‘You sound as though going to Egypt is something you would like to do, Mr Bretton,’ Mrs Taylor observed with a smile. ‘Yet you have established your fame as a playwright.’
‘A man may have many interests in his life, Mrs Taylor. Writing is but one of mine.’
‘Well, personally, I cannot imagine anything pleasurable in the finding of a dried-out old mummy in the depths of some stuffy old tomb,’ Mrs Blair said with a shudder. ‘God knows what manner of blight or disease it might be harbouring. Plague is quite common in Egypt, is it not, Lord Bonnington?’
‘It is, though I suspect any form of life that might once have existed in the tombs died out thousands of years ago.’
‘Speaking of such things,’ Captain Sterne said, casting an amused glance in Mr Bretton’s direction. ‘Lady Joanna has given us to believe that you are quite knowledgeable on the subject of ancient Egypt, Bretton. Is that right?’
Mr Bretton’s eyes narrowed. ‘I enjoy reading about it, yes.’
‘Then what is your opinion of Henniker’s famous disappearing mummy? I’m sure you’re familiar with Antonio Lebolo and his work in Thebes.’
Joanna only just managed to stifle a gasp of outrage. Antonio Lebolo was an antiquities dealer who had discovered the Archon Sotor’s tomb in the winter of 1819. Inside the tomb were fourteen coffins, each with a well-preserved mummy inside. Mr Frederick Henniker, a tourist, purchased one of the coffins from Lebolo, but upon reaching Cairo reported that the coffin, which he assured everyone had not been opened, was empty—hence the mystery of the disappearing mummy.
The story had made the rounds of the archaeological community, but it was highly unlikely anyone outside that would be familiar with it. ‘Again, I hardly think it fair to put Mr Bretton on the spot—’
‘And again, I do not mind answering.’ Mr Bretton’s blue eyes glowed with quiet enjoyment. ‘I am familiar with Antonio Lebolo’s discovery of Sotor’s tomb, though I suspect the mystery of the disappearing mummy has more to do with greed than it does with any supernatural influences. As I recall, Mr Henniker was present when the tomb was opened and he bought one of the coffins that supposedly contained the body of Sotor Cornelious, governor of Thebes. Knowing of the fabulous wealth that was often deposited in mummies, especially those of noble birth or position, I suspect he unwrapped the mummy during his trip back to Cairo in the hopes of finding gold coins or jewels hidden within. When no such bounty was found, he disposed of the mummy and claimed when he arrived in Cairo that it had mysteriously vanished.’
‘But that’s disgraceful,’ Mrs Taylor said.
‘Yes, it is, but not all that surprising when you consider that the main interest of men like Lebolo and Henniker is the value of what is to be found in the tombs rather than the historical relevance of the find itself.’
‘So, do you share the layman’s view that such things should be left where they are?’ Mr Chesapeake asked. ‘Or do you side with the archaeologists who feel they owe it to the world to bring such treasures home?’
Again, Mr Bretton smiled, tracing with his index finger a pattern of embroidery on the tablecloth. ‘I understand the value in bringing such treasures to light and thereby giving historians a chance to find out about the civilisations that existed long before ours, but I do take issue with the tombs being plundered without thought.’
‘By the natives, certainly,’ Mr Rowe said. ‘But surely you do not disagree with British explorers removing whatever antiquities we happen to find?’
‘Would it matter to you if the person breaking into your family crypt and carting off bits of your ancestor’s belongings was an Englishman or an Arab, Mr Rowe?’
The remark elicited the expected round of laughter and Joanna smiled too—until she saw the thunderous expression on Mr Rowe’s face. Clearly, he was not amused by Mr Bretton’s remark, though whether his annoyance stemmed from the comment itself or from the fact Mr Bretton had been instrumental in turning the question back on him, it was difficult to know.
‘But it is different now, isn’t it,’ she said quickly. ‘We don’t bury our dead with the same pomp and ceremony that was employed in ancient times.’
‘We certainly don’t have our entrails plucked out, sealed in a jar and placed in the grave with us,’ Mr Chesapeake said.
Several of the ladies went pale, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Joanna’s father. ‘I think, Chesapeake, that the ladies might prefer a little less detail. As for Mr Bretton’s comment, I understand what he is saying, though I’m not sure how we go about achieving it.’
‘Well, I don’t agree with him at all,’ Captain Sterne said with a tight, cool smile. ‘The world deserves to know about the treasures being found in that part of the world. The Arabs have no interest in such things. They open up the tombs, hoping to find treasure, and when they don’t, they grind up the mummies and sell the dust, claiming it has magical medicinal powers. I say we get out as much as we can as fast as we can.’
‘How? By blowing up the entrances to the tombs?’ Mr Bretton said, his expression darkening. ‘Far too much wanton destruction is being caused by such heavy-handed methods. Time needs to be taken to excavate the sites properly and precautions must be put in place to prevent random looting.’
‘A nice idea, Mr Bretton, but how do you propose to enforce it?’
‘I doubt anyone at this table has the answer to that, Captain Sterne,’ Joanna said, painfully aware of the tension between the two men. ‘And certainly not Mr Bretton. He hasn’t had the advantage of visiting the sites the way you have.’
‘Yet he was the one who made the suggestion,’ Sterne tossed back. ‘If he has an opinion, let him state it. I would be interested in hearing what he has to say.’
‘My opinion is simply that extreme care must be taken in the exploration of these ancient sites,’ Mr Bretton said. ‘And that accurate records must be kept. Lady Joanna and those with similar skills render an invaluable service to the archaeological community. They have the ability to sketch, in almost perfect detail, the temples and structures that are being found. A number of years ago, a French archaeologist did a sketch of the chapel of Amenhotep III. His decision to do so was providential given that the chapel was torn down a few years later. That would have been a piece of history lost had it not been for the fact that someone had taken the time to capture it on paper.’
‘Is that what you do, Lady Joanna?’ Mrs Taylor asked. ‘Draw pictures of what you see?’
Joanna nodded. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘So you’re saying, Mr Bretton,’ Mrs Blair said, ‘that you approve of women being allowed to go on these expeditions?’
‘Not all women, no. Some have a romanticised idea of what they’re going to find and are totally unprepared for the conditions they meet,’ Mr Bretton said, smiling at Joanna across the table. ‘Lady Joanna knows what to expect and enjoys being able to put her skills to good use.’
‘But to be away for such a long time,’ Mrs Chesapeake said, ‘and to work under such horrendous conditions. Surely a lady should not be exposed to such hardships.’
‘With all due respect, I think if a person has a talent that serves such a useful purpose, he or she should be allowed to make their own choice.’
‘Well, from what I read in the paper,’ Mr Blair said, ‘there are plenty of tombs being discovered and no doubt the potential for many more. What does it matter if the contents of a few are lost along the way?’
‘It matters a great deal!’ Joanna said fervently. ‘These are relics from an ancient civilisation. Who can say that a piece of sculpture tossed indifferently to one side might not hold a vital clue to the deciphering of an as yet undiscovered language, as happened with the Rosetta Stone?’
‘Well, there can be no question that my daughter is as passionate about the subject as anyone at the table,’ Lord Bonnington said indulgently. ‘But I think the rest of the ladies are finding it somewhat less interesting.’
‘Indeed, I would far rather ask Mr Bretto
n about his next play,’ Lady Barker-White said, stifling a yawn.
‘And I fear the gentlemen would find that equally tedious,’ Mr Bretton countered with a smile. ‘Surely there is something about which both genders can talk with equal interest.’
‘Good God, the man’s a diplomat as well as a playwright,’ Lord Amberley said. ‘You would do well to take him with you next year, Bonnington. Aside from knowing his history as well as anyone at this table, you might just be able to make use of his negotiating skills when you run into a hostile tribe.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lord Amberley,’ Mrs Stanton-Howard said. ‘If Mr Bretton went to Egypt, we would have no new Valentine Lawe plays and that would be most disconcerting. I can’t imagine that sitting in a tent in the middle of the desert could be conducive to writing fiction.’
‘On the contrary, I expect a wealth of new ideas would arise,’ Mr Bretton said. ‘But Lord Bonnington has assistants far more capable than myself. I have no experience in the field.’
‘And you won’t get any if you don’t put yourself forward,’ Lord Amberley said.
‘Very true,’ Bonnington agreed. ‘And perhaps Mr Bretton and I will have some discussions in that regard, but for now, I would like to propose a toast to Lord Amberley. I believe we are on the verge of tremendous discoveries and it is men like Lord Amberley, whose ongoing generosity has made these expeditions possible, to whom we owe our gratitude. Raise your glasses please. To Lord Amberley!’
‘To Lord Amberley!’ came the refrain, and then a moment of silence as the earl’s good health was drunk.
* * *
Shortly thereafter, Lady Cynthia stood up, a signal to the ladies that it was time to leave the gentlemen to their pleasures.
Glad to be excused from the company of certain gentlemen and their opinions, Joanna got up and marched out of the room. She did not look at Mr Rowe or Captain Sterne as she passed, too angry with the pair of them over their offensive treatment of Mr Bretton.
How dare they try to belittle him like that! They should have known better than to draw attention to a guest at her father’s table, and as gentlemen they should never have tried to humiliate him in such a manner. Thank goodness Mr Bretton had done such a splendid job of standing his ground. He had shown himself in possession of far more knowledge than anyone had given him credit for and, as far as Joanna was concerned, he had emerged far and away the better man.
More than that, his position on the removal of antiquities was exactly the same as hers and thinking on that brought to mind a book her father had found in a market in Cairo years ago. It was an old volume, one she suspected even the diligent Mr Bretton would not have found, and thinking to give it to him as an apology of sorts for the shoddy treatment he had received during dinner, Joanna slipped downstairs to her father’s study, intent on finding it prior to joining the other ladies in the drawing room.
‘Ah, good evening, Lady Joanna,’ Quenton greeted her as she opened the door. ‘I was just stoking the fire in case his lordship came down later.’
‘I suspect he will,’ Joanna said, knowing how much her father liked to end his days with a quiet glass of brandy. ‘He’ll likely have Lord Amberley with him, so you might like to top up both of the decanters.’
‘Very good, my lady.’ The butler collected the two crystal decanters from the credenza and then left, pulling the door closed behind him.
Joanna turned her attention to the bookshelves along the back wall, eventually finding the slim red volume tucked between her father’s trip journals. She was engrossed in reading a description of the Sphinx when the door opened again a few minutes later.
Expecting to see Quenton with the refilled decanters, Joanna looked up, only to catch her breath when she realised the gentleman standing in the doorway was not definitely a servant.
‘Mr Bretton! What are you doing here?’
He stood quietly in the doorway, making no move to enter or to retreat.
‘Forgive the impertinence, my lady, but I was hoping to have a word with you in private. I suspected there wouldn’t be an opportunity for that once we were all gathered in the drawing room again.’
Joanna smiled, but her heart was racing. If they were to be discovered here...if someone were to find them alone together... ‘How did you know where I was?’
‘I came looking for you. I noticed you weren’t in the drawing room and when I passed your butler on the stairs, I asked him if he had seen you. He told me you were here. And you needn’t worry,’ he said, walking into the room, but leaving the door open. ‘Having had two sisters at home, I am well aware of what is and what is not appropriate behaviour. But I don’t intend to keep you long. Only long enough to apologise for my behaviour at dinner tonight.’
‘Your behaviour?’ Joanna said, frowning. ‘What on earth have you to apologise for?’
‘It wasn’t my intention to provoke a heated discussion at your father’s table,’ Mr Bretton informed her. ‘Though I have been known for expressing unpopular opinions in the past, I generally refrain from inciting arguments over dinner and in company where I am not well known.’
The remark was so unexpected that Joanna actually laughed. ‘Mr Bretton, I can assure you, you owe no one any apologies. Indeed, if I am to apportion blame, it is Mr Rowe and Captain Sterne to whom the lion’s share must go. They were beastly in their behaviour towards you. Indeed, I thought your responses were remarkably restrained.’
Amusement twinkled in the depths of those hypnotic blue eyes. ‘You are kind to say so, but I think we both know I did more to incite their anger than to defuse it, especially in Sterne’s case. He didn’t like me taking the stand I did.’
‘What he didn’t like,’ Joanna said, ‘was your knowing as much about Egypt as you did. He wasn’t expecting that. Nor was anyone else.’
His voice dropped as he walked towards her. ‘Does that include you?’
Joanna blushed, as though she had been a child caught stealing sweets. ‘Yes, if I am being completely honest, though I’m not even sure why I say that any more. Every time I’m with you, you prove me wrong.’
‘Because you still believe me first and foremost a playwright.’
‘Probably.’ She raised her head and looked at him, trying to see past a wall of preconceived notions augmented by her memories of Aldwyn Patterson. ‘Is that so wrong?’
He shrugged. ‘The playwright is all many people see. Only those who know me well are privy to my secrets.’
‘And have you...many secrets, Mr Bretton?’ Joanna asked softly.
‘Everyone does. Some are good. Some are bad. And some...’ he said, reaching for her hand and raising it to his lips, ‘are life altering.’
Joanna stared at his mouth, watching it move across her fingers, feeling the warmth of his lips and his breath soft against her skin. ‘Am I forgiven?’ he murmured.
She was drowning in the intimacy of what he was doing. His head was bent over her hand, the dark fringe of lashes concealing his eyes. ‘Forgiven for what?’ she whispered.
‘For provoking Mr Rowe and Captain Sterne. I would hate to think my behaviour tonight had changed your opinion of me.’
Aware of the slow thumping of her heart, Joanna shook her head. ‘It has.’
‘For the better or the worse?’
The air crackled between them. ‘I’m afraid that’s my secret now, Mr Bretton.’
Something flared in his eyes. An awareness. An acknowledgement. An acceptance of the inevitable. And when he smiled, Joanna knew herself lost. All of her life she had been waiting for this, without even having been aware of what she was waiting for. But the closeness she felt to this man, the desire to be with him in every way possible, was undeniable—and he knew it. As the seconds passed, Joanna watched his smile fade and the expression in his eyes turn serious.
But he didn’t say a word. He reluctantly released her hand and sketched an elegant bow. Then he took a step backwards, slowly turned and walked out of the room.
Joanna didn’t move. Though her heart was pounding, she did not budge from the spot where he had left her.
She glanced down at the book, which she had forgotten to give him, and at the fingers of her left hand, which he had just kissed. Then she closed her eyes and groaned. Laurence Bretton, the playwright, had become Laurence Bretton, the man.
She was fooling herself if she thought things were ever going to be the same between them again.
* * *
By the time the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Laurence had had more than enough of high society. While he thoroughly enjoyed his conversations with Lord Bonnington and Lord Amberley, Sterne’s presence had been a thorn in his side all evening. Every time he’d looked up, the Captain had been glaring back at him, as though daring him to pick up where they’d left off at the dinner table.
And Albert Rowe was no better. He walked around the room with his chest puffed out, clearly more impressed with his consequence than anyone else, and took pains to avoid Laurence’s gaze at every turn.
Thank God for Joanna, Laurence mused. She was the evening’s true saving grace; the one person who made him grateful he had come. He was glad he’d had a chance to talk to her in private before the guests had reassembled in the drawing room. Though he had taken a certain amount of pleasure in putting Rowe and Sterne in their places, Laurence hadn’t intended to make things awkward at dinner and it was important to him that Joanna know that his apology was sincerely and genuinely intended. So he had sought her out and talked to her.
Kissing her had definitely not been part of the plan.
But now having done so, Laurence wasn’t in the least sorry. If he had his way he’d be doing a lot more than kissing her, though he knew thinking like that was only going to make it that much harder to get over her—
‘Mr Bretton,’ Mrs Gavin said, breaking into his thoughts. ‘We did not have an opportunity to chat before dinner, but my daughter has been most anxious to talk to you about your music. I understand you play the pianoforte exceedingly well.’
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