Forbidden in Regency Society: The Governess and the Sheikh

‘More radicals!’ Lord Torquil exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up alarmingly, making him look like a startled rabbit, and betraying the accuracy of his old Harrovian nickname.

Lord Armstrong had know Bunny Fitzgerald since their schooldays. He shrugged. ‘Liverpool is reading conspiracy into everything, since Cato Street. I don’t think it will come to anything. Managed to pick up a barrel or two of port while I was out there though, so it wasn’t exactly a wasted journey.’

‘Heard congratulations are in order, by the way. A son after all this time. You must be mightily relieved.’

‘James. A fine boy.’ Lord Henry smiled proudly.

‘A toast to the whippersnapper, then,’ Lord Torquil said, helping himself to another snifter. ‘Be nice to have another man around the house, I’ll wager. Quite overrun with all those daughters of yours till now. Which reminds me,’ he said, thumping his forehead with his glass, ‘bumped into Archie Hughes the other day, he was telling me that the fair Cassandra is rusticating.’

Lord Henry’s genial expression faded. ‘Cassandra is visiting her sister in Arabia. I would hardly call it rusticating.’

‘A bad business, that entanglement with the poet. You must have been sick as a dog. Little beauty like that, she’d have gone off well.’

‘Cassandra will still go off well enough,’ Lord Henry said determinedly. ‘When she returns, she will be betrothed to Francis Colchester. It is not quite the brilliant match I had intended, but it will do well enough.’

‘Colchester? That the boy who was one of Wellington’s protégés? A younger son, I think, but a sound choice. He’s predicted to go far. Provided, of course, you can tear her away from that sheikh of hers,’ Lord Torquil said with a throaty chuckle.

‘Your brain’s befuddled as usual, Bunny. Prince Ramiz of A’Qadiz is married to my eldest daughter, Celia. Had you forgotten?’

‘’Course not. Rich as Croesus, has that port in the Red Sea you did the deal on. No, I’m not talking about him. It’s another one. Hang on a minute, it’ll come to me. Jack—no—Jeremy—no—Jamil! That’s it. Sheikh Jamil al-Nazarri. Principality next to A’Qadiz, I believe.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Lord Henry exclaimed. ‘What has this to do with Cassandra?’

‘Well, I heard it from Archie, who was just back from a stint in Cairo, and he got it from old Wincie himself—though how he knew I’m not sure. But anyway, upshot is that the fair Cassandra is apparently cooped up in this sheikh’s harem.’

‘What!’

‘For God’s sake, Henry, keep your wig on, only passing on what I heard. Sorry to have dropped the cat among the pigeons, thought you knew. I’m sure it’s all very innocent, though it doesn’t look too good, does it?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well. Cassandra’s a lovely girl. Stuck alone out in the desert with a man who owns all he surveys. Droit de seigneur,’

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