Chapter One
September 14th, 1892
Dearest cousin,
I trust this letter finds you well.
In our last correspondence, we discussed your difficulties in hiring a guide for your Egyptian expedition. I am utterly incensed on your behalf that the men you’ve approached have refused to take you seriously, but I suppose we cannot combat centuries of misogyny. That said, I believe I may have found someone willing to agree to your terms.
Your old beau, Max Thorne—
Upon reading the nameMax Thorne, Lady Eden Pemberley’s hands shook so badly that the letter she’d been reading slipped through her fingers and fluttered to the floor at her feet. She stared at it for a long moment, as though it were a coiled snake, ready to strike.
Max Thorne.
He’d been her childhood best friend, her first love, the man she’d once thought she’d spend her life with...
She hadn’t so much as heard his name in a decade, but hardly a day went by that she didn’t think of him.
Trembling, she reached down and grabbed the letter, smoothing it out on the table in front of her, then tracing his printed name with her fingertip, trying to ignore the hollow ache deep inside her. Taking a breath, she forced herself to read on.
...has sold his army commission after many years of service in Africa. When I ran into him last evening, he told me he has since led several expeditions to Egypt. As you may recall, he studied at Oxford before following the drum. I believe he has the necessary skills to guide you safely to your destination, and I imagine you are more likely to succeed in engaging him than most, given your past association.
I caution you, however, that he has become a difficult man. He has acquired a fondness for drink, and he spends most of his time at The Smuggler’s Lantern, a dockside tavern in London, where you can find him if you wish.
I hope this helps you on your journey,
Lucas
Eden set the letter aside, her thoughts racing. She had long resigned herself to never hearing Max’s name again, and she had tucked his memory away in the trunk of her past like an artifact too fragile to handle. Once, she would have done anything to be with him, even defied her father if she’d thought it would have made any difference.
But the moment her father had refused to allow them to wed, Max had let her go. He hadn’t fought for her. He’d joined the army, run away, and she’d never heard from him again.
She hadn’t thought she still had any anger left in her, had thought she’d burned it all away long ago, but apparently, she’d needed only the slightest spark to set it afire again.
“Eden, you’re trembling. What’s happened?” Her dear friend, Daphne Fitzroy, the Countess of Wyndham, looked up from the nearby chair where she’d been putting the finishing touches on one of the beautiful gowns she designed. Her blue eyes filled with concern as she searched Eden’s face.
“I’m... quite alright.” Eden attempted a smile, her voice sounding unconvincing even to her own ears. She glanced around the library, seeking refuge in the oak shelves filledwith volumes in neat rows, the morning light reflecting off the leather spines and pooling across the polished floor below. It had become a sanctuary since she’d moved to Willoughby Hall two years ago after her husband’s death, a place where she could forget that anything existed beyond her own ambitions and the friendships she’d made. Until now.
Daphne frowned. “Is it bad news?”
“It is... news, certainly.” Eden’s laugh was brittle. She pressed a hand to her mouth, willing herself to speak with more composure. “My cousin Lucas thinks he’s found a guide for my expedition.”
“Well, that’s not bad news at all!” Daphne leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, Eden! I’m so happy for you. I know you were starting to lose hope.”
“Yes, but it isn’t just anyone. It’s... someone I used to know.” She swallowed, her voice growing smaller. “Someone I used to love.”
“Someone you used to love?” Daphne exclaimed, abandoning any pretense of continuing her work. She set down her fabric and moved swiftly to Eden’s side, peering at her with a mixture of mischief and concern. “How have we been friends for this long without me managing to extract the story of this lost love?”
“It was so long ago,” Eden replied, waving a hand dismissively, as though Max had meant nothing. “He was a childhood friend. My first love. But he was the fourth son of an earl, with no prospects, and my father refused to allow us to wed. Max joined the army, and I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”
Daphne squeezed her shoulder and leaned against the desk beside her. “Sounds like there’s more to the story than that.”
“I was a fool,” Eden said, shaking her head ruefully. “A fool with a naive heart who thought the most beautiful man inYorkshire lovedme—a tomboy, a bluestocking—enough to stand up to my father.”
Daphne smiled, unperturbed. “Have you considered that this is the perfect opportunity to reconnect with him? Perhaps fate has intervened on your behalf.”
“Do you believe in such things?” Eden scoffed. She certainly didn’t. She was a scientist at heart, after all.
