‘My God, I should think so. Another snifter?’
‘Wouldn’t say no. Then I read the other letter…’ Lord Henry chortled ‘…turns out it’s from this prince chappie, Prince Jamil al-Nazarri, demanding Cassandra’s hand in marriage.’
‘Good lord. But I thought you said she was dying.’
‘No, she rallied. She’s all right now. Fully recovered. Funny, it took Sophia quite a while before she could laugh about it. So there you are,’ Lord Henry said with what in a lesser man would have been described as a grin. ‘I’ve two pet princes in the family now, helped my standing in the Foreign Office no end.’
‘But what about the other one—the chap you were so set on Cassandra marrying—Wellington’s protégé?’
Lord Henry guffawed. ‘Another funny thing. Dead. Malaria. Touch of good fortune for me, because I’d as good as promised her. So there you go, all’s well in the end.’
‘A toast,’ Bunny said, rather sloppily tipping the dregs of the not-so-bad-after-all claret into their glasses. ‘To your new sheikh.’
‘Prince,’ Lord Henry corrected.
‘Whatever. Cheers.’
The preparations for the wedding of the Prince of Daar-el-Abbah could not be hurried. Everyone wished to pay their respects and their dues. Men of import and influence, heads of tribes, neighbouring princes, distant kith and kin all wished to take part in the celebrations. Not even Halim could find a way of speeding the proceedings along. They went at the pace they needed to go at. It was the tradition. Jamil, conscious of the fact that he was breaking almost every other tradition, determined to give his beloved bride every possible chance of being accepted by his people, had reluctantly accepted the fact that the wedding would take six weeks to organise. In fact, it took eight. Eight long weeks during which he and Cassie spent an agonising amount of time apart. Eight long weeks in which they both counted the days, the hours, until they were formally united. Eight long weeks of nothing but snatched kisses to fuel their passion.
Eight long weeks, but finally the waiting was over. The betrothal ceremony, the day before the wedding itself, also followed tradition, with the women in one part of the palace, and the men in the other. Celia, who had recently discovered she was expecting her second child, was not present for the celebrations, it being the storm season and Ramiz having too much care for her well-being to allow her to travel. The loving letter she sent was gift enough for Cassie, though. In truth, Cassie would not have cared if they had taken their vows with no one else present at all. All they needed was each other.
The bride-to-be’s hands and feet were painted in henna, her hair braided and oiled, and the women danced together. At this point, tradition would end, for the wedding day was to be spent celebrating the future, which meant, Jamil had informed his shocked Council, that the rites would all be new.
The morning saw the bride and groom take breakfast together in the company of their most honoured guests, the women sitting at table with the men, partaking of food from the same dishes. From behind her veil, Cassie’s eyes followed her husband-to-be with a longing that was almost tangible—to Jamil, at least. Though this was the most important day of his life, he could not wait for it to be over.
Cassie’s wedding gown represented a mixture of east and west. A half-robe of golden silk, with an overdress of gold lace, with long, tight-fitting sleeves, puffed at the shoulder, but instead of an underdress or petticoats, she wore harem pants of gold, generously pleated and caught into her ankles, trimmed with little gold bells that tinkled when she walked. A long cloak of gold lace trailed out behind her, also trimmed with little bells, carried by six little girls at either side, orchestrated by a proud Linah bringing up the rear. On her head, Cassie wore a golden tiara over which another lace veil was suspended, with her long hair brushed into a cloud, cascading freely down her back. On her feet, she wore soft kid slippers edged with diamonds.
Trembling with anticipation, she made the seemingly never-ending journey down the emerald green carpet from the entrance of the throne room. The guests were so numerous that they filled the ante-room at the back, and spilled out into the corridors, but Cassie looked neither to the right nor to the left, for her eyes were focused firmly to the front where Jamil waited for her, wearing a plain silk tunic, a long gold cloak to match her own and a golden head dress. His scimitar gleamed. On his belt was one of the famous yellow diamonds of Daar-el-Abbah. A matching diamond sat on Cassie’s finger. As she reached the bottom of the dais, Jamil stepped down to meet her and put back her veil.
‘You look like a goddess come down from heaven,’ he whispered. ‘My beautiful bride. How I have longed for this moment. I can’t wait for tonight.’
‘Jamil.’ She clutched at his hand, grateful for the support, suddenly unbearably nervous. But he smiled at her, his own particular smile, and she took courage and smiled back.
Their vows were said clearly and with a simple sincerity that made the women weep and the men harrumph.
‘I now declare you my wife,’ Jamil said, gazing deep into her eyes.
‘I now declare you my husband,’ Cassie replied, dimly conscious of the cheering as Jamil kissed her firmly on the lips.
The wedding banquet was a feast of delights, but she could barely eat. She and Jamil did not dance, but sat watching, their hands entwined, waiting. Finally, Halim stood before them, and informed them that the caravan was ready. ‘My very best wishes, Lady Cassandra,’ he said, bowing low. Halim was too wise a man to do anything other than accept Cassie wholeheartedly into the palace. In time, he would even begin to think, grudgingly, that the influence she had on Daar, and on its prince, was positive.
Climbing on to the high wooden seat of the white camels, Cassie and Jamil showered the cheering well-wishers behind them with gold coins, and were in turn showered with rose petals and orange blossom. They made the short journey to the Maldissi Oasis in a silence stretched taut with anticipation. The tent stood in the lee of the palms—a huge tent, an opulent tent with an enormous round divan taking pride of place. It was hung with garlands and strewn with more rose petals.
‘Darling. My own darling wife. Tonight I will love you as I have never loved you,’ Jamil said, scooping Cassie into his arms and carrying her over the threshold. ‘And tomorrow, I will love you more.’
He laid her down on the divan and began to do just that. And later, when they embraced naked in the pool of the oasis, they made love again. The cool of the water and the heat of their skin and the velvet hardness of Jamil thrusting inside her made Cassie certain that she had indeed arrived in paradise.
As he gathered her into his arms and spent himself high inside her, as her own climax pulsed around him, she tilted her head back and saw the stars. So close, they were. It felt as if she and Jamil had taken their place among them, where their love would burn brightly for all eternity.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0948-0
THE GOVERNESS AND THE SHEIKH
Copyright © 2011 by Marguerite Kaye
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The Governess and the Sheikh Page 23