“I shall continue to pursue Lady Rathbourne,” Josiah warned.
“Excellent. I have always enjoyed a certain amount of competition.” Sterling grinned. “Perhaps a small wager would make it more interesting.”
“A wager, sir?” Josiah studied him suspiciously. “I have nothing to wager with.”
“You have a great deal. Let us say if you win her affections, I shall give some of my business to your firm so that you may be able to support her properly.”
“And if you win her affections?”
“Then you shall come to work for me in a manner to be determined later.” Sterling puffed on his cigar. “Perhaps a firm of your own. With my patronage, you could do very well.”
Josiah narrowed his eyes. “It seems it would be in the best interests of my future to lose.”
Sterling shrugged. “It all depends on what you truly want.”
“I want Lady Rathbourne,” he said without hesitation.
“As do I.”
“I am determined to win her heart.”
“As am I.”
“It further seems to me that, win or lose, I stand to benefit.”
“As I said, it all depends on what you truly want.”
“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” Josiah said under his breath.
Sterling resisted the urge to roll his gaze toward the sky. God help him, the boy was not only overly romantic but quoted the Bible as well. He leaned toward the solicitor and lowered his voice. “Josiah, allow me to give you one piece of well-considered advice.”
“Yes, sir?”
“While it is admirable to set your sights high, it is also wise to understand the limits of possibility.”
Josiah shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Regardless of your efforts, this is a wager you cannot win. Because I would have to be dead and buried to concede defeat. And I have no intention of dying anytime soon. Furthermore . . .” He puffed on his cigar and blew another perfect smoke ring. “Olivia is not your soul, she is mine.”
“Is something wrong?” Sterling looked down at Olivia, his brow furrowed.
“No, it’s quite lovely.” She glanced around the foyer of Sir Lawrence’s home. On the inside it looked very much like it did on the outside, the type of grand house one might see on any square in London. She shouldn’t be surprised. She had read how, with the construction of the Suez Canal some twenty years ago, and even before, there was a significant European presence and a subsequent influence on buildings in this century in Cairo and Alexandria. Even today, one out of every four people one passed on the street was not a native Egyptian. Still . . . “I confess I am disappointed. I had expected something more, well, exotic. More Egyptian.”
“Tomb paintings on the walls and such? Perhaps a mummy propped in the corner?” A tall older gentleman stepped into the foyer. Distinguished in appearance, Lawrence Willoughby didn’t look at all like a scholar but rather an elder statesmen. “When one spends one’s days studying ancient writings in tombs well belowground, haunted by the ghosts of the ancients, in a land far from one’s own, one wishes to surround oneself when at rest with the accoutrements of home. As well as modern comforts.”
“Quite understandable.” She cast him her brightest smile. “Thank you for inviting us to your home.”
“You must be Lady Rathbourne.” Sir Lawrence took her hand and raised it to his lips. “How lovely you are. What a delightful surprise.”
“And you are most gallant. I too am surprised.”
Sterling cleared his throat.
“My reputation precedes me then.” Sir Lawrence chuckled. “I confess I am not always as charming as I appear. But I have had an excellent day, and Lord Wyldewood’s note has piqued my curiosity. You are interested in one of my canopic jars I understand.”
She nodded.
“I should tell you your late husband and I corresponded about that very item. I met the man once.” The older man’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t say I cared much for him.”
She smiled and met his gaze firmly. “Few people did. My late husband was not a man to inspire affection.”
Sir Lawrence stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “But I do like you.”
“Sir Lawrence.” Sterling stepped forward.
“Ah yes, the young Lord Wyldewood.” Sir Lawrence shook Sterling’s hand, studying him with an assessing gaze. “You look a great deal like your father.”
Sterling smiled. “I had no idea that you knew my father until I read your invitation.”
“You should have. It’s always best to know exactly with whom one is dealing. Gives you the upper hand.” He turned to Olivia. “I spent many nights, on those rare occasions when I was in London, far too long ago to say exactly when now, as a guest at Lord Wyldewood’s home. Quite pleasant evenings too as I recall.” He glanced at Sterling. “I even remember you. Never did understand why your father insisted on having children at the table.”
“He thought his guests would have a good influence on us, sir,” Sterling said with a smile.
“And did we?”
Sterling paused, a brief image of a man with only two fingers flashing through his head. “For the most part, I believe you did.”
“Influenced your brothers, no doubt. I hear all sorts of interesting things about them. Mostly good.” He narrowed his eyes. “Some bad.”
Sterling smiled weakly.
“Still, that’s neither here nor there at the moment. You have all grown somewhat.” He chuckled. “I have simply aged. You can thank your father’s hospitality for my agreeing to see you although I wouldn’t have hesitated if I had known how lovely Lady Rathbourne is.” Sir Lawrence craned his neck to peer around them. “Is the rest of your party here?”
“My mother encountered people she met aboard ship,” Sterling said smoothly. “She joined them for tea and promised to meet us here. Mr. Cadwallender will accompany her.”
“I see. That changes things somewhat.” He frowned. “Although perhaps it’s for the best. We can discuss the business at hand before the others arrive. Lady Rathbourne.” He offered her his arm and escorted her into a parlor.
The room was high-ceilinged and filled with light from long windows. Tall French doors were open to a courtyard. The house may have been influenced by European architecture, but she couldn’t recall ever having been in a parlor in London that was so bright and airy.
Olivia and Sterling settled on a sofa, Sir Lawrence took a chair and signaled to a servant for refreshments.
“Now then,” Sir Lawrence began. “Your note said Lady Rathbourne wished to acquire the canopic jar in my collection that is apparently from the tomb of Aashet, although the tomb itself has never been found. I have the jar that bears the head of Imsety; her husband had the remaining three. Which of course is why he wanted mine.”
Olivia nodded. “We do know that, Sir Lawrence.”
“I assume you want my jar so that the collection is complete in some sort of misplaced homage to his memory.” He pinned Olivia with a narrowed gaze.
“Not at all, Sir Lawrence,” Olivia said lightly as if the matter were of no importance. “I have no desire to honor my late husband’s memory in an any manner whatsoever. If I could erase his name from the face of the earth, I would do so without hesitation.”
The older man glanced from Olivia to Sterling and back. “Then you had best explain.”
“It’s really quite simple and, as you have met my late husband, you will no doubt find it easy to understand.” Olivia drew a steadying breath. “I am the only heir to my husband’s estate. However, in order to inherit, I must complete three of his collections. Your jar would complete the first.”
Sir Lawrence studied her. “He left you with nothing?”
She shrugged. “I have a minimal allowance.”
“You.” His gaze shifted to Sterling. “What is your part in all this?”
“Lady Wyldewood is a very old
friend of my family,” Sterling said smoothly. “She needed assistance in this endeavor, and I am grateful I was able to help.”
“If you could see your way clear to sell us the jar,” Olivia began.
“I never sell my artifacts,” Sir Lawrence said in a matter-of-fact manner. “Never have, never will.”
“But surely, given the situation you would at least consider—”
“Would you trade for the jar?” Sterling asked casually.
Sir Lawrence narrowed his eyes. “Trade for what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Sterling thought for a moment although Olivia suspected he already had something in mind. “A mummy of the twentieth dynasty perhaps.”
Olivia stared. “You have a mummy?”
“My father was not as accomplished a collector as your late husband or as Sir Lawrence”—he nodded to the older man—“but he did accumulate an assortment of artifacts. Whatever struck his fancy at the moment, I think. Our house is filled with odd and unusual items. Including”—his gaze fastened on Sir Lawrence—“a mummy of the twentieth dynasty.”
Sir Lawrence laughed. “Not interested, my boy. I gave that mummy to your father.”
“Did you?” Sterling’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I thought it was the other one.”
“What other one?” Suspicion sounded in the older man’s voice.
“My father had two mummies, one from the twentieth dynasty, one from the eighteenth. I assumed the older one was the one you gave my father.”
“No,” Sir Lawrence said thoughtfully. “Eighteenth you say?”
“That is my understanding.” He nodded at Olivia. “While my father’s collections are somewhat haphazard, he did make certain everything was catalogued accurately.”
“Do you recall what it looked like?” Sir Lawrence asked.
“No.” Sterling shook his head. “But I did bring along a photograph and notes regarding the mummy.”
“I see.” Sir Lawrence considered him thoughtfully. “Perhaps we can do business after all.” He looked at Olivia. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
She smiled. “Yes, of course.”
Sir Lawrence stood and walked briskly from the room.
She turned to Sterling. “I thought you didn’t know him?”
Sterling shrugged. “I don’t. Nor do I remember his visits.”
“Then how did you know he had given a mummy to your father?”
“I didn’t.” He grinned. “But after he said he had given one mummy to my father, I hoped that while I knew we have two mummies in the attic, he did not.”
She cast him an admiring glance. “Why, Sterling, I am most impressed.”
“You should be.” He flashed her a grin. “I can be most impressive.”
“You planned this all along, didn’t you?”
“Given Sir Lawrence’s reputation, I did not think your plight or your charm alone would be enough to convince him to hand over the jar.” His grin widened. “But I thought a mummy that I certainly have no use for might do the trick.”
“How very clever of you.”
“I can be very clever when the need arises. When it comes to something I want.”
She studied him for a moment, wondering if his words had more than one meaning. But his expression gave nothing away. “Given your reluctance to accompany me at all, I must say, I am both surprised and pleased.”
He chuckled. “Surprising, and pleasing, you is an unexpected bonus.” A serious note sounded in his voice. “I said I would do all I could to help you, and I intend to live up to that obligation.”
“And I am most appreciative.” She forced a smile to her face. She wasn’t at all sure she liked being his obligation.
“There now, that’s taken care of.” Sir Lawrence stepped back into the room. “It has occurred to me . . .” Voices sounded in the corridor, and Sir Lawrence’s gaze slipped to the arched doorway. A smile of genuine pleasure stretched across his face, and at once the man appeared twenty years younger. “Millicent.”
“Lawrence Willoughby.” Lady Wyldewood stood in the doorway, Josiah a step behind. Her smile matched the older man’s. “What a delightful surprise.”
“The delight, my dear lady”—the older man’s smile widened—“is entirely mine.”
Twelve
At once, Sir Lawrence crossed the room to Lady Wyldewood, took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips. “You are as beautiful as ever, Millicent.”
Millicent? Sterling rose to his feet.
“And you, Lawrence, are as charming as I remember.”
Lawrence? It was all Sterling could do to keep his mouth from dropping open in shock.
Mother tilted her head and smiled, a thoroughly flirtatious sort of smile. What was the woman doing? “It has been a very long time.”
“Twenty-three years, four months and some-odd days by my count.” Sir Lawrence gazed into her eyes. “Which would make it twenty-three years, four months and some-odd days entirely too long.”
His mother laughed. A girlish sort of sound, young and fresh and, had she not been his mother, intoxicating. Where had she learned to do that?
“I thought I would hear from you after Charles died,” she said lightly.
Sir Lawrence grimaced. “I did send my condolences.”
“And they were most appreciated. Still, I had rather thought . . . once I was out of mourning . . . Surely, you have been in London in the past decade?”
What on earth did she mean by that?
Sir Lawrence nodded. “I have but, well, I was not certain of the reception I would receive. I did not wish to be forward.”
And what did he mean by that?
Sir Lawrence bent closer and said something into his mother’s ear, and she laughed again. Behind the couple, Josiah looked as if he didn’t know whether he should remind the gathering of his presence or keep silent. He wisely chose to say nothing.
Livy stood and nudged Sterling with her elbow, her voice low. “You should stop staring.”
His mother was gazing at Sir Lawrence with a look he could not recall ever having seen on her face before. “I am not staring.”
“You’re right. You’re glaring, and you should stop it at once.” She slanted him a chastising look. “It’s not at all becoming.”
And Sir Lawrence was returning the very same look! “But that’s my mother!”
“Indeed it is. And that . . .” Livy grinned. “. . . is apparently an old and very good friend.”
“I had no idea.” Sterling was hard-pressed to tear his gaze from the older couple. Fortunately, his mother remembered poor Josiah and turned to reintroduce the young man to Sir Lawrence.
“It’s always best to know exactly with whom one is dealing, you know.” A teasing note sounded in Livy’s voice. “It gives you the upper hand.”
“This is not amusing,” Sir Lawrence said through gritted teeth.
“Odd, as I find it most amusing.” Livy grinned.
Sterling cleared his throat and caught his mother’s attention.
She cast a reluctant smile at Sir Lawrence, almost as if she did not wish to leave his side, which was absurd, and moved farther into the room. “Darling, you didn’t tell me the gentleman we were coming to see was Lawrence Willoughby.”
“I am certain I mentioned it,” Sterling said, trying and failing to keep disapproval from sounding in his voice. Livy elbowed him hard.
“No, I would have remembered. Imagine.” Her gaze again settled on Sir Lawrence. “My dear friend, Lawrence, is going to be the one to help rescue our darling Olivia.”
Livy tensed beside him. “Millicent, rescue is not at all accur—”
It was his turn to elbow her. He lowered his voice for her ears alone. “If the man wishes to rescue you, which means giving you what you need, let him.”
Her brows drew together. “I do not need to be rescued.”
“Of course not, my dear.” Millicent smiled. “We are modern women and have no need of something as old-
fashioned as rescue.” She directed her smile toward Sir Lawrence. “She is a tower of courage, Lawrence. I couldn’t be prouder of her than if she were my own daughter. It was her decision to come here in person. Sterling thought it would be more expedient to send an emissary.”
“Expedient perhaps, but not successful.” Sir Lawrence cast Livy a smile so charming even Sterling was impressed. Hadn’t Gabriella described him as unpleasant? This was the least unpleasant man he had ever met. At least when it came to the female members of their party. And if the man didn’t stop staring at his mother as if she were a plum pudding and he a man long deprived of sweets, Sterling would have to . . . well, he’d have to do something.
“I have taken it upon myself to arrange for your baggage to be brought here. I do hope you will accept my hospitality while you are in Cairo.” He addressed the gathering, but his gaze remained on Sterling’s mother. “Nothing would make me happier than to have you stay in my home.” He glanced at the others. “All of you.”
“I don’t think—” Sterling began.
“Of course, if you prefer to stay at Shepheard’s, I will certainly understand.” His gaze met Sterling’s, and there was the slightest hint of a warning in his tone. “I simply thought staying here would give you the opportunity to convince me of the wisdom of the trade you have proposed.”
“We would be delighted, Sir Lawrence,” Livy said quickly. “Your offer is quite gracious and most appreciated.”
“Yes, Lawrence.” Did he imagine it, or was his mother’s voice just a shade lower than before. Almost, God help him, sultry? Good lord, his mother was a tart! “Most appreciated.”
“I believe, Sterling,” Livy said softly for his ears alone, “that is a shining example of the art of flirtation.”
He shot her an annoyed glare, and she bit back a grin. Blasted woman was enjoying this.
“Now, as that’s settled.” Sir Lawrence nodded. “And as dinner has not yet been announced, perhaps you would allow me to show you my gardens?”
“I should like that very much.” His mother gazed into the older man’s eyes.
“As would we all,” Sterling said with a forced smile.
Sir Lawrence cast him an exasperated look. “I did mean to show all of you.” He offered his arm to Sterling’s mother. “Millicent.”
Desires of a Perfect Lady Page 15