Besides, there would be no place for oblivion on the dangerous journey he was about to undertake. He’d have to remain sharp every step along the way.
He paid and left his half-drunk pint to grow warm as he stepped out into the frigid night once again to mail the letters.
Two days after Eden’s meeting with Max, Genevieve, the Duchess of Ashbourne, arrived in London by carriage, disembarking before Eden’s townhouse in a swirl of silk and vibrant determination. She was one of Eden’s very best friends, the owner of Willoughby Hall, and if it weren’t for her, Eden didn’t know what she’d have done after Richard’s death. She’d stepped in and given support and friendship to Eden, Daphne, and Lavender, turning them into a family.
But Genevieve was also a force to be reckoned with and never more so than when she thought one of her chicks needed saving.
Eden watched from the window, turning to Daphne with an exasperated sigh. “What on earth did you tell her to bring her here from her son’s estate in such a rush?”
Daphne shrugged, looking a bit guilty. “I just told her you’d found someone to lead your expedition.”
Before Eden could say more or prepare for the onslaught, Genevieve breezed into the drawing room. “It’s worse than I thought!” she declared, her green eyes alight with chiding warmth.
“London or me?” Eden retorted, meeting her friend with a fond embrace.
“Both!” Genevieve said, her laugh a bright prelude to the interrogation Eden knew was coming. “Did you truly find some brigand to lead your expedition? Eden! Why didn’t you tell me there was a lost love in your past?”
Eden glanced over at Daphne. “Just look at what you’ve done.”
Daphne shrugged unapologetically. “I needed her to come talk some sense into you since you’re not listening to me.”
“Should I expect Lavender to arrive next?” Eden asked with a sigh.
“No, we decided Lavender had enough to worry about,” Genevieve replied with a shrug.
Eden couldn’t help but feel ganged up on. Since she’d come to an agreement with Max the other night, she’d begun to move forward with her preparations. The Winter Dig Season would soon be upon them, and she had much to do if she was going to make it to Cairo in time. The last thing she needed was for her friends to try to talk her out of going.
“Daphne’s beside herself,” Genevieve said, her eyes full of concern as they all sat down around the tea service that had just been brought out. “She fears you’re throwing away your sense along with your reputation.”
Eden threw an accusing look at Daphne, who just stared back, completely unashamed.
“And what do you fear?” Eden asked Genevieve, feigning indifference as she poured tea, her hand not quite steady.
“That you’ll end up a cautionary tale, written about in some scandal sheet,” Genevieve said, accepting the cup. “All for a mad escapade with an equally mad man.”
“Then you’ll be pleased to know that this is no mad escapade. I’ve been planning it for years, as you well know,” Eden replied,though the sharp edge of her words softened. “And Mr. Thorne is entirely sane, I assure you.”
Daphne’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Are you entirely certain of that? Last I saw him, he was drowning in self-pity and dockside whiskey. He made it quite clear that he had no interest in helping you.”
The image stung, making her recall the bitterness of their first encounter and the guarded determination of their second. “He’s changed his mind,” she said simply. “And you know how badly I want this, how long I’ve been searching for someone to guide me.”
Genevieve watched her closely, the tension of unasked questions filling the room. “So you intend to go through with the expedition?”
“I do.” Eden’s voice was steady, but the weight of her friends’ disapproval hurt. “I’ve done nothing but prepare for this ever since we met. You’ve both been so supportive the entire time. Was that only because you never actually thought I’d manage to do it?”
She wished Lavender were here. Lavender believed in her. She was fairly certain of that, though at this point, how could she know for certain?
Daphne set down her cup, looking guilty. “Eden, please don’t be angry with us. We love you, and this whole Egyptian expedition was exciting in the abstract. I have loved listening to you talk about it. But the thought of you leaving the country, in the company of a man like this Max Thorne... It terrifies me!”
“A man like Max Thorne,” Eden echoed with a trace of disdain. “The son of an earl, educated at Oxford? A decorated war veteran? A man I’ve known since I was a child? If he is mad, then perhaps some madness is just what I need.”
Genevieve’s sigh was both exasperated and resigned, a testament to years of shared confidences and stubborn refusalsto heed well-meaning advice. “You must see how reckless this is. How dangerous. So much could go wrong, and you’ll have only this man who once broke your heart to turn to.”
Eden blinked away a rush of frustrated tears. “Max and I have agreed to put the past behind us. Our relationship will be strictly professional. He’s already led several successful expeditions for aristocrats and academics. I have no reason to believe that he won’t bring me home safely as well.”
“He’s led several expeditions ofmen,” Daphne pointed out. “A British woman in a place like that... I shudder to think what might happen to you.”
“I did not come here to quarrel,” Genevieve said, a rare note of pleading entering her voice. “You know I care for you, and so does Daphne. We can’t stand by while you rush headlong into peril without at least trying to stop you.”
