dropped when he swept her into his arms. Bending, he
retrieved it. “I don’t understand why a countess’
granddaughter is working as a secretary.” His scowl
returned. “Or is this just a lark for you as your mother’s
journey to Egypt was for her?”
“My mother?” Darcy sank back onto the chair. “What
did Grandmother say in her letter?”
“The truth, I assume.”
“If she told you my mother went to Egypt to flee from
my grandmother’s country estate of Kincaid Fells, figuring
her own mother would not give chase to a country so unlike
England, then it’s the truth. If she told you as well my
mother married an Egyptian merchant, that also is true.”
She held her breath, waiting for Simon’s reaction. She
had listened too often while her grandmother paraded out
this fact in an effort to repay Darcy for failing to obey her.
The reactions were always the same—barely concealed
disgust and open pity. The former aimed at Darcy, and the
latter for her grandmother who must bear the burden of
her daughter’s mistakes.
“So my father said,” Simon replied, his gaze focused
on the page. Was he avoiding looking at her because of
what was in the letter? Or was it because of what had
happened when they both lost control and were caught up
in unsated desire? “I have no idea why either Father or
your grandmother would believe such gossip would be of
interest to me. Nothing has changed. I still have this
ridiculous deadline, and I still need you here to help me
finish the manuscript.”
“My grandmother won’t be pleased if you disregard
her wishes.” She dampened her bottom lip. “She has never
been pleased when I defy her.”
“I don’t care a thimble’s worth of salt what Lady
Kincaid wishes. I assume you took your leave from Kincaid
Fells of your own volition.”
“Yes.” She wanted to grasp his arm and thank him for
not letting her grandmother ’s venom spew through
Rosewood Hall.
No, she did not want to grasp his arm. She yearned for
his arm around her again. She said nothing. He was a man
of volatile moods, unpredictable and formidable, and she
did not want to rouse the wrong one.
“I shall discuss this with Father. He’ll understand this
is between you and your grandmother. It shouldn’t be of
concern to us.” His shoulders remained rigid, but the
slightest hint of a smile appeared beneath his mustache.
Darcy did not smile in return. “Simon, you don’t
understand prejudice. It’s not something you can talk a
person out of.”
“I realize that, for I’ve seen enough to know your
grandmother isn’t unique.”
“I’ve been fighting this since my grandmother
wrenched me away from Egypt.” A tentative smile lessened
the stress aching across her forehead. “At least the English
are more honest than Egyptians who can insult you a dozen
ways without you realizing it.”
“My father will want you to realize it.” He folded the
letter and put it in pocket beneath his coat. As a clock
chimed in the hallway, he added, “The time for tea is long
past, so we’d be wise to ready ourselves for dinner. Do
you have a suit of armor, Darcy?”
Startled at his sudden teasing, she faltered on her
answer. “No suit of armor, but my skin has grown thick
after so many barbs.”
“Your skin felt so soft and supple to me.” His lips
became a straight line again, and she knew he had said
something he had not intended.
She nodded as he bid her a good afternoon and left his
office. She never had been more confused. It was
impossible, but it was as if two contradictory men had
been here with her–the man whose passions were focused
on his work along with the man whose passions were
focused on her. She had never imagined two such disparate
personalities could exist in the same body.
Hurrying up the stairs to her rooms, she was glad she
did not meet Hastings. She locked the hall door, although
she doubted anyone would bother her at this hour.
“How much did it cost you to find me, Grandmother?”
she asked aloud. “I’m surprised you’re willing to waste a
brass farthing on me.”
She stormed into her bedroom and spat the most
horrendous curse she knew in English, then another in
Arabic. How could her grandmother fail to understand after
all this time that Darcy had no intentions of remaining at
Kincaid Fells? Darcy could not give up her dreams to marry
some man who was eager for a share of the Kincaid fortune
in exchange for siring some grandchildren for Grandmother
Kincaid.
She unbuttoned her blouse, noticing how it was
wrinkled where Simon’s hand had stroked her. With a moan
of a craving that would no longer be dormant, she hung it
on a peg in the dressing room. She took out her second
best dress of a vibrant purple satin with stylish stripes a
shade darker. Putting it on the bed, she turned to brush her
hair and stared at the bright green eyes of Thoth reflected
in the glass. As her fingertip caressed the pounded gold,
she remembered Jaddeh telling her the pendant would
bring her good fortune if she wore it every day. She had
never taken it off, risking Miss Mumsey’s outrage and her
grandmother’s cruel discipline.
“But where’s the good fortune?” she whispered.
Slowly her hand rose to her lips. Simon. Was he the
good fortune she was supposed to find waiting for her?
Her laugh was strained through a sob. If so, the jest was
on her, because he drew her close only to push her away.
That was not love as she had heard it described.
But she was drawn to this haughty, single-minded man
for reasons she could not name. Had she met someone in
Egypt that reminded her of Simon? If so, she could not
recall whom, but the sense of familiarity had not decreased
simply because she had ignored it.
She squared her shoulders and went to ring for a maid
to help her get dressed. If she hurried, she might have time
to work on her story before she joined Simon and Hastings
for dinner. Writing might help calm her trepidation of the
meal ahead. She would wear her lovely dress, for no battle
could be won without the proper weapons, and she intended
to let no one force her to leave Rosewood Hall as long as
Simon needed her . . . for whatever reason.
***
~~~ “You are guaranteeing yourself unhappiness by
going to see Kafele,” moaned Ahwere as she twisted a
flower through Meskhenet’s hair in a chamber that opened
onto the beautiful garden. “If our brother has deemed you
shall marry Usi, you must.”
“But I love another man.”
“You are the daughter of a Pharaoh and the sister of a
Pharaoh. Love is not something you can expect.�
��
Meskhenet took the ivory comb from her sister and
began to run it along her sister’s hair. “I know that, but
now that love has entered into my heart, I do not know
how I can set it aside.”
“Because you must.”
A servant came into the room and prostrated himself
on the floor, his face toward the door.
Meskhenet put the comb on the table and stood.
Ahwere rose just as their brother entered. He kissed Ahwere
on the cheek with no more than the brotherly affection he
would have shown his younger sister. Onuris had shown
no hurry to marry their sister because he was devoted to a
concubine who had been sent to him as part of a trade
treaty from a king across the narrow sea.
“It is a pleasure to come here and see the beauty within
this room,” he said. “Meskhenet, you look more like your
mother every day.”
“It is generous of you to say that.”
“Only the truth.” He looked down at the servant who
had not moved. “You are dismissed.”
The servant scurried away on his hands and knees,
keeping his head to his Pharaoh.
Onuris smiled. “I wish privacy to speak with our sister,
Ahwere. Would you please excuse us?”
“Yes . . . yes, as you wish.” Ahwere could not hide her
amazement at the request, for Onuris had never asked such
a thing of her before.
As soon as Ahwere had departed, Onuris motioned
toward the garden. “Shall we walk by the cooling fountain,
younger sister?”
Meskhenet nodded, but she had noted how he
addressed her. Was he trying to remind her she was
subservient to his commands? She wished the thought had
not formed. Walking out into the garden, she closed her
eyes as the sunlight dropped around her, setting each leaf
to gleaming.
Onuris sat on a bench and motioned for Meskhenet to
do the same. She folded her legs and sat on the ground. As
the grass tickled her legs through her thin gown, she rested
her arms on her knees.
“Meskhenet, I have depended upon you to be wise,
but now you have shown yourself to be foolish. You could
have been injured or worse by going to the Valley of Thoth
alone.”
“I did not think wisely.” She bowed her head. “Forgive
me.”
“I would forgive you anything, my dear sister.” He
took her hand in his and smiled. “And I am grateful to Usi
for his good advice to you.”
She fought to keep her smile in place. “He expressed
his concerns to me.”
“As he did to me.” He took so deep a breath, his chest
lifted the wide necklace higher. “And I expressed my
appreciation to him for this and many things he has done
for his Pharaoh and this kingdom. He has been a faithful
servant, whom I wish to see rewarded with a great prize.
One of my most precious treasures is what I want to offer
him.”
“He would be grateful for some fine fields or one of
the royal barges. I have seen how he admires the one with
the blue sail. Usi would be proud to be seen upon the Nile
in it. Then everyone would know he has won your favor.”
She was babbling, but she must offer her brother a chance
to reconsider what she feared he was about to say.
“I have given him fields before, and he is having a
grand barge of his own built. What I will offer him in
exchange for his loyalty is a connection to the Pharaoh’s
household.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I have
offered him you, my dear sister. He will be a good husband
for you, for he admires you far more than my barge with
the blue sail.”
“No, Onuris.” She rose to her knees and clasped her
hands. “Please do not give me to him.”
“It is already done.” He frowned, abruptly the
imperious Pharaoh instead of her gentle brother. “You will
become his wife when next the moon grows full. That will
give you time to make preparations.”
“But I do not love him!”
Onuris stood. “But he loves his Pharaoh and serves
me well in building my tomb and overseeing many projects
for me. You will marry him, Meskhenet.” His stern
expression fell away as he brought her to her feet. “Dear
sister, I have dreaded the day when I would need to send
you far from here to marry an ally. Instead, you will be
nearby with a man I trust completely.”
“But I love another man.”
“What man?”
She bit her lip before saying, “It no longer matters,
does it?”
Her brother smiled. “Now you are being sensible. Go
and find your servants and plan a wedding feast suitable
for my sister.” He kissed her on the cheek before walking
away.
Sinking back to her knees, Meskhenet folded her arms
on the bench and wept. ~~~
***
Darcy smoothed her purple-striped satin gown as she
entered the dining room. The high neckline’s ruffle kept
her chin raised, but defiance fueled her determination not
to surrender to her grandmother’s demands.
She had found no comfort in working on her story.
The scene had been so dreary. Why had she written it?
She wanted Meskhenet to be happy with her handsome
lover . . . as Darcy wished she could be with Simon.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said serenely when
she saw father and son in a fervent conversation by the
table. As always, both men were dressed with the greatest
elegance. She wondered, for the first time, if the formal
clothes were meant to create the illusion they were
strangers.
At her words, Hastings fired an angry glare at his son,
but Simon did not acknowledge it. When Simon came
forward to greet her, she smiled. She wondered if it looked
as false as his.
“How lovely you look, Darcy,” he said, bowing over
her hand. He raised his head, and she saw a hint of the
more dangerous emotions within his eyes. Anger and desire
were a frightful mix. No hint of either colored his voice as
he added, “This color is perfect for you. There may be a
bit of royalty in your family.”
“I don’t think—”
Hastings called, “If you will sit, Darcy, we can begin
our meal before it’s time for breakfast.”
She took her place and settled her napkin in her lap.
Simon sat across from her as always. It was just the same,
but nothing was the same, for no one spoke. The second
course was being served before Hastings broke the silence.
“I take it you have made your decision, Simon.”
“My decision is unchanged.” Simon poked at a piece
of roast beef. “I can’t think of anything but meeting
Caldwell’s deadline.”
“Not even of Lady Kincaid’s request?”
Lowering his fork to his plate, he said, “Father, if you
wish to ask Darcy to leave so you may avoid Lady
Kincaid’s wrath, you
are welcome to do so. However, I’ll
urge her to remain, for I need her and her typewriter here.
And she doesn’t wish to return to Kincaid Fells. I don’t
know why we are continuing to discuss this.”
“How long until she is finished typing your
manuscript?” Hastings asked.
“At least another month.”
“A month?” He grimaced. “I shall endeavor to devise
some excuse for her to remain until then.”
“The truth will suffice.”
Darcy laughed tautly. “Grandmother cares nothing
about the truth if it interferes with her wishes.”
“Her wish is for you to return to Kincaid Fells,”
Hastings said. “Your fiancé is losing patience.”
She heard Simon draw in a honed breath, but kept her
gaze on his father as she replied, “I have no fiancé.”
“Quite the contrary. Your grandmother stated in her
letter that arrangements are underway even now for your
wedding.”
“Did she mention whom I was to marry?”
Hastings frowned. “This is not amusing.”
“I agree. You, sir, are being lied to by my
grandmother.”
“I doubt if she’d lie about you marrying Lord Grafton.”
“Lord Grafton?” She stood. She tried to catch Simon’s
eyes, but he was staring at his father. To avoid looking at
her? Did he think she would have gone so eagerly into his
arms if she was betrothed to another man? “I can assure
you that I shall never marry him. Each of the four times he
has asked, I have told him no. He may have persuaded my
grandmother to continue with this charade, but I shall not
be wed against my will to that libertine.”
From the doorway came, “I should think not.”
Darcy’s mouth dropped open and she sat again when
Reverend Fairfield walked toward the table. As grandly
dressed as the Garnetts, he gave them all a beneficent smile.
He bowed over her hand and then sat next to her where a
place-setting was being hurriedly put in place. Nothing
about him gave any sign that he had issued her an
ultimatum three days before. Did he still expect her to
acquiesce and depart at week’s end?
“What is this nonsense?” the vicar asked. “Is this why
you sent for me? This is the modern age. A young woman
should have some say in her prospective husband.”
“A very liberal view,” grumbled Hastings, “from a man
Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt Page 18