Chapter 4
A week later
Sailing south from Cairo
Standing on the canopied top deck of the dahabeya, Onora breathed deeply from the breeze flowing across the river from the cooling desert.
She loved this hour of the day, when the heat subsided with the sun’s descent, and the sand was bathed soft gold in rose-tinted light.
Across the sky, amber and pink battled fading blue.
Some of the others were already gathering for pre-dinner drinks at the far end of the upper deck, snatches of conversation carrying over.
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the sound of the lapping water and the whisper of the dense papyrus along the bank. Somewhere close by, a nightjar was performing its clicks and rattles. A warbler, pushing through the reeds, added its low call to the twilight melody.
A few minutes more.
I’ll have to join them, once Clodagh comes up from her cabin.
Seton had been most generous, giving her aunt a room of her own. Onora had foreseen having to share, as she had on the crossing to Alexandria. Having a space—however small—where she might close the door and be alone, was welcome.
The boat itself was far bigger than she’d anticipated, and elegantly equipped, with a plumbed bathroom, of sorts, and a sumptuously furnished saloon, which doubled as a library.
Flat-bottomed, it had two main sails for propulsion, though the crew added their rowing strength when the wind failed to co-operate.
Sailing upstream as they were, the current was against them, making progress difficult at times, but she didn’t mind the slow pace.
The near silent glide of the dahabeya was preferable to the noisy, engine-driven paddle-steamers which ran a regular route down the Nile.
As for Seton’s guests, they weren’t so very awful.
Some were friendlier than others, and they were a strange mix, of such different backgrounds and ages, but who was she to judge?
Her upbringing, with the freedoms she’d been permitted, was enough for most people to think her an oddity, and her studiousness hardly improved things on that count, although Seton’s friends didn’t seem to hold that against her.
If she were honest with herself, she was growing fond of the Misses Feathermount, and the vicar’s wife was kind.
The Doctor too, was a gentle soul, and very considerate with her aunt, though Clodagh must try his patience, wishing to discourse on the best treatments for chilblains and bunions and other, even more embarrassing ailments.
The Colonel she was less sure about, his sense of humor being too ribald for her taste, but he was preferable to the far too serious Herr Müller.
And then there were the Auvrays.
Despite her initial warming to Madame Auvray, Onora was increasingly unsure of her feelings.
The couple’s manners were impeccable. He was more inclined to listen than to speak, which she found refreshing, while Virginie was without condescension, despite being so very much above Onora in all the ways Society would admire.
And yet, there was something which did not sit well with her.
Onora hated to admit it, but perhaps she was envious, for the two were obviously an excellent match, and Monsieur Auvray was so confident of his wife’s affections that he showed not the slightest degree of agitation when that lady practiced her charm upon the other men of their party.
Onora could not imagine herself so relaxed in Seton’s company, nor so impartial, were her husband to indulge in the sort of flirtation evinced by Madame Auvray. Not that Onora had observed anything inappropriate in Seton’s response to Virginie, despite that lady’s over-familiar manner.
And if I did?
Onora studied that thought for a moment.
I would mind; naturally, I would.
Though to what degree, she was unsure.
She’d had enough time in the company of her future husband to believe that she now knew him better, and there was nothing to give her particular pause.
Except for the way he looks at me, sometimes. As if…
She wasn’t sure how to conclude that thought.
She’d almost raised the subject with her aunt. Once, even, with Madame Auvray, knowing that she was more likely to be candid in her way of speaking—most especially on the topic of the way men looked at women, and what those looks meant and, more importantly, what they led to.
Onora had an inkling.
The library at her college in Oxford had provided sufficient reading material to give her an understanding of the mechanics, and the girls talked. Some had brothers, and brothers were apparently an even greater source of information than books.
To tell herself that she didn’t know the import of how Seton looked at her was disingenuous.
And soon, he and I shall be married, and I shall know everything there is to know about being a wife.
Her stomach gave a strange flutter, a mixture of excitement and nervousness, at the thought of being bedded, and the inevitable babies. She would be free in some ways and bonded in others.
No doubt it was these musings which had given her such broken sleep of late, and ever stranger dreams—of being touched in ways that were compelling and arousing, but which made her feel she had no power over her body. She behaved in those dreams in a way she would never consciously allow.
“Ah, Onora dear, there you are!” Clodagh’s voice rang out behind her.
“Enjoying the serenity; so very sensible. I could stand and listen to the quiet for whole minutes at a time and not be bored. But, goodness, I’m peckish this evening.
It must be all this heat through the day.
No sooner does it begin to cool than my appetite rears up like a dragon, demanding to be fed. ”
She fluttered her fan over the front of her gown.
“I hope no-one notices that my corset isn’t tightened as much as it ought to be.
Impossible to enjoy one’s food when being constricted.
You’ve got the right of it, Onora, hardly bothering with yours at all now, though it’s different for one of your age and natural slenderness.
You always look as you should, without the aid of such foundations. ”
She drew a quick breath. “As for me, I have only to look at that delicious pilaf of Abdullah’s and I can feel my waistline expanding. So clever, adding those slices of almonds and the pomegranate seeds, and the spices! My mouth waters thinking of the dishes he lays out for us.”
Onora was inclined to agree, for the scent of toasted dukkah was wafting from the cooking area on the open aft of the deck below.
“Miss Sullivan. Onora.” Lord Seton appeared and inclined his head to them both. “An evening filled with beauty, is it not?
“Most certainly.” Clodagh nodded keenly.
“The whole trip has been a delight, and each day brings something new. I’ve been studying Amelia Edwards’ record, A Thousand Miles Up the Nile.
How very much I would have liked to meet her.
What is it she says about riding a camel?
Something about its walk dislocating every bone in your body, and its trot reducing one to imbecility, and a gallop that is sudden death!
I had been thinking to take a ride on one of the creatures myself, but I think I shall now forfeit the experience. ”
“Very wise.” Lord Seton’s lips twitched in mirth. “You must make free to peruse the volumes in the saloon. There are several you might find of interest. Perhaps begin with Wilkinson’s Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians. We might discuss your thoughts upon it, whenever you feel ready.”
“How kind!” Clodagh beamed with obvious pleasure. “I’m so glad you’re soon to be married to our darling Onora. The two of you are perfect for one another, and how handsome your children will be!”
“Aunt! Please!” Onora’s cheeks burned.
Lord Seton appeared not the least perturbed. “Your commendation of the match means a great deal, to both of us, I’m sure.”
Onora felt a flush of gratitude—for his forbearance, and for the tactful way in which he dealt with her aunt. She was also very much aware of his hand, now resting on the small of her back.
“Now, ladies, I believe it’s time we joined the others. An aperitif before we dine, yes?” Seton gestured for them to walk ahead.
Onora cast a last look at the setting sun. Near touching the horizon, it quivered in the desert’s dying heat, sunk in somber violet and streaked through with a wound red as blood.