“Beautiful,” he whispers. “And I don’t mean the necklace, although it is striking.”
My cheeks feel uncomfortably warm, and I am suddenly glad the room is dark. He adds, “You are quite the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen, with or without ancient Egyptian jewelry around your neck.”
He bends down toward me, and gently places his arms around me. Then he brushes his lips on mine. A shiver passes through me as I return his kiss. His arms wrap around me more tightly, bringing me close. I am about to relax into his embrace and his kisses, when a loud voice outside the room interrupts us.
We spring apart without a word, and Lieutenant Beauchamp quickly unfastens the necklace, replaces it in the box, and latches it shut. He interlaces his fingers with mine, and leads me back towardthe secret door between the Music Room and the Library, which remains partially open.
The voices, which had been silent while we made this crossing, suddenly grow louder. I realize with horror that they are coming from the Library. We freeze.
“Miss Wendell isnota suitable candidate for marriage,” Papa roars.
“She is if I say she is,” Porchey yells back. “I’m in love with her.”
Papa shouts, “Do you think love alone will keep Highclere running? Do you think—”
Gently, I shut the secret door, so as not to make a single sound. I am mortified at the exchange Lieutenant Beauchamp overheard, and would understand completely if he wanted nothing more to do with me. With us.
“Lieutenant Beauchamp, I am s-sorry—” I stammer, knowing I need to say something but uncertain which of the horrible overheard words I should apologize for first. For the ungentlemanly anger between father and son? For the terrible judgment exacted upon poor Miss Wendell? For the forbidden word spoken aloud—money—and the suggestion that we are running low?
He takes my hands in his, and draws me close. Even in the low light of the Music Room, I can see he’s staring into my eyes. In a voice just above a whisper, he says, “There is nothing to apologize for. And don’t you think it’s time to start calling me Brograve? At least when it’s just us two, which I hope will be often.”
Chapter Forty-Three
SEPTEMBER 30, 1921
HAMPSHIRE, ENGLAND
Porchey wins out. For perhaps the first time in his life, he digs in his heels with Papa. No amount of yelling or name-calling or threats to his income alter my brother’s determination to marry Miss Catherine Wendell. In fact, Papa’s bullying and berating only makes Porchey more intractable, and I do wonder if Papa would have cut him off from inheriting the earldom if such a thing was possible. But then Mama intervenes.
For reasons best known to herself, she suddenly decides to take Miss Wendell under her wing. Mama prompts her friends to host garden parties in her honor, dinners, and even a dance trying to ingratiate Miss Wendell—Catherine, as she insists I call her—into society. She makes appointments for her with the finest dressmakers in London, always insisting that I attend along with Catherine’s mother. Does Mama feel a certain kinship for the outsider she knows Catherine to be? Does she recognize the same vulnerability she once had when she was marrying into this family? Perhaps she’s harboring fears of alienation from Porchey if she doesn’t support this union? Whatever Mama’s motive, Catherine is a sweet girl out of her depth with both Porchey and Mama, and I only hope she isn’t hurt unintentionally.
With Mama preoccupied, I fall into a glorious period of invisibility. As Mama flurries about Highclere Castle and Seamore Place with Catherine on her arm, planning the engagement party and wedding, which she’s set for next summer, I am largely left to my own devices. No nagging to accept every invitation that lands onthe breakfast table. No admonitions to get my nose out of a book or my eyes off an artifact. No innuendos about my interactions with the available men at every event I attend. No interrogation over Lieutenant Beaugrave.Brograve to me, I think with a blush.
For the first time since I was presented in society, I am free to follow my own interests. And it is marvelous. How do I spend these idyllic hours, second only to my days in Egypt?
Each morning, my maid throws open the windows to my bedroom, jolting me awake. After sipping a steaming cup of tea, I get into my riding clothes. Before the house fully awakens, rain or shine, I ride out on my favorite horse. Upon my return from the stables, I stride directly into the Music Room, where Howard awaits.
We settle down to work immediately, nibbling intermittently on the tea and toast the servants have laid out for us since we can’t chance being waylaid over breakfast. Papa is strangely busy with private projects that have me worried, so Howard and I labor alone. The comparison of the copies of ancient Egyptian records of court cases involving tomb robberies has given us a road map of the plundered tombs in the Valley of the Kings and so we know what to avoid. But we need more information about where to head. Mapping every object related to Hatshepsut and Tutankhamun, plotting every inch of the Valley of the Kings, poring over records—extensive and scanty alike—of the archaeologists that have gone before us, we search for the trail of the pharaohs, hunting for those pristine tombs.
“How goes the sleuthing?” A familiar voice startles me back into the present day.
Looking up from my pile of notes, maps, and grids, I see a grinning Brograve in the doorway. Disoriented for a moment, I shift from the far, far past to the present. Although I’m pleased to see him, for the life of me, I cannot recall why he is here.
“You’ve forgotten that I was coming,” he guesses with a chuckle. “How I love to see you lost in the past.”
How I love hearing him say that, I think. I never thought I’d meet a man who actually relished my fascination with history. Outside of Papa and Howard, of course, and that’s different.
“No, not at all,” I protest. “I just lost track of time, that’s all.Howard—I mean, Mr. Carter—and I have been pursuing a few leads on sites for next season.”
I suddenly remember that I’d asked him up early for the Highclere Castle hunt weekend. Even though I’ve been declining social invitations left and right, I could hardly refuse to attend a party in my own home. So I’d thought it might be the perfect time to be with Brograve while my parents are absorbed with entertaining. I’m doing my level best to stretch out the time until my parents or Brograve ask me to make some sort of commitment. Even though Brograve and I have never had an explicit conversation about our feelings or the future, in our circle, it’s not unheard of for couples to become betrothed on flimsier foundations than he and I share.
“Sometimes I think of you two as the detectives in one of those mystery novels. Instead of solving a murder, though, you’re solving an ancient puzzle,” he remarks.
“That’s not too far off the mark, Lieutenant Beauchamp,” Howard chimes in cordially. Usually he doesn’t bother interacting with the society folks who amble about Highclere Castle at my parents’ invitation, but Howard genuinely seems to like Brograve. It would be hard to dislike the affable lieutenant. His nature has proven to be uniformly even and pleasant, a rare and welcome treat after a lifetime of mercurial parents.
“Have you stumbled on the hidden tomb?” he asks, sitting on one of the fussier upholstered chairs facing us.
“Not exactly,” I answer. “Although we’ve been considering a promising triangular-shaped area outside the tomb of Ramses. About fifteen years ago, Theodore Davis—”
