‘It is as well.’ Kadar stepped back. ‘I think you have more than enough terrible memories of the storm to keep you awake at night.’
‘Not last night,’ Constance said. ‘I slept like the dead, rather appropriately.’
Prince Kadar set his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘But on previous nights, you have had nightmares, yes?’
His touch unsettled her. ‘Sometimes,’ Constance said, slipping from his grasp. ‘It was one of the reasons I spent so many hours stargazing. It was a distraction from the prospect of torrid dreams.’
‘Stargazing!’
‘The study of the cosmos, the stars and the planets,’ Constance elaborated.
‘You are an astronomer?’
‘You seem astonished. Is it because I have a passion for studying the night sky, or is because I am a woman with a passion for stargazing?’ Constance turned away, absurdly disappointed. ‘My father too, finds it inexplicable. He can see no practical purpose to it, and if there is no prospect of him profiting from something he is utterly uninterested.’
‘I don’t think it’s inexplicable, and I most certainly do not think the fact that you are a woman should disbar you from scientific study. Quite the contrary. It is to your credit and to be commended.’
‘Oh.’ She turned back to face him, her cheeks hot once again. ‘I’m terribly sorry. You sounded so— And then I assumed— And I ought not to have— Only my father— And I should not have spoken to you as I did, but I keep forgetting that you are a prince. I mean I don’t forget, exactly, especially not when you give me that assessing look and I wish that I was thinking something a little more interesting for you to assess, but I fear that you would think my mind rather boring if you could read it, which you can’t, obviously, though truly you do give one the impression that you can, and—and—oh, dear, that is another thing you do. Those silences. They make me want to fill them, and I start babbling and here I am, doing it again.’
Her face, she was sure, was bright scarlet. ‘You’re probably now wishing there was a ship for Bombay due tomorrow after all,’ Constance said, once again failing to keep to her resolve to stop talking.
‘Actually, quite the reverse. I was thinking that I have the perfect solution to occupy you for the three months you will be here.’
‘Ah, you have a vacancy for a court jester?’
Smiling faintly, the Prince took her hand, leading her over to the covered object which stood in the middle of the terrace. ‘Lady Constance,’ he said, tugging at the knot which held the tarpaulin in place, ‘I have no need of a court jester, but I do have a vacancy for a court astronomer.’
* * *
Kadar pulled the tarpaulin away, and Lady Constance’s mouth fell open. ‘A telescope! And such a telescope!’ She ran her hands along the polished wooden barrel. She touched the little stool which was contained in the instrument’s mounting box. She stroked her fingers along the system of pulleys and the brass handle which allowed the unwieldy tube of the telescope to pivot and rotate on its axis. She peered into the eyepiece. Finally, she ran her hands once more along the barrel. ‘I have never seen anything so beautiful,’ she said, her voice hushed with awe. ‘How did you come by such a sophisticated instrument?’
She was staring at it as if it were made of gold. ‘I share your passion for studying the stars. You have no idea how rare it is to meet a fellow astronomer. This particular instrument is a seven-foot reflector,’ Kadar said. ‘It was built in Mr Herschel’s workshop. I purchased it five years ago, when I spent some time at Oxford. It has travelled with me ever since.’
‘This actually comes from William Herschel’s own workshop?’ Her big brown eyes glowed. Her smile was soft, almost tender, as her fingers strayed compulsively to the telescope again. Captivating, he had thought she could be last night, and she was. There was a sensuality in the way she touched the instrument, mingling reverence and passion. And he was once again becoming aroused!
‘I met the great man himself,’ Kadar said, dragging his eyes away. ‘Mr Herschel, I mean. I went to see the forty-foot reflector that he had constructed in Slough. A most impractical instrument, I thought, far too cumbersome to be of much use. Mr Herschel himself admitted as much. He, however, was fascinating. The telescope with which he discovered the new planet is very similar to this one.’
‘Georgium Sidus, he named it, in honour of the King,’ Lady Constance said. ‘I like Uranus much better though, after Urania, the goddess of astronomy. Is it wrong for a court astronomer to confess that she prefers mythology to science as an explanation for the construction of the constellations?’
‘You are a romantic, then?’ Kadar asked, in some surprise.
‘Who can deny the romance of the stars? Aside from my father, that is,’ Lady Constance added wryly. The mention of her parent seemed to visibly deflate her. ‘How long will it take, do you think, for a letter to reach England? I must write to Mama.’
‘Weeks, perhaps a month or so. The securest and quickest route is to send it by way of the Red Sea to Cairo, where it can be handed over to your Consul General. I will ensure it is given priority.’
‘Thank you, once again I am indebted to you. You know, this morning I thought about what you said last night. The fact that I am legally dead, the notion that I could choose to remain so. It was only for a few brief moments, but I did think about it, though I know it would be very wrong of me. It was rather a sobering experience, for the sad fact is that the only person who will be truly mourning me will be Mama, and in a way, she has already mourned my passing. When I sailed, though we neither of us could admit it, it was pretty certain that I’d never see her again.’ She blinked furiously. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, please ignore me. It is not like me to be so morbid. Nor to feel sorry for myself.’
Kadar thought the feeling justified, but could see no point in saying so. ‘Come into the shade of the awning, and let me pour you a cool drink.’
‘I’ve embarrassed you again.’
‘No.’
‘You must think me a very volatile creature, one minute letting my tongue run away with me, the next falling into a swoon over a telescope, and the next bubbling like a—a stream.’
‘I think you are a very brave creature, and a very honourable one.’
‘You do?’
‘Constance—Lady Constance—I never say what I do not mean.’
‘Constance. I like the way you say my name. You make it sound quite exotic, and quite unlike me.’
‘At this moment you look quite exotic but I believe you are very loyal, as your name implies.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Reliable. Dutiful. Why not say dull?’
‘Because that would not be true. Come out of the sun.’ He motioned her to a bundle of cushions, pouring them both a glass of lemon sherbet before sitting opposite her.
She took a long drink. ‘Thank you. And my apologies again. I assure you I am usually perfectly even tempered. Perhaps I have had too much sun. I have certainly taken up too much of your time, Your Highness. I can see that you are very busy,’ she said, waving at his paper-strewn desk.
‘Lady Constance...’
‘Please do just call me Constance. It sounds so much nicer.’
‘Constance. Then you must call me Kadar.’
‘Oh, no, that would be quite wrong.’
‘While we are alone, then. When I am not the Prince, and you are not the Court Astronomer.’
‘I did not take your suggestion seriously. I assumed it was said in jest.’
‘I think it’s an excellent idea.’ Kadar topped her glass of sherbet up. ‘It solves several problems. First and most important, as Court Astronomer, you will have a legitimate role in the palace, so there can be no suggestion of your presence here being open to conjecture. A few months ago, another Englishwoman, a botanist
, caused a great deal of speculation when she visited the court in the kingdom of Qaryma. I wish to avoid that.’
‘A female botanist? That sounds interesting. Is this kingdom far away? Do you think I would be able to meet her?’
‘I heard that she has since returned to England,’ Kadar said, wondering fleetingly how his childhood friend, now crowned King of Qaryma, felt about his botanist leaving. Azhar had been most defensive when challenged about her position at court. All the more reason to make sure that he had no need to defend Constance.
‘To return to your own position. You told me yourself that you prefer to have an occupation. By coincidence, we have no accurate star maps of this region. It was my ambition to remedy that, but I now realise that, as Prince, I will not have the time to devote to it. Anything you can do to update the charts I have would be most welcome.’
He was pleased to see the sparkle return to her eyes. ‘You really mean it?’
‘I told you, I never say what I do not mean.’
‘Oh, my goodness, I could kiss you!’ Constance’s cheeks flamed. ‘Not that I meant— That is I would not dare— I mean, it would be highly inappropriate, given that I hardly know you. And even if I did know you, I am not in the habit of bestowing kisses on any man—and even if I was, well, I ought not to kiss you now that I am betrothed. So there’s no need to look as if you...’
‘As if I want you to kiss me,’ Kadar said.
‘What?’
‘I don’t know what my expression was, but what I was thinking was that I would, notwithstanding all the perfectly valid reasons you have given why you shouldn’t, like you to kiss me. And would very much like to kiss you back.’
Constance looked every bit as surprised as he by this admission. He should not have said it, but he had, and it was true. He wanted to do a great deal more than kiss her, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about just what that entailed, in all its delicious detail, since her arrival last night. But if she was going to be here at the palace for the next three months, he’d have to find a way of ensuring that he did not kiss her, so Kadar said the one thing he was certain would make it impossible for either of them to act on their impulses.
‘But I can’t kiss you. It would be, in your own words, highly inappropriate since I too am betrothed.’
Chapter Four
Two nights later, Constance stood next to the low parapet on the roof terrace, watching the sun sinking over the port of Murimon, evoking the completion of the daily journey of the mythical Greek Titan Helios and his sun chariot, returning to the east in preparation for the morning. The spectacle of night falling over the Arabian Sea filled her with awe. The colours of the last rays streaking the sky, reflected in the sea, were so blazingly vibrant they deserved new names. Existing colours could not do them full justice. The night fell so quickly too, dusk was over in a heartbeat. One minute the sky was blue. Then multi-hued. And then indigo. The stars did not emerge hesitantly like a gaggle of shy debutantes as they did at home, they exploded into the sky, huge discs of silver and gold, not cautiously twinkling, but with all the confidence and bravado of the most celebrated of courtesans.
She left the parapet to make her way over to the heap of cushions she had set out by the telescope. Lying back, she gazed up at the sky, accustoming her eyes to the dark. Above her, the nightly parade of stars had begun in earnest. The moon was on the wane, a mere sliver of a crescent. The moon god Anningan had been so busy chasing his love, the sun, that he had not eaten. In a day or so, he would disappear from the sky for three days while he came down to earth to hunt. When he returned he would grow fatter, waxing from a crescent to his full, buttery pomp. And then once again, he’d become distracted by his lady love, and forget to eat. This tale was Constance’s favourite of the many depictions of the moon’s phases, though she pitied poor Anningan, tied to the flighty sun, forced to do her bidding, without a will of his own. He might as well be a wife.
She wriggled more deeply into the mound of cushions and reminded herself that it was destructive to think such negative thoughts. Her mother had given her a list of positives, a litany she had recited over and over to her daughter, as if repetition would give them veracity. They were all variations on the same theme. Constance’s marriage would be carefree because Constance’s husband was rich. Constance would be happy because her husband was happy, because how could a rich man not be happy, when he wanted for nothing. At a stroke, Constance could both secure her own future, and rescue Mama’s.
Her mother’s logic was fatally flawed, but she could not be persuaded that replenishing Papa’s coffers would secure nothing, save a hiatus while he invested it recklessly with his usual flair for picking those schemes most unlikely to succeed. As for Constance’s future—that logic had more holes than a sieve. Mr Edgbaston’s money was his own to do with as he wished, as was his wife. Having paid such a large sum for her, rather than increase her value to him, wasn’t it likely that he’d expect a great deal in return, whatever the devil that turned out to be!
Far from attaining any sort of independence, as Mama had repeatedly claimed she would, for she knew her daughter almost as well as her daughter knew her, Constance would be entirely beholden. Papa had dismissed her pleas to include any personal allowance in the betrothal contract or even any widow’s jointure, as a matter of detail, not wishing to risk asking for anything that might endanger the deal. Constance was effectively penniless. Worse in fact, because now that her trousseau was at the bottom of the sea, she was going to be starting out married life in debt to her husband for the very clothes on her back.
Just thinking about it made her anxious. What if she didn’t please this stranger she was to marry? What if he disliked her? What if she disliked him? The very idea of pretending made her skin crawl. The fact that she would have to, that she would be expected to, that she would have no choice—that was the worst, the very worst part of it. She was twenty-five years old. She knew her own mind. She didn’t want to get married. She never had. It was quite simple. She didn’t want to do it. She really didn’t want to do it.
But she had to, so there was no point in working herself up into a state. It had to be done. Though not quite yet, thank goodness. There would be no ship for months. Two months, perhaps three. Plenty of time for her to come up with a strategy to make the best of a bad lot. More than enough time. In fact, so much time she would be best putting it out of her mind entirely and turn her thoughts to more immediate concerns.
Such as the fascinating and enigmatic Prince of Murimon and the revelation that he wanted to kiss her. That he, Kadar, was engaged to be married. Constance could still not decide what to make of either fact. Or which was the most interesting to learn.
She knew absolutely nothing more than these stark facts, and since he had communicated with her only through brief dispatches since, she had had no opportunity to press him further. Mind you, she doubted very much that tactic would be successful. If he didn’t want to talk about it, he would give her one of his looks. She had labelled them in her head. Number one, the Haughty Prince. Number two, the Mind Reader. Number three, the Sphynx. And then her two favourites. Number four, the Bone-Melter. And Number five, the Blood-Heater.
Kadar wanted to kiss her. Kadar would not kiss her because he was promised to another. And so was she. Was it sophistry to argue that such a kiss was permissible because it could mean nothing? Probably. Wouldn’t she make a better wife if she knew how to kiss? Perhaps, though she couldn’t pretend that she would be kissing Kadar for any other reason than that she wanted to kiss him. Which she did, despite knowing it was wrong of her, she really did. And he wanted to kiss her. If only he did not, it would be easier. She should be hoping that he had changed his mind. She would be fibbing if she told herself she hoped any such thing.
The sky above her was inky black, giving the brightest stars a bluish hue. With the moon so emaciated, and n
ow that her vision was adjusted, she could see hundreds of distant pinpricks of light in addition to the main constellations. Libra, Scorpio and Sagittarius were all clearly defined tonight. As ever, looking up at all this celestial beauty, Constance was filled with a sense of wonder. She was one tiny being, on one tiny planet in a nebulae spinning at unimaginable speed through a vast universe filled with a myriad of other nebulae. All of this had existed for countless thousands of years, and would endure for thousands more to come.
In comparison, her lifetime was the mere blink of an eye. Her three months here in Arabia was too tiny a period to even register. Constance began to set up the telescope, making the necessary adjustments, deciding tonight to point it due south. She had better not waste a single moment. With a growing sense of excitement mingled with anticipation, she looked through the eyepiece and was instantly transported to the spellbinding creation that surrounded this little world.
* * *
The invitation to accompany Kadar on his early morning ride had been in her suite when she returned from her stargazing. The outfit which she wore for the occasion was perfectly suited for the purpose, consisting of a soft white sleeveless tunic under a long dark-red cotton coat with matching trousers. Her boots came up over her knees, the brown kid soft on her skin, the long pointed toes decorated with red stitching.
He had been waiting for her in the stables, had chosen for her mount the most beautiful Arabian mare she had ever seen. She rode astride like a man, there being no side-saddle available. It was a perfect morning, and she could not have asked for a more even-tempered equine companion. Above them, in the celestial blue of the early morning sky streaked with wispy cloud, the sun was pale gold, the air tangy with salt. As they reached the furthest edge of the long beach Constance reined in her mount. Kadar was already there, waiting. The sea was like liquid turquoise, breaking white onto the hard-packed golden sands, foaming around the legs of the steaming horses and pooling around an outcrop of rock. The shoreline was a cliff formed of the same ochre rock, the first trees which she had seen in the kingdom growing in neat rows further inland.
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