The Governess and the Sheikh

by Marguerite Kaye

  Halim’s face remained resolutely sombre. Jamil laughed. ‘You don’t agree, I take it? You disappoint me. I knew the Council would not immediately perceive the merits in such a proposition, but I thought better of you. Think about it, Halim—the Armstrongs are a family with an excellent pedigree, and, more importantly, impeccable connections. The father is a diplomat with influence in Egypt and India, and the uncle is a member of the English government. It would do us no harm at all to have one of the daughters in our household, and in addition they would be in our debt. According to Lady Celia, we would be doing them a favour.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Lady Cassandra is already in A’Qadiz and wishes to extend her stay, to see more of our lands, our culture. She is obviously the scholarly type.’

  ‘One-and-twenty, you say?’ Halim frowned. ‘That is rather old for a female to be unwed, even in England.’

  ‘Quite. Reading between the lines, I suspect her to be the spinsterish type. You know, the kind of women the English seem to specialise in—plain, more at home with their books than the opposite sex.’ Jamil grinned. ‘Once again, exactly what Linah needs. A dull female with a good education and a strict sense of discipline.’

  ‘But Highness, you cannot be sure that—’

  ‘Enough. I will brook no more argument. I’ve tried doing things the traditional way with Linah, and tradition has singularly failed. Now we’ll do it my way, the modern way, and perhaps in doing so my people will see the merits in reaching out beyond the confines of our own culture.’ Jamil got to his feet. ‘I’ve already written to Lady Celia accepting her kind offer. I did not bring you here to discuss the merits of the proposal, merely to implement my decision. We meet at the border of A’Qadiz in three days. Lady Celia will bring her sister, and she will be accompanied by her husband, Prince Ramiz. We will cement our relationship with his kingdom and take delivery of Linah’s new governess at the same time. I’m sure you understand the importance of my caravan being suitably impressive, so please see to it. Now you may go.’

  Recognising the note of finality in his master’s voice, Halim had no option but to obey. As the guards closed the doors to the courtyard behind him, he made for his own quarters with a sinking heart. He did not like the sound of this. There was going to be trouble ahead or his name wasn’t Halim Mohammed Zarahh Akbar el-Akkrah.

  At that moment in the kingdom of A’Qadiz, in another sunny courtyard in another royal palace, Ladies Celia and Cassandra were taking tea, sitting on mountainous heaps of cushions under the shade of a lemon tree. Beside them, lying contentedly in a basket, Celia’s baby daughter made a snuffling noise, which had the sisters laughing with delight, for surely little Bashirah was the cleverest and most charming child in all of Arabia.

  Cassie put her tea glass back on the heavy silver tray beside the samovar. ‘May I hold her?’

  ‘Of course you may.’ Celia lifted the precious bundle out of the basket and handed her to Cassie, who balanced her niece confidently on her lap, smiling down at her besottedly.

  ‘Bashirah,’ Cassie said, stroking the baby’s downy cheek with her finger, ‘Such a lovely name. What does it mean?’

  ‘Bringer of joy.’

  Cassie smiled. ‘How apt.’

  ‘She likes you,’ Celia replied with a tender smile, quite taken by the charming image her sister and her daughter presented. In the weeks since Cassie had arrived in A’Qadiz she seemed to have recovered some of her former sunny disposition, but it saddened Celia to see the stricken look that still made a regular appearance in her sister’s big cornflower-blue eyes on occasions when she thought herself unobserved. The shadows that were testimony to the many sleepless nights since that thing had happened had faded now, and her skin had lost its unnatural pallor. In fact, to everyone else, Cassandra was the radiant beauty she had always been, with her dark golden crown of hair, and her lush curves, so different from Celia’s own slim figure.

  But Celia was not everyone else, she was Cassie’s oldest sister, and she loved her dearly. It was a bond forged in adversity, for they had lost their mother when young, and though the gap between Cassie and their next sister, Cressida, was just a little more than three years, it was sufficient to split the family into two distinct camps, the two older ones who struggled to take Mama’s place, and the three younger ones, who needed to be cared for.

  ‘Poor Cassie,’ Celia said now, leaning over to give her sister a quick hug, ‘you’ve had such a hard time of it these last three months—are you sure you’re ready for this challenge?’

  ‘Don’t pity me, Celia,’ Cassie replied with a frown. ‘Most of what I’ve been forced to endure has been of my own doing.’

  ‘How can you say that! He as good as left you at the altar.’

  Cassie bit her lip hard. ‘You exaggerate a little. The wedding was still two weeks away.’

  ‘The betrothal had been formally announced, people were sending gifts—we sent one ourselves—and the guests had been invited to the breakfast. I know you think you loved him, Cassie, but how you can defend him after that…’

  ‘I’m not defending him.’ Cassie opened her eyes wide to stop the tears from falling. ‘I’m just saying that I’m as much to blame as Augustus.’

  ‘How so?’ Until now, Cassie had refused to discuss her broken betrothal, for she wanted only to forget it had ever happened, and Celia, who could see that the wound to her sister’s pride was as deep as that to her heart, had tactfully refrained from questioning her. Now, it seemed, her patience was about to pay off, and she could not help but be curious. She leaned over to lift Bashirah from Cassie, for she was making that little impatient noise that preceded an aggressive demand for sustenance. Celia thought of Ramiz and smiled as she settled the baby at her breast. The child had clearly inherited her demanding temperament from her father. ‘Won’t you tell me, Cassie?’ she said gently. ‘Sometimes talking about things, however painful, helps, and I’ve been so worried about you.’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ Cassie replied with a sniff.

  She looked so patently not ‘all right’ that Celia laughed. ‘Liar.’

  Cassie managed a weak smile in return. ‘Well, I may not be all right at the moment, but I will be, I promise. I just need to prove myself, make a success of something for a change, give everyone, myself included, something to be proud of.’

  ‘Cassie, we all love you, no matter what. You know that.’

  ‘Yes. But there’s no getting away from it, Celia, I’ve behaved very foolishly indeed, and Papa is still furious with me. I can’t go back to England, not until I’ve proved I’m not a complete nincompoop.’

  ‘Cassie, Augustus failed you, not the other way round.’

  ‘He was my choice.’

  ‘You can’t choose who you fall in love with, Cass.’

  ‘I’ll tell you something, Celia, I’m going to make very sure I choose not to fall in love ever again.’

  ‘Oh, Cassie, you say the silliest things.’ Celia patted her sister’s knee. ‘Of course you will fall in love again. The surprising thing is that you have not fallen in love before, for you are such a romantic.’

  ‘Which is precisely the problem. So I’m not going to be, not anymore. I’ve learned a hard lesson, and I’m determined not to have to learn it again. If I tell you how it was, maybe then you’ll understand.’

  ‘Only if you’re sure you want to.’

  ‘Why not? You can’t think worse of me than I already do. No, don’t look like that, Celia, I don’t deserve your pity.’ Cassie toyed with the cerulean-blue ribbons that were laced up the full sleeves of her delicate-figured muslin dress. ‘Augustus said these ribbons were the same colour as my eyes,’ she said with a wistful smile. ‘Then again, he also told me that my eyes were the colour of the sky at midnight, and that they put a field of lavender to shame. He brought me a posy of violets in a silver filigree holder and told me they were a hymn to my eyes, too, now I come to think about it. I didn’t even question the ve
racity of it, though I know perfectly well what colour of blue my own eyes are. That should give you an idea of how deeply in love I thought I was.’

  A pink flush stole up the elegant line of Cassie’s throat. Even now, three months after it had all come to such a horrible end, the shame could still overwhelm her. Hindsight, as Aunt Sophia said, was a wonderful thing, but every time Cassie examined the course of events—and she examined them in minute detail most frequently—it was not Augustus’s shockingly caddish behaviour, but her own singular lack of judgement that mortified her most.

  ‘Augustus St John Marne.’ The name, once so precious, felt bitter on her tongue. Cassie made a moue of distaste. ‘I first met him at Almack’s, where I was fresh from another run-in with Bella.’

  ‘Bella Frobisher!’ Celia exclaimed. ‘Who would have believed Papa could stoop so low? I still can’t believe she’s taken Mama’s place. I doubt I will ever be able to bring myself to address her as Lady Armstrong.’

  ‘No, even Aunt Sophia stops short of that, and she has been pretty much won over since James was born. I have to say though, Celia, our half-brother is quite adorable.’

  ‘A son and heir for Papa. So the auspicious event has mollified even our terrifying aunt?’ Cassie giggled. ‘Bella Frobisher may be a witless flibberty-gibbet,’ she said in a fair imitation of their formidable Aunt Sophia’s austere tone, ‘but her breeding is sound, and she’s come up trumps with young James. A fine lusty boy to secure the title and the line, just what the family needs. And honestly, Celia, you should see Papa. He actually visits James in the nursery, which is far more than he did with any of us, I’m sure. He has him signed up for Harrow already. Bella thinks I’m jealous, of course.’ Cassie frowned. ‘I don’t know, maybe I am, a little. Papa has only ever been interested in us girls as pawns in his diplomatic games—he and Bella had drawn up a short list of suitors for me, you know. I mean, I ask you, a short list! How unromantic can one get. It was what I was arguing with Bella about the night I met Augustus.’

  ‘Ah,’ Celia said.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing. Only you must admit that when someone tells you to do something you are very much inclined to do the exact opposite.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Cassie’s bosom heaved indignantly. ‘I fell in love with Augustus because he was a poet, with a poet’s soul. And because I thought he liked all the things I did. And because he is so very good-looking and most understanding and—’

  ‘And exactly the sort of romantic hero you have always dreamed of falling in love with.’ Celia kissed the now-sated and sleeping Bashirah and placed her carefully back into her basket. ‘And partly, Cassie, you must admit, because you knew Bella and Papa would not approve.’

  ‘I concede, that might have been a tiny part of the attraction.’ Cassie frowned. Celia had merely articulated what she herself had long suspected. When Bella had handed her the list of suitors her father had compiled, Cassie had promptly torn it in two. The confrontation had ended, as most of her confrontations with Bella ended, in an impasse, but over dinner, and during the coach ride to King Street, Cassie had found her resentment growing. It was while in this rebellious mood that she had encountered Augustus, a singularly beautiful young man who was most gratifyingly disparaging of her stepmother’s treatment of her.

  ‘We danced a quadrille that night at Almack’s,’ she told Celia, forcing herself to continue with her confession, ‘and during supper Augustus composed a quatrain comparing me to Aphrodite. He dashed it off right there on the table linen. I thought it was just the most romantic thing ever. Imagine, being a poet’s muse. When he told me about his impoverished state, I positively encouraged myself to fall in love, and the more Papa and Bella protested against my betrothal, the more determined I was to go through with it.’ Cassie brushed a stray tear away angrily. ‘The terrible thing is, in a way I knew it wasn’t real. I mean, there was a part of me that looked at Augustus sometimes and thought, Are you seriously intending to marry this man, Cassandra? Then I’d think about how much he loved me, and I’d feel guilty, and I’d think about how smug Bella would be if I changed my mind, for it would prove her right, and—and so I didn’t do anything. And the funny thing is that, though there were times when I questioned my own heart, I never once doubted Augustus. He was so impassioned and so eloquent in his declarations. When he—when he jilted me it was such a shock. He did it in a letter, you know; he didn’t even have the decency to tell me to my face.’

  ‘What a coward!’ Celia’s elegant fingers curled into two small fists. ‘Who was she, this heiress of his, whom he abandoned you for? Do I know her?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Millicent Redwood, the daughter of one of those coal magnates from somewhere up north. They say she has fifty thousand. I suppose it could have been worse,’ Cassie replied, her voice wobbling, ‘if it had been a mere twenty…’

  ‘Oh, Cassie.’ Celia enfolded her sister in a warm embrace and held her close as she wept, stroking her golden hair away from her cheeks, just as she had done when they were girls, mourning their poor departed mama.

  For a few moments Cassie surrendered to the temptation to cry, allowing herself the comfort of thinking that Celia would make everything better, just as she always had. But only for a few moments, for she had resolved not to spill any more tears. Augustus did not deserve them. She had to stop wallowing in self-pity, and anyway, what good did tears do? She sat up, fumbling for her handkerchief, and hastily rubbed her cheeks dry, taking a big gulp of air, then another. ‘So you see, Bella and Papa were right all along. I’m selfish, headstrong and foolish, and far too full of romantic notions that have no place in the real world. “A heart that can be given so easily cannot be relied upon, and must never again be given free rein.” That’s what Aunt Sophia said, and I have to say I agree with her. I have tasted love,’ Cassie declared dramatically, temporarily forgetting that she had abandoned her romantic streak, ‘and though the first sip was sweet, the aftertaste was bitter. I will not drink from that poisoned chalice again.’

  Celia bit her lip in an effort not to smile, for Cassie in full unabridged Cassandra mode had always amused her terribly. It was reassuring that her sister wasn’t so completely given over to the blue melancholy as to have lost her endearing qualities, and it gave her the tiniest bit of hope that perhaps her very tender heart would recover from the almost-fatal wound dealt it by Augustus St John Marne. Ramiz would have dispensed swift retribution if he ever got his hands on him. Celia toyed momentarily with the satisfying vision of the feckless poet staked out, his pale foppish skin blistering and desiccating under the fierce desert sun, a legendary punishment meted out to transgressors in bygone days in A’Qadiz. And then, as was her wont, she turned her mind to practicalities.

  ‘You are expected at the border of Daar-el-Abbah in three days. Ramiz will escort you there, but Bashirah is too young to travel and I’m afraid I can’t bear to leave her so I won’t be coming with you. It’s not too late to change your mind about all this though, Cassie. The city of Daar is five days’ travel from here and you are likely to be the only European there. You will also have sole responsibility for the princess. She has a dreadful reputation, poor little mite, for she has been left to the care of a whole series of chaperons since her mother died in the process of giving birth to her. The prince will expect a lot from you.’

  ‘And I won’t let him down,’ Cassie said, clasping her hands together. ‘Who better than I to empathise with little Linah’s plight—did I not lose my own mother? Have I not helped you to raise our three sisters?’

  ‘Well, I suppose in a way, but…’

  ‘I am sure all she needs is a little gentle leading in the right direction and a lot of understanding.’

  ‘Perhaps, but…’

  ‘And a lot of love. I have plenty of that to give, having no other outlet for it.’

  ‘Cassie, you cannot be thinking to sacrifice your life to a little girl like Linah. This position cannot be
of a permanent nature, you must think of it as an interlude only. It is an opportunity to allow yourself to recover, and to do some good along the way, nothing more. Then you must return to England, resume your life.’

  ‘Why? You are content to stay here.’

  ‘Because I fell in love with Ramiz. You, too, will fall in love one day, properly in love, with the right man. No matter what you think now, there will come a time when looking after someone else’s child will not be enough.’

  ‘Perhaps Prince Jamil will marry again, and have other children. Then he will need me to stay on as governess.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand how unusual it is, his taking you into the royal household in the first place. Daar-el-Abbah is a much more traditional kingdom than A’Qadiz. Should he take another wife—which he must, eventually, for he needs a son and heir—then he will resort to the tradition of the harem, I think. There will be no need for governesses then.’

  ‘What is Prince Jamil like?’

  Celia furrowed her brow. ‘I don’t know him very well. Ramiz has a huge respect for him so he must be an excellent ruler, but I’ve only met him briefly. In many ways he’s a typical Arabian prince—haughty, distant, used to being revered.’

  ‘You make him sound like a tyrant.’

  ‘Oh, no, not at all. If I thought that, I’d hardly allow you to go and live in his household. His situation makes it difficult for him to be anything other than a bit remote, for his people idolise him, but Ramiz says he is one of the most honourable men of his acquaintance. He is anxious to forge an alliance with him.’