match would offer Usi unprecedented access to the heart
of Egypt’s power.
“We must not delay,” Nuru said just loudly enough so
Usi had to hear. “It is time for you to return to the palace,
my lady.”
Meskhenet nodded and stared at Usi without comment
or emotion, an expression to suggest he was no longer
worthy of her time. She had seen her mother use it with
great success, and it worked this time as well, because the
chief architect moved aside. Saying nothing to him, she
continued toward the river.
As they neared the line of palms on the shore, Nuru
whispered, “He is watching you, my lady.”
“Usi?”
Nuru peeked back. “He is, too.”
Too? Meskhenet could not look behind her as Nuru
had, but she took with her the joy of knowing Kafele’s
heart was with her, even when he could not be. She hoped
it would strengthen her for what was to come.
***
Darcy put her notebook onto her lap and considered
what she had written. With every word, this story was
proving to be less and less like the other tales Jaddeh had
told her. Was she really recalling her grandmother’s story?
This was most certainly not a tale shared with a child.
And it was a story that added to her disquiet with her
memories of Simon’s caresses. She wanted them to be more
than a mistake. He could not pretend he was completely
engrossed in his work any longer, because she had seen
his strong passions each time he held her.
She looked down at what she had written. Meskhenet
and Kafele yearned for more than these heated kisses . . .
and so did she. Maybe Grandmother Kincaid had been
right. Maybe she was a wanton. In Simon’s arms, she
wanted to throw aside all inhibitions and follow her
passions as they merged with his.
Her fingers trembled as she closed her notebook and
put a top on the ink bottle. Setting both on the desk, she
sat and turned another sheet of paper into the typewriter.
She bent to study the next page of Simon’s work. By now,
she was well acquainted with his abbreviations, so she
did not have to interrupt him or seek him out in the library
to explain.
She paused with her fingers arched above the keys.
Was Simon in the library or with his father? It was
midmorning, so Hastings might be awake. She wondered
how he fared. Surely Mrs. Pollock would have come to
warn her if something more was amiss.
Behind her, the door opened and closed. She turned,
smiling, to greet Simon. Her smile faltered when she saw
Reverend Fairfield. He was wearing a great coat. Was he
just arriving, or was he on his way back to the vicarage?
“Simon isn’t here,” she said.
“I’m not looking for him.” The vicar’s voice was as
strained as his expression. “I was looking for you.”
“Why?”
“Because I have something to say which is for your
ears alone.”
“Of course.” She wished she was as serene as she
sounded.
“You should know very little happens in Halyeyn I’m
not privy to eventually. That includes Rosewood Hall.”
He picked up one of Simon’s books and stared at its spine
as he added, “You were a fool to think I wouldn’t hear
that, last night while Hastings was lying injured at the
foot of the stairs, you were in your rooms alone with
Simon.”
“That’s true, but it isn’t as you seem to think.”
“What I seem to think? I think you spent the night
with him. Is that false?”
She flushed, but kept her gaze on his face. Coming to
her feet, she held her head high. She would not let him—
or anyone else—shame her when she had done nothing
wrong other than to have a fearsome nightmare. Simon’s
arms around her as he comforted her was a precious
memory. Not only had she felt safe, but that she was where
she belonged, a feeling she had not had since she had been
brought to England.
Until she had a chance to sort all of this out and
persuade Simon that leaving what had happened between
them unsaid was a mistake, she did not wish to speak of
this with anyone else. Especially not with Reverend
Fairfield, but she had no choice. She would not be
defensive, just honest. She almost smiled as she realized
she could take a lesson from Meskhenet. She must not let
the vicar fluster her. As long as she appeared unruffled,
she gave her explanation credence.
“Reverend Fairfield,” she said quietly, “Simon did
come to my room last night. I had a nightmare and cried
out in my sleep. He heard me and came to ensure that
nothing was wrong. That’s all that happened, I can assure
you.”
He snorted in derision. “Simon is a virile man. You
are a not unattractive woman. Yet you want me to believe
you lured him to your rooms and then you did nothing but
talk?”
“I want you to believe the truth.”
“Then you should speak it.”
“I have spoken the truth. It’s your choice to believe it
or not.”
When she turned to leave, he said, “I haven’t yet said
what I intended.”
“Reverend Fairfield, I don’t believe I wish to hear
anything else you have to say.”
“No? I have a proposal you should hear. I offer you
£300 if you leave Rosewood Hall and return to London by
the end of the week. I believe that is more than the salary
Simon promised you.”
Darcy gasped. Three hundred pounds would more than
pay for her trip to Egypt. It would help her find a house
there, as well. She faltered, reluctant to throw away this
chance to obtain her dreams. When Reverend Fairfield’s
lips began to tilt in a smile, she wondered how a man of
the church could wear such a fiendishly satisfied
expression.
She shook her head. “Sir, I’ll continue to be honest
and say I’m sorry I can’t accept your generous offer. I
promised Simon I would remain here until his manuscript
is finished and on its way to his publisher.”
“He can finish it himself. Why don’t you just say yes
and we can be done with it? You know this is the exact
price for your cooperation.
“I won’t be bought.”
“I’m not buying anything but your absence.” He
reached under his coat. When he tossed an envelope onto
the desk, it scattered pound notes around her typewriter.
“Take it, Darcy. Then leave. £300 will last you a very long
time if you’re frugal. And if a reference is what you want,
I’ll be glad to arrange for an excellent one.”
She clasped her hands behind her back. “No.”
“No?” he repeated as if he could not believe her quiet
refusal. “What more do you want, Darcy? No, there’s no
need for you to answer that question. It’s clear you want
Simon and hi
s inheritance.”
“If I wanted anyone’s inheritance, I could have my
own.”
“Your own?” His eyes widened in shock. “From
whom?”
“My private business is none of your concern. I have
given you my answer. I shall remain at Rosewood Hall
until I complete the job I’ve barely begun.”
Reverend Fairfield snarled, “To seduce Simon?”
“To work on his manuscript.” She refused to be baited
into anger. “If you’re finished, sir, I must ask you to excuse
me. I have more work to do.”
“Your supposed work will be of little use if I send this
letter to Mr. Caldwell.” He withdrew another envelope
from under his coat.
“Letter? Why are you writing to Simon’s publisher?”
“Why don’t you read it? Then you can see how you
shall ruin Simon.” He opened the envelope and held a page
out to her.
She took it. In his excellent penmanship, Reverend
Fairfield was suggesting that the publishing house
withdraw its offer to Simon because of faulty research.
“This is a lie,” she said quietly as she tossed the letter
atop the money. “Simon is meticulous in his work.”
“But he has made mistakes.”
“One that I know of, but he would have corrected it
himself before sending the manuscript to Mr. Caldwell.
He is double-checking everything.”
Reverend Fairfield picked up the letter, but not the
money. With a smile, he folded it and placed it beneath his
coat. “I shan’t post this if you leave Rosewood Hall.”
“When I tell Simon about this, he’ll put an end to this
attempt to interfere with his work.”
Reverend Fairfield smiled. “You could tell him, but
you won’t.”
“I tire of your threats. I—”
“I’m not threatening you.” He wore the serene
expression she had seen on other vicars’ faces. “I’m being
honest. If you go to him with this, whom will he believe?
You or me? He knows I keep this family’s well-being
uppermost in my mind at all times.”
Darcy did not want to admit he was correct, but he
was. The admiration Simon had for his cousin was strong,
and, if she spoke to Simon, she had no doubts the vicar
would deny the whole. Was that what he hoped she would
do? By making her this offer and then challenging her to
say nothing of it, was he expecting her to run to Simon
with her complaints? Then, the vicar could denounce her.
Whom would Simon believe? She suspected it would be
his cousin.
When she said nothing, Reverend Fairfield asked, “Do
we have an agreement then? £300 plus a favorable
reference if you’re gone by the end of the week.”
“I can’t—”
“If you haven’t left by then, I shall post the letter to
Caldwell without delay.”
“Why are you so determined to have me leave?”
“As you put it so bluntly, my private business is none
of your concern.”
Darcy stared at the determination on his face. He would
do as he said. Arguing now would gain her nothing. A
week? She might find a solution in that time, a way to
convince Simon to listen to her. Taking a deep breath, she
said, “You’ll know my decision by week’s end, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s simple.” She smiled as icily as he had. “If I’m
gone at the week’s end, you can be sure I shall send you a
forwarding address so you may post the £300 and a
favorable reference. If I remain at Rosewood Hall, my
answer is just as obvious.” She turned to leave. “Good
day, sir.”
“Darcy,” he drawled to her back.
She should walk out of the office and put as much
space as she could between herself and the vicar, whose
devotion to his family was leading him in a misguided
direction. “Yes?” she asked, facing him as he gathered up
the last of the money and put it back beneath his coat.
He stepped closer to her. When he put his finger
beneath her chin and tilted it up, she was shocked.
“You shall never get what you want from Simon,” he
said. “He will send you on your way with your salary and
a good reference when you have completed your work here.
If you think you mean anything to him, you’re silly. He
has vowed never to care for anyone—other than his
surviving family—ever again. I’m not so shortsighted.”
He cupped her cheek. When she tried to step away, his
other hand curved around her nape, holding her in place.
“What do you say, Darcy?”
“I’m not shortsighted either.” She twisted away from
him and gasped as her hair dropped about her shoulders.
Ignoring her hair pins tumbling to the floor, she raised her
chin. “I don’t know why you want to hurt Simon, but it’s
clear that you do.”
“You mistake my intentions.”
“I don’t believe I do.”
“You know as well as I how you have been a disruption
to his studies.”
“I am helping him.”
“And so am I! I want him to achieve all he deserves.”
She stared at him. Grandmother Kincaid’s devotion
to the family had been the reason cited for making Darcy
miserable. Was this how all families were? She thought of
the girls at Miss Mumsey’s who dreamed of falling in love,
but knew they would marry whomever their parents chose.
Biting back her agreement to take the money so she
could leave England right away, she replied, “Reverend
Fairfield, I’ve given you the only answer I intend to give
you.”
Darcy’s outraged exit was ruined when the door opened
nearly in her face. She jumped back as the door swung
toward her.
Simon walked in, smiling broadly. “Andrew, why
didn’t you come directly to Father’s rooms? He’s eager to
see you.”
“I was on my way there.” Reverend Fairfield looked
at Darcy, his smile daring her to condemn him.
As he turned toward her, Simon’s brows lowered.
“Why are you hiding behind the door?”
“I was on my way out when you came in.” She glanced
at the vicar and quickly away. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”
Simon put his hand on her arm as she tried to slip past
him. Even as that delicious heat spread through her, she
shook it off. She must not show any reaction when
Reverend Fairfield was sure to be watching intently.
He regarded her with amazement. And why not? She
had welcomed his touch last night. “What happened to
you?”
Bending to gather up a couple of pins, she twisted her
hair back into place. “It’s nothing,” she said, taking pains
not to look at the vicar.
“Then come along. Father would like to see you, too,
Darcy.”
“In his private rooms?” she gasped, unable to restrain
her surprise at this unexpected request.
“Along with me and Andrew, so
you’ll be properly
chaperoned.” An edge returned to his voice. “Do come
along.”
“Yes,” she replied, although she doubted if he heard
her as he walked with his cousin toward the stairs closest
to Hastings’ rooms.
She followed them, noting again how alike and how
different they were. As Reverend Fairfield handed his
greatcoat to a footman, he tugged on his waistcoat which
was as perfectly pressed as the rest of his clothing. Simon
looked enticingly mussed, and a hint of whiskers shadowed
his cheeks as they had last night when he had come to her.
Simon was speaking with enthusiasm about his father’s
recovery and his own work while the vicar listened with
an indifference that suggested he was no more than a mere
acquaintance.
When, at the top of the stairs, Simon continued along
the hallway, Reverend Fairfield paused and offered his arm
to her with a cool smile. She acted as if she had not seen it
as she walked past him. Hearing him grumble something
under his breath—something she suspected was not
appropriate for a clergyman to utter—she hurried to catch
up with Simon.
He put his hand on her elbow, startling her even as
she could not submerge her delight. As his fingers splayed
across her arm, he murmured, “After we talk with Father,
I believe it would be wise for you and me to speak of—”
“Yes.”
Bafflement filled his expressive eyes at her enthusiastic
interruption, but she could not explain she did not want
his cousin to be privy to any of this. When Reverend
Fairfield went with them through the ornately painted
room, she was glad the vicar said nothing to hint at what
they had discussed in Simon’s office.
The bedchamber was a continuation of the intricate
design in the antechamber. Darcy tried to keep her steps
even as she gazed around herself in amazement. Unlike
the outer room, this room had not been painted to resemble
the inside of an ancient tomb. Instead a mural covered
three walls, edging around the fireplace and the windows
and doors.
It was a depiction of a scene she knew so well. Or she
had known, for the mural suggested the room with its huge
tester bed commanding the unpainted wall was truly in a
garden overlooking the Nile. She almost could feel the
sand beneath her shoes and draw in the odors of animals,
Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt Page 16
