Claiming His Desert Princess

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘I found it in my—among Mr Fordyce’s private papers while going through his personal effects after the funeral.’

  Lord Armstrong imbibed another snifter of brandy. ‘You must excuse me. It has been so long, nearly thirty years. A lifetime ago. But those eyes.’ His smile was grisly. ‘I am afraid there is no denying the provenance of your eyes.’

  Revolted, Christopher would have given anything to be able to contradict him but it was inescapably true that his own distinctive blue-grey eyes were an exact match with his lordship’s. That was one unspoken question answered. He forced himself to raise the next sensitive topic. ‘No mention is made in that document of my...’ He cleared his throat. ‘My mother.’

  ‘No, for one very pertinent reason.’ Lord Armstrong mopped his face again. ‘She died giving birth to you,’ he said heavily. ‘A rather tragic complication.’

  ‘Tragic for her, and an added complication for you, since it left you saddled with me,’ Christopher said bitterly. ‘Which must have been most inconvenient.’

  ‘Inconvenient for your mother’s parents, had she lived, since they would have been saddled with you, to use your own terminology.’ His lordship frowned. ‘There was no question of her keeping you, even if she had wanted to—though I can’t imagine why she would have willingly destroyed her marriage prospects. She’d have had no future worthy of the name. However,’ he continued brusquely, ‘it is a moot point—it simply wasn’t an option. You couldn’t have imagined that—no, no, stupid question, of course not, it’s a preposterous notion.’

  The truth was that Christopher had indeed clung to that erroneous assumption. Confirmation that he had been summarily rejected by both his parents was a body blow. This man—yes, he had no difficulty in understanding his instinctive rejection, but his mother—had she lived, would she really have been so compliant? Every feeling rebelled. If he had a child, he’d have moved heaven and earth to keep it.

  Lord Armstrong however, took his silence for tacit acceptance. ‘So, as you’ll have surmised, there were plans in place long before your birth for your—for your...’

  ‘Disposal is the word you’re fumbling for,’ Christopher interjected icily. Though he knew in his heart the answer to the next question, he steeled himself to ask it. ‘You did not offer to do the honourable thing and marry her then?’

  Lord Armstrong’s look of astonishment was answer enough. To betrayal and rejection he must now add the shame of his bastard blood. ‘You need not answer that,’ Christopher said.

  But Lord Armstrong igrnored him. ‘You wish to know the circumstances?’ he asked haughtily. ‘Why not, it is a common enough tale, I fear. I was very young, and barely had my foot on the bottom rung of the ladder at the Foreign Office. Your mother was no servant girl. If she had been, her condition would have been of much less consequence, but even as a callow youth, my tastes were refined. She was well born, and a great beauty.’

  ‘And no doubt an innocent, until you got your grubby hands on her.’

  His lordship permitted himself a slightly lascivious smile, which Christopher found utterly repellent. ‘A catch, no doubt about it. Marriage would have been no hardship, but she was destined for greater things. And no wonder. I’ll be the first to admit, I simply wasn’t in her league back then and so...’

  He made a helpless gesture. ‘Damage limitation. The merest whiff of scandal would have put paid to her family’s ambitions for her, and indeed to my own ambitions too. It was imperative that the matter be hushed up. She was closeted away in the country for the duration of her—her—for the duration. Had things gone to plan, I would not even have been party to the arrangements. Scarlet fever, they told the world it was, which saw her off. As I said, it was a very tragic inconvenience for all concerned. When I learned she had given birth to a son, I personally stepped into the breach, as it were. Quite a responsibility for a young man, but I think you’ll agree I did well by you.’

  Lord Armstrong looked expectantly at him. The man had the audacity to expect praise for his callous and self-serving behaviour! The room was spinning. Christopher gripped the arms of the wooden chair so tightly that his knuckles showed white. This was not some nightmare from which he would awake. His mother was not his mother. His father was not his father. His life, his whole life, had been built on sand. He had no idea who he was.

  ‘You stepped into the breach?’ Christopher said, struggling to assimilate what he was hearing.

  ‘Indeed I did. I believe your mother’s family intended to place you in the hands of some wet nurse. Such women cannot be relied upon to give a child the best of care.’ Lord Armstrong gave a short, breathy laugh. ‘Indeed, that is their very attraction in some extreme cases. Fair enough for a daughter, but a son—well, that is a different matter, even if he is from the wrong side of the—that is—aye, well, what I’m trying to say is that I could not acknowledge you, but you are my progeny after all. And so I secured the services of the Fordyces, a steady, childless couple of good reputation, he with a reliable occupation, I thought—’

  ‘Your thoughts are made very clear in that document,’ Christopher said harshly. ‘The transaction, the terms of payment, the conditions under which ownership of the goods were transferred’

  ‘You make it sound as if you were a piece of ornamental furniture, my dear boy.’

  The term of affection made Christopher grit his teeth. ‘If you consult your bill of sale, you will find that is exactly how you did view me,’ he said. ‘It is also very clear that you considered the matter firmly closed, your duty fully discharged.’

  His lordship’s cheeks turned a florid puce. He was clearly not accustomed to having his actions questioned. Christopher snatched up his glass and poured him another brandy. ‘Here, drink this. I have not done with you yet, an apoplexy would be extremely inconvenient at this juncture.’

  Lord Armstrong drew him a furious look, but did as he was bid.

  ‘You said you were young at the time. How young, precisely?’ Christopher demanded.

  ‘I was barely twenty years old, had not even reached my majority.’

  ‘Still old enough to understand the consequences of your actions, I would have thought. And your—my—the woman who gave birth to me?’

  His lordship straightened his blotter. ‘She was sixteen.’

  ‘Dear God, did she understand what she was doing? Did she know, as you must have, the risks you were taking? A man of twenty years old, seducing an innocent girl of sixteen and not even willing to give the resulting child your name—it is disgusting!’

  ‘You must understand...’

  ‘Oh, I understand perfectly. Both you and my mother’s aristocratic family abused their wealth and privilege. In life, and even in death, my mother’s fate was determined by others. Status confers the freedom to act in an utterly selfish and completely arrogant manner. I have no desire to hear your mealy-mouthed justifications.’

  ‘Christopher—Mr Fordyce,’ Lord Armstrong amended hastily, ‘your sudden arrival here has come as a great shock to my system. I have not had time to assimilate—you do understand, don’t you, that it is no more possible for me to acknowledge your existence now, than it was then? If it became known that you—dear God, it would ruin me, even more completely than it would have then. My position at the Foreign Office—I have a hard-won reputation for integrity, honesty...’

  ‘And are even more renowned for your naked self-interest and burning ambition, from what I have been able to establish since discovering the evidence of my unwanted lineage.’

  ‘So you admit you have enquired about me?’

  ‘Suffice to know that I want nothing whatsoever to do with you.’

  ‘You are angry,’ Lord Armstrong said. ‘That is perfectly understandable, in the circumstances.’

  Christopher’s toes curled tight inside his boots. There was a rushing in his ea
rs. More than anything, what he wanted to do was to slam his fist into that self-centred, self-satisfied, aristocratic countenance. To blacken both of those eyes, so damned distinctive and undeniably identical to his own. To destroy the evidence, obliterate the memory, and start afresh.

  But that would have to wait. The document could not be unread. Violence and destruction were not the solution. ‘I am not angry,’ he said, with a pleasing calm in which only an edge of contempt was audible. ‘And as to the notion that I might wish to be part of your life...’ Now he did let his contempt show fully, in a bitter little laugh. ‘I have my own life, my lord, and I am very content with it. There is absolutely no place in it for you.’

  ‘Then why did you seek me out? What do you want of me, if not my name?’

  The man looked puzzled rather than relieved. His arrogance knew no bounds. ‘Your name!’ Christopher exclaimed contemptuously. ‘The very last thing I would wish to own. As is this.’ Christopher laid the amulet on to the blotter. ‘I take it to be the item of jewellery referred to in the document. The payment for services rendered, though blood money might be a more accurate description.’

  Lord Armstrong’s thin brows rose so high that they almost reached his receding hairline. ‘They didn’t sell it? How odd that they kept it all these years. That piece of jewellery was intended to help pay for your education, to provide the Fordyces with the means to raise you as a gentleman.’

  ‘I am eternally grateful they did not, if being a gentleman is defined as someone who is prepared to sell their own child to avoid social embarrassment. This amulet was payment for their co-operation and silence.’

  ‘It belonged to your mother. I was a man of modest means back in those days. Her family gave it to me along with some funds to facilitate the arrangements when she died. Don’t you even wish to know her name?’

  ‘To what end? Even had she lived, her identity would have been kept from me. It is ironic that it was her premature death which ultimately allowed me to be privy to yours.’

  ‘I did my best by you, as I continue to do for all my children. I have five daughters, sir, who consider me a most dutiful father, acting always with their best interests at heart.’

  Provided their best interests coincide with your own, Christopher thought cynically, before the import of the words hit him. Five daughters. Which meant he had five half-sisters, blissfully oblivious to his existence. And who would, if he had anything to do with it, remain so.

  ‘I hope,’ Lord Armstrong amended fearfully, ‘that my mention of the girls—I would not have them dragged into this.’

  ‘My illusions have been shattered, do you think I would wish that fate on five innocent girls?’

  ‘I confess, I am heartily relieved to hear you say that.’

  Christopher wanted nothing more than this sordid interview to be over. ‘This,’ he said, indicating the amulet, ‘is Arabic in origin, if I’m not mistaken, and judging from the quality of the stones in it, almost certainly made for the ruling family of an ancient people. Do you know how my—how the woman who gave birth do me came to own it?’

  ‘I know nothing of its prior provenance. But since it was given to the Fordyces in a legally binding agreement, it is now yours to sell.’

  ‘Would it ease your conscience if I did so?’ Christopher laughed bitterly. ‘No, for you do not possess one. I, however, do and have no desire to benefit from blood money. I came here to return it to its rightful owner.’

  ‘Well, that ain’t me,’ Lord Armstrong said, looking quite appalled. ‘And I doubt very much that your mother’s family will wish to be reminded of what they have lost, so there’s no point in asking me to give it back to them. If you won’t sell it, put it in a museum, if what you say about it being an ancient artefact is true.’

  And have the amulet, a potent symbol of the lie his life had been based on, on permanent public display! Christopher shuddered. Unthinkable. ‘No. That would not be appropriate. I have no choice but to return it the original owner.’

  ‘Original owner? What on earth do you mean by that?’

  He had spoken on the spur of the moment, but as Christopher returned the amulet to its leather pouch, a plan began to take shape in his head, and he knew instinctively that this was the only possible course of action. ‘The descendants of the original owner,’ he said. ‘The quality of the diamonds, the colour of the turquoise, and the purity of the gold are all highly distinctive.’

  ‘How do you—ah, yes, of course.’ Lord Armstrong picked up the business card again. ‘You specialise in minerals and ores. You have then surveyed in Arabia?’

  ‘I have never been to Arabia. Locating the precise area, matching it with the source of gold and turquoise—as you say, that is my area of expertise. But in order to do so I will require assistance from you, in your own field of expertise.’

  His lordship stilled. ‘How so?’

  ‘I will require papers to allow me freedom of movement,’ Christopher said, thinking rapidly. ‘Contacts who will be able to assist me with local information, and the means to extricate myself from—let’s say any tricky situations which may arise due to my incognito activities being viewed as suspicious or even hostile.’

  His lordship looked aghast. ‘I can’t help you with any of that. The identities of our agents in Arabia are a carefully guarded secret. Not, mind, that I’m admitting such people exist.’ Lord Armstrong drummed his fingers on the blotter. ‘Even if I could put you in touch with such contacts, you’re asking me to obtain official papers...’

  ‘Secured through unofficial channels. And I’m paying you the compliment of assuming that you know exactly which strings to pull in order to facilitate that.’

  More finger drumming set Christopher’s teeth on edge. ‘You deride my having abused my position for my own ends,’ Lord Armstrong said, ‘and yet isn’t that exactly what you’re asking me to do for you?’

  Was it? The notion disgusted him. But, no, the man was twisting the situation to his own advantage, as he always did, trying to make him beholden, which was the last thing he ought to be feeling. ‘A different matter entirely,’ Christopher said. ‘You acted to cover up a wrong, to protect yourself. My motivation is restitution.’

  ‘Very noble,’ his lordship said, in a tone which contradicted his words. ‘Why should I do as you ask? You have made it very clear that you have no interest in exposing me. What is in it for me?’

  His lordship spoke belligerently, but Christopher was not fooled. ‘You will do as I ask because, bluntly, you will do whatever it takes to be rid for ever of the living breathing evidence of your youthful folly,’ he responded coldly. ‘You are fortunate that I ask so little, and though I am not a gentleman like yourself, you may trust my word when I say it is all I will ever ask of you.’

  His words hit the mark. Lord Armstrong resorted to bluster. ‘Aye, all very well, but it’s no simple matter to obtain such papers. It will take time. There are channels to be gone through, questions to be answered. For a start, how am I to explain the purpose of your visit?’

  Christopher struggled to contain his impatience. He didn’t want to wait, not another minute, let alone days or weeks or months, before taking action. The sooner the amulet was returned, the sooner he could wipe the slate clean and start afresh. Years of negotiating with Egyptian pashas who, like Lord Armstrong, valued knowledge and power even over wealth, provided him with inspiration. ‘You ask what is in it for you. I will tell you. While I am in Arabia, I will carry out a survey for you.’

  Lord Armstrong pursed his mouth. ‘What kind of survey?’

  ‘A survey of the commercial landscape of whichever parts of Arabia my quest to return the amulet compels me to visit. I will compile a dossier of which kingdoms are open to trade with the west, the valuable natural resources they possess, potential trade routes, who is allied to whom—information which I imagine
would be very much welcomed by Lord Liverpool. Our Prime Minister is very eager to promote international trade and bolster Britain’s coffers, and would, I am certain, look favourably on anyone who can provide him with such intelligence. Do you really need me to spell out the potential benefits?’

  Two thin eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘No, you most certainly do not. Now that Napoleon is safely confined on Elba, the opportunities for Britain to expand her influence in the east—’

  The lord of the realm who was his father broke off, rubbing his hands together. Smiling for the first time since Christopher made his surprise entrance, he got to his feet and held out his hand. ‘I will not offend your sensibilities by saying you are a chip off the old block, but you have yourself a deal, sir.’

  ‘The only thing we have in common is a desire never to set eyes on each other again,’ Christopher said, pointedly ignoring the proffered handshake for the second time that day. ‘I have written my temporary London address on the back of my card, you may have all the relevant papers and contact information sent there. I do not expect we will have cause to meet again. I bid you farewell.’

  Arabia—August 1815

  ‘The encounter I have just described took place nine months ago,’ Christopher concluded. ‘You understand now why it mattered so much to rid myself of the amulet. It was blood money. It symbolised the lie that my life had been, living with the people whose son I thought I was.’

  ‘Fordyce.’ Tahira furrowed her brow, trying to clear her mind. ‘The name of the man who was with you when you found the Roman coin we have just buried. The man who shared his own love of the past with you and his profession too, yet he hid the amulet away all those years. He didn’t sell it. I wonder why.’

  ‘Guilt, most likely. Or maybe he was afraid. An ordinary hard-working man, a priceless artefact—it would have raised suspicions. I don’t know why he didn’t sell it, and I don’t care. It’s buried now, back where it came from, and all those lies with it.’