Jack didn’t have a chance to answer before Miss Sullivan dove in once more. “We’re going down the Nile in a one of those quaint sail boats, all the way to Philae, although we’ll be stopping along the way, naturally.”
He glanced at…Onora, wasn’t it…She wasn’t looking particularly happy, nor had she the night before. He was beginning to think the tension etched between her brows had nothing to do with him, contrary to her remonstrations. Someone in her position, about to set off to see the grand sites of Egypt, ought to be in a more buoyant mood.
Miss Sullivan carried on, “Have you been down the Nile? I hear it’s a life-changing experience. All that history! It puts one’s own life, so uneventful and insignificant, into perspective, don’t you agree, Mr. Balfour?”
“I do.” He smiled, though his thoughts were wistful. “How can we not admire a civilization that lasted more than three thousand years and achieved so much? Despite the wonders of our modern age, I’m uncertain whether we shall be so well remembered, when several millennia have passed.”
He dared a surreptitious glance at Onora and was glad to see she was no longer glaring at him.
“I only hope our fascination for Egyptology, and the resulting flood of visitors, trampling blithely, shall not destroy what we revere.” Her voice was now soft, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “It would be so easy, would it not, to damage what has endured these thousands of years.”
“Very true.” It was a subject close to his own heart. “I fear even at the highest level, things arenot as they should be. Treasures are being lost, spirited away to private collectors as well as to foreign museums. A proportion is housed in Cairo but even then, the conditions are far from desirable. For every piece well-displayed, tenfold more crumble away.”
“Goodness me!” Miss Sullivan looked flustered. “I had no idea. I was thinking to buy some token artefact—a statuette perhaps. It hadn’t occurred to me to question the provenance.”
“It’s more likely you’ll be offered a fake antique than something originating from a tomb. But, yes, anything authentic has undoubtedly been acquired illegally.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I sometimes don’t know what to think. There have been grave robbers as long as there have been tombs, and many of the sites we unearth have long-since been raided. Who is to say our excavations today are any less wrongful?”
Miss Sullivan’s eyes lit up. “Are you working with one of the museums, Mr. Balfour? You speak so knowledgeably.”
He inclined his head in recognition ofthe compliment. “I’m with a dig, although I’m unsure?—”
“How exciting! Do tell us more!” Miss Sullivan pounced again.
Jack scanned the foyer. It was frowned upon to share too many details, but he was almost past caring. In likelihood, he wouldn’t be there much longer—though he didn’t know if his own patience would break in advance of his uncle dismissing him. He sensed the old fox was enjoying tormenting him too much to do that prematurely.
“It’s a temple, partially uncovered by a sandstorm some years ago. I’ve been helping survey the inner dimensions of the structure, drawing schematics, as well as recording hieroglyphs, of which there are a great many.” He smiled tightly. “Undoubtedly there are more structures in the surrounding area, though to explore all would take decades…”
“Do you hear that, Onora?” Miss Sullivan squeezed her niece’s arm. “It sounds very like?—”
Whatever she was about to say was cut off by the arrival of one who habitually had the effect of silencing those around him. Lord Seton had crossed the lobby on such silent feet that Jack hadn’t noticed him until he brushed his shoulder.
His lordship greeted the two women, then turned his icy gaze Jack’s way. “Still here, Balfour?”
He managed to make Jack feel as if he were back at Eton, caught loitering where he shouldn’t and coming to the attention of a disapproving master.
“You’ve errands to run, I believe.”
Jack clenched his jaw. It was bloody humiliating, being spoken to like a servant rather than Seton’s own nephew—even if the relationship wasn’t one of blood.
Seton slipped the flame-haired beauty’s hand through his arm. “Come now, ladies. The rest of our party has already set off. Our transport is waiting.”
It was a blow to Jack’s pride, but worse still was the realization that the woman he’d been admiring was betrothed to his uncle. Lord Seton had spoken little of his soon-to-be-bride, but Jack could see now what was obvious.
Her snappishness was likely nerves over her forthcoming marriage. She was about to become someone’s possession. Seton’s, in this case.
The thought made Jack feel faintly sick.
CHAPTER 3
Sitting beside Clodagh in the carriage, Onora kept her study firmly on the passing sights of the street. Seton was opposite, staring at her unabashedly, even while exchanging pleasantries with her aunt, answering her many questions.
The meeting with Mr. Balfour had left her unsettled. It was apparent he was not merely working for Seton but enjoyed a family connection. Clodagh, whose curiosity overrode her sense of propriety, had asked Seton about it as soon as they were out of the hotel. It seemed Mr. Balfour was the nephew of Seton’s late wife, and Seton hadagreed to bring him onto the dig, the fellow having proven his interest to be more than amateur.
Onora saw that she’d judged too quickly and behaved rudely. Now they’d be thrown into each other’s company, and she’d feel awkward about it—even after she’d apologized, which was evidently necessary.
Before long, they left behind the tumult of central Cairo. The houses became sparser as they headed south toward open, cultivated plains. Children, supervising grazing buffalo and goats, waved; others splashed in the river, or could be seen fishing from small boats.
Their destination was Giza, where three pyramids of pale limestone dominated the landscape, dazzling bright under a cloudless sky. Clodagh was trepidatious, having heard that one had to bend at the waist to navigate certain passageways, which were dark, hot and airless. She’d also been told there were bats.
