by Stacy Henrie
“I am helping with this dig, yes, but it’s more as part of a team.” He paused in his work to wipe his sleeve across his dampened forehead. The temperature had cooled considerably, but the exertion of bending, filling the basket, and lifting it were making him warm. “And while I will certainly be mentioned, along with everyone else, it’s you and Gran who are truly spearheading this project. Gran is the one who obtained the license to excavate, and you are the owner of the map. As such, the two of you will likely receive a lion’s share of the credit for any brand-new discovery made here.”
Stooping down again, Marcus loaded the basket once more. Admitting out loud that his name would probably fall below Syble’s and his grandmother’s in terms of importance and acclaim brought a resurgence of urgency to finish things here and return to his tomb. He wanted to help and to see the five of them experience success, yet this project would not mean the fulfillment of his dreams, nor would it provide the real notice he still hoped to receive as an archaeologist.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know all of that.” Syble sounded almost as if she were speaking to herself than to him. “No wonder you didn’t want to stop working on your tomb.” She suddenly jumped to her feet. “I can talk to the others and see if there’s something we can do.”
Marcus shook his head before she’d even finished. “There’s nothing to be done, and I haven’t seen Gran this excited in a very long time.” He rested the basket on the edge of the pit. “I don’t want to take that away from her.”
Setting aside his own dream for now had been hard, but he would do it again for his grandmother. He had often sensed her loneliness, especially after Marcus’s grandfather had died. Her only child lived in Britain, and her grandchildren and great-grandchildren who resided close by were busy with their own lives.
Still, that wasn’t his only reason for continuing with this dig. He threw a look at Syble, who seemed lost in thought. However much he would have denied it a week ago, he was also enjoying the time with her and Gran’s friends.
“Besides,” he said, discarding the sand from the basket himself, “who would you have to compete with, my dear Syble, if I weren’t here?”
She didn’t respond right away, leaving his words hanging in the cool air between them. Did she understand he’d spoken the question and endearment in jest? Or at least, as he waited with growing uneasiness for her to say something, he told himself that he’d only been teasing.
At last she smiled, though it held an uncharacteristic touch of shyness. “You’re a good man, Marcus, and I’m glad you agreed to help us.”
“You—you are?” Had she spoken sincerely?
The bashfulness faded from her features as she folded her arms and tipped up her chin. “That doesn’t mean I can’t wait to see your reaction when we discover that the map does, in fact, lead to a tomb.”
“Ah, yes.” He laughed lightly and climbed out of the pit. “It’s growing rather late. Are you ready to be finished for the night?”
Syble gave him a nod and picked up the trowel, while he carried the basket. “Thank you again…for your help.”
Once more, he detected a note of self-consciousness behind her gratitude. Did her energetic personality hide more than perceptiveness? Might there be some vulnerability tucked away too? It was an intriguing notion, made all the more so by his wondering whether any of her suitors, including Kirk, had ever seen this side of her.
They placed the items just inside the supply tent, then bid each other good night. As he returned to his tent, Marcus couldn’t help feeling grateful he had ventured outside tonight. He might have more unanswered questions now about Syble, but he didn’t regret their time alone together. Perhaps it was another reason for not rushing too quickly to finish this dig. Because once it came to an end, so would his time with Syble.
* * *
Dressed in one of the nicer gowns she’d left behind at the hotel, Syble flopped onto the bed, shut her eyes, and breathed a sigh of contentment. She’d thoroughly enjoyed camping in the desert the last week, but nothing quite compared to sleeping on a soft mattress rather than a stiff cot. Sleep hadn’t come easily to her the night before either, and all Syble wished to do in this moment was take a nap until her grandmother was ready to head to the dining room for lunch.
Unfortunately, her mind refused to relax, filling instead with thoughts about a certain dark-haired young man with green eyes and glasses, whom they’d temporarily left behind at the dig site. Marcus had told them at breakfast that he had some business to conduct before he returned to the hotel in Luxor for the weekend. He’d insisted the rest of the group didn’t need to wait for him, though.
Syble had been startled at his sudden appearance beside her at the pit last night, but her surprise had quickly turned to gratitude when he hadn’t been overly angry with her for digging alone. He’d surprised her further by offering to help. And though she’d been avoiding time alone with him all week, she still didn’t regret talking and teasing with him while they worked.
Their conversation had allowed her a glimpse at what Marcus had given up to join them on their dig project. He’d temporarily sacrificed his dream for theirs. In that moment, Syble had recognized that Marcus was a far better man than she’d ever given him credit for being. She had misjudged him in a way, seeing only his outward behavior and preferences, just as people had done with her.
That revelation had left her humbled but also proud to know Marcus as a person, an archaeologist, and a friend. But when he’d called her my dear Syble, even in teasing, she felt something decidedly more than friendship toward him. A warmth had spread through her entire being, leaving in its wake an odd feeling of shyness.
Opening her eyes, Syble glared at the ceiling. When had she ever felt shy a day in her life? Nervous, yes. Uncertain, of course, but never, ever bashful. Yet a sweet endearment and playful smile from Marcus quieted her in a way nothing and no one had ever done before.
“What am I going to do?” she muttered half to herself and half in prayer.
It had been eight days since she and Marcus had been thrown together again, and she was fast losing her fight to remain unaffected by him, his words, and his touch. A familiar tingle had swept up her arm when he’d taken her hand in his to help her out of the pit last night. If that kept up, how would she remain steadfast and firm in her new plans of independence?
Maybe if she talked with the widows about Marcus’s dream to make a grand discovery and win acclaim, they would allow him to return to his other project. That solution would solve two problems at once—Marcus would be free to continue pursuing his plans, and Syble would be free of having to manage her daily, and now nightly, interactions with him.
Except the idea didn’t bring the welcome relief she’d been expecting. Disappointment washed through her instead at the thought of no longer seeing or speaking with Marcus.
As a friend, she firmly told herself.
But as his friend, she couldn’t go against Marcus’s wishes and talk to Ethel and the others without his permission—even if doing so might make things easier for herself.
What else could she do for Marcus then, while he sacrificed his time and dreams for the rest of them? Syble sat up, pondering the question as she tucked her legs beneath her. She could bury these complex feelings, for one, and choose to interact more openly with him—strictly as friends, of course. But was there something else Marcus needed, in addition to discovering a treasure trove of Egyptian artifacts?
If there was something else she could do for him, she had to admit that she was at a loss to name it. Maybe it would help if she made a list of what she knew about him. Removing her notebook from her satchel on the floor, Syble tapped her pencil against her lips as she considered Marcus’s personality and characteristics.
Used to be very irritating? Organized to a fault? Struggles with spontaneity?
She shook her head in exasperation. This was supposed to be a list of his good qualities. Setting pencil to paper, she began to
write.
A true gentleman, a sense of humor, quick to think of clever things to say, passionate about Egypt and being an archaeologist, organized and efficient in his profession, cares very much about his grandmother, willing to sacrifice his plans for hers, strong yet kind, attractive hair and eyes, handsome face, warm smile.
Thoughts of those last few traits set her pulse tripping and brought to mind how Marcus had looked the night before. Devoid of his usual jacket and vest, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, he’d appeared relaxed, almost carefree. Unfortunately for Syble, that had only added to his overall attractiveness.
“I think that’s enough of a list for now,” she muttered out loud.
As she read back over what she’d written, she couldn’t help wondering why someone like Marcus remained a bachelor. He didn’t seem opposed to marriage or to women, though he had admitted to not having found the right girl. Maybe that was how she could help him. She could find Marcus a suitable wife.
The idea elicited a contrasting mixture of anticipation and dread, though Syble wasn’t sure she wanted to know why. It couldn’t be the notion of Marcus spending time with some other young lady that she found uncomfortable. So it had to be the potential difficulty of such a task. After all, finding Marcus a wife while in Egypt would be more of a challenge than it would be in London. Still, there were a number of unwed women of marriageable age visiting Luxor as tourists. And that circumstance could play in her favor, since Marcus would wish for someone who shared or at least understood his passion for Egypt.
The young woman would likely need to be from an upstanding family too. Marcus’s situation meant he didn’t need to marry an heiress, though. He would be free to marry for love.
Her stomach twisted at the realization, but Syble refused to attribute it to anything other than being hungry. It was nearly time for lunch anyway. She put away her notebook to put on her shoes, then she knocked on the door of the adjoining washroom.
“Nana? Are you ready?” she called through the door. “Or would you like me to go find the five of us a table?”
“Why don’t you go ahead, my dear? I’ll be down shortly.”
Syble pulled on a pair of clean gloves. The action reminded her of Marcus removing her soiled ones after her accident. A blush heated her cheeks at the recollection. She should probably add solicitous and caring to her list too.
Pushing aside the pleasant but unsettling memory, she went downstairs to the dining room. Rose and Ethel were already seated at a table. Syble had the happy thought to turn to them for advice. Marcus’s grandmother would have greater insight into her grandson than Syble, and Rose might prove helpful in that regard too.
“Hello, ladies,” Syble said as she slipped into a chair.
They both smiled at her. “You look so pretty in blue,” Rose commented.
“Thank you. It was nice to put on something I knew wouldn’t be covered over in dust and sand by bedtime.”
Rose chuckled, while Ethel nodded agreement. “I’m not sure how my Marcus does it week after week for five months out of the year. Camping in the desert takes some getting used to.”
“Speaking of your grandson…” Syble folded her hands atop the tablecloth and leaned forward. She preferred to have this conversation before Marcus showed up. Getting right to the point, she announced in a self-assured tone, “I think Marcus needs to get married.”
CHAPTER 10
At first, the two widows stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Syble. Then they turned to each other and exchanged a long look. “You think Marcus needs to get married?” Rose repeated. “We couldn’t agree more, could we, Ethel?” A full smile lifted Rose’s lined cheeks.
“It would be so wonderful.” Ethel reached out and patted Syble’s gloved hand. “My Marcus is such a fine young man, and the two of you would be perfect—”
Syble blushed at their mistake and instantly shook her head. “Oh no, not me.” She attempted a laugh, though it sounded forced, even to her own ears. “He and I are friends and nothing more.” Hopefully her decisive words would put an end to the matchmaking hopes the widows seemed to have in mind.
Though he hadn’t shared what sort of girl would be the right one for him, she imagined Marcus would want a wife who was soft-spoken, reserved, and socially proper. Not one given over to things like excitement or fun or spontaneity. Someone like Miss Edith Dyer. The reminder of Mr. Kirk’s fiancée pinched painfully at Syble’s thoughts, jarring the still-healing ache of his rejection.
Rose gave a delicate cough. “Did you have someone else in mind, dear?”
“Not really,” Syble said. “As his friend, I just want to help him. But I’d ask that we keep this conversation between the three of us for now.” Nana and Florence didn’t need to know Syble had been asking, however innocently, about Marcus.
“Of course,” the two women murmured.
“Marcus did tell me that he hasn’t found the right girl to marry yet.”
Rose and Ethel glanced at each other again. “The two of you have talked about marriage?” Ethel asked, turning back to Syble. Her tone hinted at curiosity and surprise.
Syble’s blush deepened—this wasn’t going as well as she’d anticipated. “We talked more about society and the social season and whatnot.”
“He thought he’d found the right girl a few years ago.” Ethel fiddled with her knife and spoon. “But she broke his heart in the end.”
So Marcus had fallen in love, at least once, in the past. Syble had suspected as much. Something about his attitude when he’d talked about his limited attendance at social functions had reminded Syble of herself after Mr. Kirk had confessed that he’d chosen Miss Dyer.
“Would you be willing to tell me what happened?” Syble wanted to hear the story, but if Ethel felt it too personal to share, she would content herself with simply knowing Marcus had loved and lost as she had.
Ethel understandably hesitated, then straightened in her chair and lowered her hands to her lap. “It might help for her to know,” she confided to Rose, who offered a nod of approval. Returning her attention to Syble, Ethel said, “Her name is Esme. She and Marcus met at a ball at the start of the season one year. I’ve been told she is remarkably beautiful and very charming and vivacious. I think Marcus fell in love with her immediately.”
Syble shifted in her seat, the uneasiness from earlier churning anew inside her stomach. She’d been described by many as being vivacious. Did she remind Marcus of this woman—and the pain Esme had caused him?
“By all accounts, she appeared to be as enamored with him as he was with her,” Ethel continued. “He began to court her a few weeks after their first meeting. Things began well enough between them. Esme was fond of having fun, and she brought out that side of Marcus.”
Just as Syble had the other week when she’d challenged him to a race? She swallowed, not sure she wanted to hear any more. But she couldn’t very well ask Ethel to stop without drawing the woman’s suspicion.
Unaware of Syble’s discomfort, Ethel kept talking. “Eventually Marcus asked for her hand in marriage, and Esme agreed.”
“Wait,” Syble interrupted. “They became engaged?” She’d assumed things hadn’t worked out for the pair before a betrothal had taken place.
Ethel gave a sad nod. “The wedding plans were nearly all in place when Esme came to him in tears and told him that she couldn’t marry him after all.” The quiver in his grandmother’s voice showed, even in the retelling, how much Ethel still felt her grandson’s pain. “She’d decided that she couldn’t live away from London society seven months out of the year and that residing in the desert or in Luxor would feel too isolating and confining. Esme wanted to remain among her friends and family and travel to a variety of foreign places when she had the whim to go, not be shuttled between Egypt and England as the wife of an archaeologist. I suppose she feared most that a marriage with Marcus would stifle her.”
Syble sat back, stunned and hurting on Marcus’s behalf. “No wonder h
e hasn’t tried to find someone else.” Or willingly embraced spontaneity and fun. Doing so would likely be a sore reminder of Esme and their time together.
“It was a very difficult time for him and his parents. For Ethel too.” Rose placed a comforting arm around her friend. “The engagement was broken and the wedding canceled. But Marcus didn’t want Esme to suffer public gossip or censure around it, so he dropped hints to some prominent people that it was him who had changed his mind. Not her.”
Ethel lifted her chin. Her gaze remained compassionate yet grieved. “Esme married someone else the following year, and she and her husband now reside permanently in London, when they aren’t traveling. Marcus was never one who thrived on social events to begin with, but I think the idea of running into Esme in public is the real reason he attends so few gatherings anymore.”
“I can’t say I blame him.” Syble could well imagine the hurt and grief she would feel if she were to see Mr. Kirk and Miss Dyer together as an engaged couple. Perhaps in their past heartaches she and Marcus weren’t so different from each other. Though, unlike Syble, who was clearly not proper enough for marriage, Marcus would still make a wonderful spouse and companion. “Is he willing to open his heart again?”
Ethel’s sorrow disappeared. “Yes, I’m sure of it.”
The arrival of Syble’s grandmother and Florence interrupted the conversation. But, true to their word, neither Ethel nor Rose hinted at what the three of them had been discussing, even when Nana asked. Rose simply answered, “Oh, you know. Just the past.”
Once all five of them had ordered lunch, the talk around the table centered on their first week of desert camping and the progress of the dig. Syble, Nana, and Rose remained optimistic that they’d find something soon, maybe even in the next week or two, while Florence argued it would likely take longer. Ethel remained neutral—she hoped they would discover something before long, but she didn’t want her time with her grandson ending too soon.