Chapter 1
Shepheard’s Hotel, Cairo
Four and a half years later
Sitting in the far corner of the terrace, tucked behind a conveniently placed fern palm, Onora sipped her cordial, enjoying the luxurious evening warmth and some moments alone.
The air was laced with sweet acacia and jasmine, masking some of the earthier scents from the street.
Even at this time of the evening, the thoroughfare was busy, with hawkers peddling their wares just beyond the hotel steps.
The traffic upon the avenue that separated the hotel from the Ezbekiyya Gardens made for interesting watching—camels and oxen and braying donkeys, alongside the merry jingle of one-horse carriages.
Traveling with Aunt Clodagh had proven a challenge, first by train to Dover, then across the Channel before resuming on the railway to Marseilles.
The steamer to Alexandria had followed, then the final train, depositing them in Cairo.
Days on end of Clodagh lecturing on what would soon be required of her—not only as a wife, but wife to a marquess, as Lord Seton’s father had died late the previous year.
A certain period was obliged to pass before a wedding could be conducted, but that time was ending.
Aunt Clodagh was inside, with Seton and the strange assortment of guests who were accompanying them on his dahabeya—the traditional way to travel the Nile, newly refurbished and renamed in Onora’s honor.
As Lady Seton, she’d have a great many duties in the way of hostessing, as her aunt kept reminding her, regardless of whether they were in Egypt or London, or at the Seton ancestral seat up near the Scottish borders.
Seton had told her about the villa he’d built down at the dig site. It would all be very pleasant, no doubt; a great deal more luxurious than the tent in which she’d been used to living during her father’s time.
She took another sip of cordial, rather wishing it was champagne.
She’d had some for the first time the night before, when Seton had surprised her by presenting a ring, making their engagement official, announcing the event to the whole gathering.
Being in the public dining room, people at other tables had swiveled to look, bestowing benevolent smiles.
Onora had been given no choice but to allow Seton to slip the diamond solitaire upon her hand and to accept the good wishes of all. Her aunt had been almost as surprised as her, but delighted, naturally.
Feeling for her ring finger, Onora twisted the diamond back and forth.
She wasn’t used to how it felt, this family heirloom.
The size of the gemstone was such that it rubbed slightly either side.
Aunt Clodagh said she’d become accustomed to that, and soon wouldn’t notice.
The ring was like this new life, and the new role she was stepping into.
Not yet a perfect fit, but one that Onora was determined to make work.
In truth, she was exhausted. She rarely slept well or, at least, she couldn’t remember a time when her dreams hadn’t troubled her.
Lately they’d become more intense, and she’d no doubt of the cause.
She was anxious about marrying Seton, and her life changing in ways she couldn’t yet foresee.
That was enough to disturb anyone’s slumber.
Nonetheless, she was glad to be in Egypt for, though it pained her to think of her father, it was where she’d grown up. This was the place she thought of as belonging to, despite much of that early life having been transient and makeshift, moving from dig to dig.
Slouching lower in the chair, Onora pinched her eyebrow between thumb and forefinger. The technique, for the easing of tension, was something she usually only indulged privately, but she felt very much in need.
You’re going to make the best of this, and you’re going to be happy.
If she told herself enough times, it would surely make it true.
“Excuse me, but are you all right?” A smooth, masculine, well-educated and absolutely English voice interrupted her thoughts.
Onora bolted upright. Had one of their party been sent to fetch her? It certainly wasn’t Seton.
“Apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The fellow leaned over her. “I thought you might be…well…crying, and that might mean you needed assistance—or maybe a cocktail.” The last he uttered with a roguish grin, though it dropped quickly enough when Onora gave him one of her stares.
She’d perfected them during the crossing to Alexandria, when an inordinate number of Frenchmen had attempting flirting with her.
The trick was to keep one’s lips firmly compressed, then to sniff as if something particularly foul had wafted under your nose.
It sent even the most persistent scurrying away.
However, this one was still standing there, a drink in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
He wasn’t bad looking actually, with skin more deeply tanned than was usual for an Englishman, and dark hair curling at his nape.
His suit was a plain, buff linen with a number of pockets in the jacket, the upper buttons of his shirt were open and he had a green kerchief loosely knotted at his neck.
He certainly wouldn’t be allowed in the dining room dressed like that.
And a shave wouldn’t be a bad idea.
The stubble across his jaw would soon have the makings of a proper beard.
“Mint tea, perhaps.” He was still there, still talking. “Although a gin fizz is more efficacious, I find.”
“I’m not in distress, I don’t require tea, and I don’t accept alcoholic beverages from strange men. Nor am I lonely. If you’d be so kind, I’d appreciate you clearing off.” Being so rude didn’t come naturally to her, but Onora wasn’t in the mood for…whatever this was.
Can’t a person have a few minutes to themselves without being set upon!
Did her dress have something to do with it? In fuchsia pink, with a swag of chiffon across the bodice and no more than a flutter of feminine ruffles at each shoulder, it likely made her look more approachable than she was feeling.
To her annoyance, the rogue smiled, albeit sheepishly. “I admit, I’m the one who’s lonely.” Without being invited, he sat down. “Things haven’t been going my way, and I came over here to cheer myself up, since you’re rather pretty—or you might be if you weren’t scowling.”
Was she scowling? She supposed she was.
Good!
Onora did her utmost to scowl harder.
“Excuse me. I must join my fiancé.” He’d given her no choice but to leave.
Moving across the terrace, other people’s laughter drifted across to her and she felt a stab of envy. How nice, to be so carefree.
When did I last feel like that?
Not that her life was so awful. She was very fond of her aunts. Fond too, of those she’d become friendly with at Lady Margaret Hall. She’d enjoyed her time there, except that she’d always felt slightly set apart, knowing what awaited her at the end.
For goodness’ sake! Do snap out of this!
You’re not some forlorn heroine in a Greek tragedy, being dragged off for sacrifice to a sea monster, nor are you being forced to marry an ogre against your will.
Seton is everything a woman could wish for and, though you’re still getting to know one another, there’s every indication you’re compatible.
Certainly he’d been attentive since their arrival, meeting them in Alexandria no less, and accompanying them down to Cairo.
Moreover, their correspondence in the years since her father’s death had been regular, a letter penned by Lord Seton on the first of every month.
She’d often had trouble thinking what to write back but no matter the brevity or frivolity of her replies, his own had been steadfast.
She was rounding the balustrade when she saw the very man before her, in full evening dress and waiting on the upper step, looking every inch the refined English gentleman, with his jet hair slicked back, revealing a flash of white at each temple.
He looked down. “Your aunt said you’d come out for a breath of air. Not feeling unwell, I hope.”
“Not at all, but thank you for coming to find me.” Onora managed a smile.
“I’m pleased to hear that, my dear, and how fetching you look, though that shade of pink is a bold choice.”
He offered his arm though remained where he was, obliging her to mount the steps to come alongside. As she slipped her hand through, she looked back to where she’d been sitting.
The table was empty, the impertinent stranger nowhere to be seen.