A Grand Tour (Timeless Victorian Collection Book 2)

by Anthea Lawson

  The horses galloped a steady, if moderate, pace across the desert toward the billowing white tents that marked the Giza dig site. It turned out that only about half of the travelers were proficient horsewomen or horsemen, and so the party took the journey slow. Henry kept his horse near Evelyn and her aunt. Their companions, Mr. and Mrs. Jones, rode ahead with the group. They seemed well situated on their saddles. And Mrs. Tucker was clearly an excellent horsewoman, too, whereas Evelyn looked about as skittish as a newborn colt when she first mounted the horse.

  Last night, after Evelyn and her aunt had left, Henry took his leave soon after. He didn’t want to dance with Mrs. Worthen again, and he told Percy to dance with her.

  “Are you sure I’m virile enough?” Percy had joked, but Henry knew that his friend had some level of hurt over the woman’s proposal to Henry.

  Life never seemed to have any degree of predictability.

  Henry had also spent part of the night unable to sleep because his thoughts were a mixture of guilt over lying to Mrs. Worthen and forcing Evelyn and her aunt to take part in his deception; yet he had also felt elated be in Evelyn’s company. She was truly an interesting person to speak to. And when they’d danced, he was impressed with her determination to dance well, and it didn’t hurt that she seemed to fit perfectly in his arms.

  In fact, there were quite a few perfect things about Evelyn Tucker. For instance, the way that her dark hair had come loose from its bun and now streamed behind her as they rode. She smiled at him each time their gazes connected.

  “Are you all right?” he called out above the wind.

  “Yes, I am fine—” she said, the wind cutting her words away.

  The others in the party had sped up some time ago, so the others reached the tents first. Henry didn’t mind keeping whatever pace Evelyn and her aunt felt comfortable with. As long as they didn’t ride too fast, Evelyn seemed thrilled to be atop a desert horse.

  Once they reached the row of tents, the others were already enjoying refreshments.

  Henry dismounted, then helped down Mrs. Tucker.

  “Thank you, young man,” she said with a smile, although she was quite out of breath and her forehead was beaded with perspiration. They’d left Cairo just after sunrise, but the desert sun was quick to heat up.

  “The refreshments are just over here,” he said. “Let me help Evelyn down, and I’ll take you inside.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Mrs. Tucker said. “I can walk a few paces on my own, even in sand.”

  Henry nodded, then turned to assist Evelyn. She looked down at him, a grin on her face. “That was wonderful, Henry,” she said.

  “I’m glad you think so.” He felt genuinely pleased at her enthusiasm. He raised his hands to assist her, and she slid off the horse, right into Henry’s arms.

  He caught her at the waist, and her feet landed directly on his.

  “My apologies,” she said, moving back to give him room, although her smile gave her away.

  He kept hold of her waist. “You have very light feet, Miss Tucker.”

  She tilted her head as she studied him. Her eyes were positively bright, even in their deep-brown color, and her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders like a garden fairy. He couldn’t stop staring at her.

  “I must look a fright,” she said, touching the wild locks of her hair. “Oh, it’s all come undone.”

  “Yes,” he said, smoothing a rather rebellious lock back from the edge of her face. “It’s all come undone.”

  Her breath seemed to hitch, and he wasn’t even sure he was breathing. The sun was still a couple of hours from its zenith, yet he could have sworn the day had reached its hottest peak.

  Evelyn’s horse nickered behind them, and it was enough to break whatever spell Henry had been under. “I’ll get the horses to the trough so they can drink. Then I’ll show you where the others are taking their refreshments.”

  “I’ll help you,” Evelyn said, turning and grasping the reins of the horse she’d ridden.

  “You don’t have to,” he said. “I’m sure you’re quite thirsty.”

  “I want to help,” she said, and began to walk toward the grove of palms where the horses were stationed.

  He caught up soon enough, leading the other two horses. Soon, the horses stood happily in the shade, drinking from the trough of what was surely lukewarm water.

  On the return to the tents, Henry was thrilled that Evelyn accepted the offer of his arm so naturally. Everything about her seemed to fit him, intellectually, and . . . physically.

  Her pale-blue linen dress was an oasis in and of itself in this desert setting. The hubbub of conversation grew as they neared the tent where everyone had gathered. Beyond the tents was the dig site, and now the full view of the excavation appeared.

  Evelyn slowed her pace. “I didn’t realize there was work going on in your absence.”

  “As long as they are being paid, they will work,” Henry said. “They’ll take a break in a couple of hours while the heat of the day passes. Then they’ll get another few hours in before dark.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you’ve dug up so far,” Evelyn said.

  Henry grinned. “I can’t wait to show you.”

  They rounded the corner of a large white tent and stepped through the opening. The interior was cooler than outside but still plenty warm. The guests were sitting on various cushions surrounding a large woven rug. In the center sat several platters of food, including fruits, cheeses, and breads. Alongside the food was cold tea. All very European.

  They settled on the cushions between Percy and Mrs. Tucker. Henry felt Mrs. Worthen’s gaze upon him, and he refused to look over at her. There were plenty of people in the tent to speak with—she didn’t always have to single him out.

  The woman didn’t even compare to Evelyn in his mind. No other woman did. This thought brought him up short. Did he truly admire Evelyn to such an extent? Could he honestly say that he was so enamored of her?

  Evelyn laughed at something Percy had said, and Henry looked over at them. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with. At this thought, Henry shook his head. He might as well admit it. He’d become attached to Evelyn Tucker.

  “I was hoping we’d get some more of that tahini,” she said, turning her attention once again in his direction.

  “I’m sure we’ll have some for dinner back at the hotel.” He would make sure, in fact.

  When the group had finished eating, most of them followed Henry and Percy out to the dig site. The laborers were only too happy to take a break from excavating, and Henry led Mrs. Tucker down a set of makeshift wooden steps to the first excavation level. Then he extended his hand to Evelyn.

  As she walked around and asked him questions, he saw the excavation site with new eyes. It might look like only a large dug-out rectangle to the average person, but Evelyn was fascinated.

  “I can take only a couple of people at a time into the tomb,” Henry announced to the group at large. “Don’t touch anything—not even the walls. And try not to scuff up the ground with your shoes. It will create a lot of dust in the air.”

  “Perhaps you should take the older guests down first, Mr. Gaiman,” Mrs. Worthen said.

  It might have sounded like a thoughtful remark, but everyone knew that she was directing her comment specifically to Mrs. Tucker, who was the oldest guest of the party.

  “Normally, I’d love to go first, but I find that I can’t abide close quarters with little light,” Mrs. Tucker said, folding her hands in front of her.

  “Very well,” Henry said, not wanting to give any more attention to the fact that Mrs. Tucker might be uncomfortable. “Who would like to be in the first group?”

  A couple of people raised their hands, then another group did. Henry made five or six trips into the tomb before it was Evelyn’s turn. Even though he’d given his narration several times now, it was different when he helped Evelyn descend the narrow stairs into the gloomy interior. Mr. and Mrs. Jones ma
de up the rest of their group.

  The sun had nearly set, which made the place darker than previously, but there was still enough light to point out the hieroglyphics on the walls. On one side of the tomb was a stone sarcophagus. Not the elegant gold-leaf inlay that would house a pharaoh, but one made of simple stone.

  “It feels different down here,” Evelyn said in a hushed tone. “Like a cemetery.” She held onto his arm as they stood in the middle of the chamber. Mr. and Mrs. Jones kept near the stairs as if they were hesitant to fully step into the tomb.

  “I feel it too,” Henry said. “I suppose because it is a burial place, and the Egyptians were religious in their burial rites, centering them around their traditions of the afterlife.”

  Evelyn nodded, and her hair brushed against his shoulder.

  “How long has it been since you uncovered this tomb?” she asked.

  “We broke into it last December,” he said. “We were all stunned and couldn’t believe our fortune. Of course we knew it was always a possibility, yet to be there the moment it happened was an incredible experience.”

  “Who broke through?” Mr. Jones asked from behind them. “One of the laborers?”

  Henry looked over at Mr. Jones. “It was actually me,” he said with a shrug. “But that’s not the important thing.”

  “That’s amazing,” Evelyn said in a soft voice.

  Everything about her was soft. Her voice, her hand on his arm, the way her unbound hair swept against him, the occasional brush of her dress against his arm. Even her scent was soft, reminding him of a desert wildflower.

  “It doesn’t make you a braggart to share the information,” Mr. Jones said with a chuckle.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Henry said. “Although, as you can see, this excavation could never be handled by a single person. I would have never broken into this tomb if it hadn’t been for the collective effort of all those involved.” He pointed to the carved stone shelf that ran along the wall next to the sarcophagus. “We found priceless trinkets lining this shelf, including the canopic jars for the deceased person’s organs.”

  “Their burial practices seem so barbaric,” Mrs. Jones spoke up.

  “To us, perhaps,” Henry said.

  “I find it fascinating,” Evelyn said. “They were so advanced for their era, and yet so archaic. They might have removed the brain and other organs, but they always left the heart inside the body.”

  “The heart?” Mrs. Jones said.

  “Yes.” Henry couldn’t help but look at Evelyn when he said, “The ancient Egyptians believed the heart contained the moral aspect of the soul of a person.”

  “Which I suppose is true,” Evelyn said, meeting his gaze. “A very interesting concept.”

  Mrs. Jones stepped forward, coming into the chamber. She placed a hand on her heart. “That does make sense. Our heart is the center of our soul. It contains our love and hate—all of our emotions.”

  Mr. Jones moved next to Mrs. Jones and put his arm around her. “You are correct, my dear.”

  At that moment, Henry wished there weren’t so much need for propriety between he and Evelyn, even though they were supposedly engaged. Linking arms as he escorted her somewhere was all the affection he was allowed.

  The cool air started to settle around them, and he wasn’t surprised when Evelyn shivered. He wished he could pull Evelyn into his arms and warm her.

  “Can you read the hieroglyphics?” Mrs. Jones asked.

  “I’ve some knowledge,” Henry said.

  Evelyn moved closer to the wall of characters. “I, coming for the Amun, pure of heart within the pure body . . . I live through my words.”

  Henry was stunned. “How did you learn hieroglyphics?”

  She glanced at him, a sheepish look on her face. “From a book. Although I learned only a handful of them.”

  “You know more than a handful,” Henry said, impressed. He motioned for Mr. and Mrs. Jones to join them at the wall. “This is part of a prayer, which Evelyn just read. Amun is one of the primeval Egyptian gods. He is thought to be the creator.”

  Between Henry and Evelyn, they continued to read through the text of the ancient prayer. Henry had, of course, inscribed everything on the walls into his journal, and then into an official text that he hoped to have published in an article about the excavation one day. But hearing Evelyn repeat the prayer in her soft tones made the tomb feel different. Sacred.

  He hadn’t realized they’d spent extra time in the tomb until he heard Mrs. Worthen’s voice call down to them. “We’ve only a bit of daylight left and one more group to come down.”

  Cringing at the way her voice grated through him, so unlike Evelyn’s, he moved to the base of the steps. “We’re coming up now.” He let Mr. and Mrs. Jones precede them.

  Evelyn was right behind him, and she linked her arm with his.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Seeing an Egyptian tomb has always been a dream of mine.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her, wanting to ask her what her other dreams were and if he by chance might be able to fulfill them. But Mrs. Worthen’s voice sailed down the steps a second time as she greeted Mr. and Mrs. Jones, inquiring after their thoughts.

  Before joining the others, the only thing he had time to say was, “You’re most welcome, Evelyn.”

  The dark-green water parted before the steamboat as they left Cairo proper, and Evelyn leaned against the rail, keeping her gaze focused on the churning water. The entire party had boarded the steamboat a short time ago, including Mrs. Worthen, Mr. Smith, and Henry. The morning bloomed along the Nile with waving palm trees, sleek flowers, and chattering birds. Lively conversation sounded all around her, but Evelyn kept herself apart from everyone for a few moments.

  Inside the tomb and on the ride back to Cairo, Evelyn had felt something shift between her and Henry Gaiman. She didn’t know if it was his words—his compliments to be exact—or perhaps her heart. Maybe it was because they had been in close company for nearly two days, and she’d somehow grown attached.

  Now, above the hum of conversation, she heard him speaking with Mr. Smith. Was it because she knew his voice so well? Henry laughed. She loved his laugh. Deliberately, she kept her gaze on the Nile. She needed to take a step back from all the socializing and understand what her true thoughts and feelings were. This wasn’t something she could speak to her aunt about—Evelyn already knew that her aunt would encourage her affections toward Henry.

  But Evelyn wanted to know what she wanted. What she was willing to risk. She also wanted to know what Henry was truly thinking. He’d been courteous, even flirtatious. Kind, respectful, interesting . . . fascinating. The longer she was around him, the more she wanted to know him. He lived such a foreign and exotic life out here in Egypt. His life might seem completely opposite of hers, yet they both loved history and Egyptology.

  Surely that was some sort of sign?

  Watching the river wasn’t helping to clear her mind because the river only reminded her of the color of Henry’s eyes.

  When much of their party went inside the cabin area to settle into their rooms to escape the heat of the progressing morning, Evelyn reveled in the quiet.

  She felt Henry’s presence before he spoke. “Your aunt has gone to her quarters.”

  “All right,” she said, glancing over at him, then redirecting her gaze to the water. He had shaved, and she noticed the smooth skin of his jaw and the fresh scent of soap.

  He rested his hands on the rail, and the sleeve of his linen shirt brushed against her forearm as he leaned over to look at the water.

  “We’ll be passing through a herd of hippos in a few hours,” he said.

  “What they must think of this steamboat,” Evelyn replied.

  Henry chuckled. “What they must think of any of us. It would be interesting to be inside an animal’s mind for a few moments.”

  “Yes.”

  A few moments passed as they both watched the river in silence, and Evelyn wondere
d why Mrs. Worthen was leaving them alone so long. Perhaps she’d gone to her room as well. The sounds of a few people playing whist on one of the deck tables reached them.

  “Evelyn,” Henry said in a quiet voice.

  The way he said her name made her heart thump.

  “I know that I’ve apologized more than once for putting you in this situation,” he began.

  Evelyn looked up at him. “It won’t last much longer,” she said. “After I return to England with my aunt, you won’t have to work so hard keeping up pretenses.”

  Henry turned, leaning a hip against the rail so that he was facing her. “That’s just the thing,” he said. “It might have all started out as a pretense, but I find that I like you. Very much. And I’ve decided to confess to Mrs. Worthen before dinner tonight.”

  She didn’t know what to say. How did he expect her to answer? Regardless, her eyes started to sting, and she had to look down and rapidly blink. He was going to change everything between them, and she didn’t know how she felt about that.

  “Evelyn,” Henry said in that low voice again. He touched her chin and raised it.

  “I don’t mean to be e-emotional,” she stuttered. “I think I’m just tired. Or maybe it’s the heat. But I don’t think you should confess to Mrs. Worthen.”

  Henry didn’t reply for a moment, only searched her gaze until she felt that she must be blushing furiously. “I know that Mrs. Worthen will be furious and most likely embarrassed. There’s a good chance that she’ll withdraw her patronage, which means that my budget will be reduced drastically. I’ll have to let go of my apartment and live at the excavation site permanently.”

  “Then don’t tell her,” Evelyn said, her voice pleading. Henry had told her he liked her. And he was touching her chin. And he was going to confess his deceit to Mrs. Worthen. Evelyn didn’t want to face the woman’s censure while stuck on a close-quartered steamboat. “Don’t tell her, yet. At least wait until I am gone. I . . . I fear what Mrs. Worthen might say to me or my aunt.”

  He exhaled, dropping his hand. “You’re right.” Rubbing his hand over his jaw, he turned to face the water once again. “I suppose I can’t expect you to return my regard since I literally have nothing to offer a wife. A tent hardly suffices as a home. The desert scorpions will make sure of that.” His chuckle was dry and bitter.