to my uncle.”

  “Ah!” In a fair imitation of
his mother’s voice, she said, “ ‘Before my marriage, I was the Honorable Miss Plimpset.’ “

  He should have frowned at this show of disrespect, but he was taken by surprise and laughed instead. “I should have known she’d find a way to work it into the conversation.”

  “It was more dropped in than worked in ...”

  Simon said, “It was the greatest disappointment of her life when my uncle married and had three boys in four years. I think Mother used to plan that one day I’d be the Earl of Rexbury. I was never so relieved in my life when his wife gave him the first heir. The last thing I need in my life is a titled position!”

  “It would interfere with the digs.”

  “It would be the very devil ... I beg your pardon.”

  “Oh, don’t. You should hear my father when he forgets I’m in the room.”

  Behind them, the kitchen clock struck four rather dull notes. Both Simon and Julia looked, in surprise, at the hands. Simon looked twice, unable to believe so much time had passed. “You must be exhausted.”

  Her eyes took on a faraway look for a moment. “Yes,” she said as if giving the idea slow study. “Yes, I am. It has been a most unusual day.”

  “I’ll walk up with you.”

  “I can find it, and ... your mother is already suspicious of me. If she sees us together ... and me in this ...” she plucked at the sleeve of her nightdress and did not finish her sentence.

  “Nevertheless, as your host, I will escort you.”

  “On your head be it.”

  When she stood up, he saw that the dress was too short. Her slender ankles curved away, showing off a pair of feet as small and pretty as a fairy’s. Beneath her glossy skin, muscles flexed as she crossed the stone-flagged floor. Simon felt desire strike into him like a flaming arrow. He must have gasped involuntarily, for she turned, her dress flaring out slightly, to glance at him inquisitively.

  Then she looked past him, with an expression of recognition in her eyes. He turned, too, and saw the shadow of a cat against the window.

  Chapter Nine

  An-ket sat on the kitchen windowsill, quite enjoying her balanced command of the narrow ledge. Though an adherent of Hathor, she had always been on easy terms with the goddess Bastet, Queen of Cats.

  What bliss to leap lightly from the ground to the shoulder height of a man with so little effort! How delightful to walk surefooted where only a cat could trespass! She reveled in the play of her sinews and spent no less than five minutes flexing her front claws to watch them pop in and out of her paw. Oh, the pleasures of a tail wound about the feet... and the sensitive communications of her whiskers! Small wonder cats always bore themselves like the superior race. They were!

  On the negative side, she could tell from the rough condition of her coat that she was not well cared for. And her tiny stomach grumbled at the abrupt end of the snack she’d been sharing with Julia.

  Twitching an ear toward the sound of the man’s voice, An-ket eavesdropped unashamedly. This strange world in which she had awakened was full of mysteries. Everything that could help her explain what she saw and heard around her must be done, even if she did not quite approve morally.

  Julia had explained why she’d come to London during their drink in the “pub,” so when An-ket heard her address “Mis-ter Ar-cher,” she listened all the more closely. What sort of man had discovered her tomb? An-ket found herself very curious, and leaned her head against the cool, smooth surface of the window. It pleased her, this clear substance, and she was surprised to find that it was the same as the mug that had held her beer.

  Perhaps it was her sharpened cat’s senses that told her the truth about the two people in the room beyond. Though their language was as correct and proper as a priest’s, she could hear the surge of emotions beneath the smooth surface. That Julia was already attracted to the man, An-ket had guessed, but how pleasant to learn that he had seen her friend as a desirable creature. It was also plain that they were so intent upon impressing each other with their courtly manners that neither of them would lift a finger to improve upon this moment alone.

  What could she do to foster a better use of their time?

  An-ket smiled as she cast her thoughts back across the centuries.

  A whispering song from a blind harper had mingled with the perfumed air as the family celebrated the marriage contract between her sister Saret and the man of her choosing. Choice meats and fowls, ripe grapes and figs were spread upon the tables while near-naked servants, their bodies scented with oils, served wine to their master’s guests. An-ket’s father’s chief’s wife presented magnificent beaded necklaces to her new in-laws, while her father smiled proudly in the background, his eyes filling with tears at times when friends praised his children.

  Dressed in a shining wig and a new gown of fine pleated linen, An-ket sat with the other unmarried girls, rejoicing for her sister’s happiness and wondering when her own turn would come. She lifted one of the flowers from the table to tuck it behind her ear. Then—it was the merest chance that made her turn her head at that moment—she looked up to see a man enter the dining chamber. For one instant, no one else seemed to see him.

  He stood looking about him with a half-smile on his firm lips, as though in expectation of wearing a broader one when his welcoming host should approach him. His shoulders were as broad as a mountain range, while his smooth, hard chest showed plainly beneath his tunic of semitransparent linen. About his throat he wore a Golden Fly, symbol of bravery in battle against Pharaoh’s enemies. His shoulder-length wig displayed high cheekbones and a pair of brilliant eyes, which met hers at that instant.

  She would never be the same again.

  Her father clapped his hands to silence the musicians as he hastened forward. “My lord! You are welcome in our house. Come, meet my friends.”

  An-ket heard the other maidens whispering his name. He was Senusret, ninth son of the god-king, but his Golden Fly was not given to him because he was Pharaoh’s son, but because he had himself killed an enemy general in single combat. They whispered that he was as beautiful as a red hawk soaring above the golden sands, and giggled behind their hands at their daring as they peeked at him. An-ket sniffed and said, “I do not think him so very fine.”

  He looked at her and smiled, though it was impossible that he could have heard her over so many other voices. She tilted her chin into the air, even while her father was offering him the finest chair and sending a servant for the mate to his own alabaster cup. Yet she could not forbear glancing at him a moment later. He lifted the cup to her before he drank. She felt her cheeks flush and turned away abruptly. Somehow the sound of his chuckle reached her.

  Two days later, when she went to the marketplace to buy some hairpins as a gift to her sister, Senusret was there with several friends. He wore a short kilt, and she thought she’d never seen legs so smooth and strong. Instead of his medal, he wore a blue scarab on a thong, the stone rising and falling on his chest as he breathed. She felt her own breathing change to match his, so aware of him was she. He spoke her name and as if he had performed some spell, she stopped to hear him. His friends bowed and withdrew, taking her servant with them.

  “An-ket...”

  They stood beside a small shop that had baskets full of little statues of the gods. They were cheap things, amulets for peasants, yet their presence added a solemnity to the scene that she never forgot.

  “An-ket, do you know who I am?”

  “Yes,” she said, but did not raise her eyes to him. The sun beat down, making the air waver between them, but it was not the heat of the sun that troubled her, but the heat in his eyes. She lifted a corner of the shawl she wore about her shoulders and covered her head. “You are the son of the Lady Meret.”

  “I am your husband.”

  She felt a warm glow inside as she acknowledged the truth of his words, but did not want to give him too easy a conquest. “My husband? One of us is mistaken, my lord. I have not chosen a husband.”

&n
bsp; “You chose me at the same moment I chose you. Let us go to your father, for my heart claims you as my own.”

  “My father will no doubt rejoice, but what of yours? I am not of your house.”

  She turned to go, but Senusret caught her hand. His fingers were strong but gentle. About his wrist he wore a gold bracelet incised with the Eye of Horus in lapis lazuli. “Before the Great White Baboon rises full in the sky, you will be mine.”

  With her eyes she told him that she was his already, but her willful mouth said as she freed herself, “I am not of your house, Prince. Seek among the great ladies for your bride. See how my hands are rough and sun-burnt?”

  She turned her arm over so that he could contrast the pale amber smoothness of her skin to his own, darkened by long marches and chariot drives under the full power of the sun. An-ket was proud of her arms, slender and graceful, and wanted him to notice them. Her hands, too, had the long fingers and flowing gestures so prized in their arts.

  “Her hands are the boats that carry my soul,” he quoted, then grinned at her with an impudence that made her laugh despite her best intentions. A moment later, though, she tossed him a furious glance and hurried away, calling her servant to her. Badly flustered, she did not get as good a bargain as she might have on the hairpins. At home, she—

  In her cat form, An-ket frowned, twitching her tail. Her memories were so clear, up to a point. She could recall the very shape and color of the hairpins, the ends cunningly carved and painted like lotus blossoms. Yet when she tried to remember her marriage to Senusret, she saw only the night that surrounded her. The voices of the two people inside were distinct once more.

  “Nevertheless, as your host, I will escort you.”

  “On your head be it.”

  An-ket peered through the hard, clear substance and saw that Julia and the man were leaving the small room. She felt a great curiosity to know what they would do next. If they were wise, they’d forget to be so courteous and let their joyful bodies take the steps that lead to delight. There did not seem to be any reason why they should not, though An-ket acknowledged there might be constraints in this strange place of which she knew nothing.