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‘Her sister!’
‘Lady Cassandra Armstrong.’
‘To what purpose, precisely?’
‘To act as Linah’s governess. It is the perfect solution.’
‘Perfect!’ Halim looked appalled. ‘Perfect how? She has no knowledge of our ways—how can you possibly think an English woman capable of training the Princess Linah for her future role?’
‘It is precisely because she will be incapable of such a thing that she is perfect,’ Jamil replied, his smile fading. ‘A dose of English discipline and manners is exactly what Linah needs. Do not forget, the British are one of the world’s great powers, renowned for their capacity for hard work and initiative. Exposure to their culture will challenge my daughter’s cosy view of the world and her place in it. I don’t want her to become some simpering miss who passes the time while I’m finding her a husband by lolling about on divans drinking sherbet and throwing tantrums every time she doesn’t get her own way.’ Like her mother did. He did not say it, but he did not have to. Princess Karida’s tantrums were legendary. ‘I want my daughter to be able to think for herself.’
‘Highness!’ Shock made Halim’s soft brown eyes open wide, giving him the appearance of a startled hare. ‘Princess Linah is Daar-el-Abbah’s biggest asset; why, only the other day the Prince of—’
‘I won’t have my daughter labelled an asset,’ Jamil interrupted fiercely. ‘In the name of the gods, she’s not even nine years old.’
Slightly taken aback at the force of his prince’s response, for though Jamil was a dutiful parent, he was not prone to displays of parental affection, Halim continued with a little more caution. ‘A good marriage takes time to plan, Highness, as you know yourself.’
‘You can forget marrying Linah off, for the present. Until she learns some manners, no sane man would take her on.’ Jamil threw himself on to the tooled leather chair that sat behind the desk. ‘Come on, Halim, you know how appallingly she can behave. I’m at my wits’ end with her. It is partly my own fault, I know, I’ve allowed her to become spoilt since she was deprived of her mother.’
‘But now you are to be married, the Princess Adira will fill that role, surely.’
‘I doubt it. In any case, you’re missing the point. I don’t want Linah to be raised in the traditional ways of an Arabian princess.’ Any more than he would wish his son to be raised in the traditions of an Arabian prince. As he had been. A shadow flitted over Jamil’s countenance as he recalled his father’s harsh methods when it came to child-rearing. No, of a certainty he would not inflict those traditions on his son.
‘You want her to behave like an English lady instead?’ Halim’s anxious face brought him back to the present.
‘Yes. If Lady Celia is an example of an English lady, that is exactly what I want. If this Lady Cassandra is anything like her sister, then she will be perfect.’ Jamil consulted the letter in his hand again. ‘It says here that she’s one-and-twenty. There are three other sisters, much younger, and Lady Cassandra has shared responsibility for their education. Three! If she can manage three girls, then one will be—what is it the English say?—a piece of cake.’
Halim’s face remained resolutely sombre. Jamil laughed. ‘You don’t agree, I take it? You disappoint me. I knew the Council would not immediately perceive the merits in such a proposition, but I thought better of you. Think about it, Halim—the Armstrongs are a family with an excellent pedigree, and, more importantly, impeccable connections. The father is a diplomat with influence in Egypt and India, and the uncle is a member of the English government. It would do us no harm at all to have one of the daughters in our household, and in addition they would be in our debt. According to Lady Celia, we would be doing them a favour.’
‘How so?’
‘Lady Cassandra is already in A’Qadiz and wishes to extend her stay, to see more of our lands, our culture. She is obviously the scholarly type.’
‘One-and-twenty, you say?’ Halim frowned. ‘That is rather old for a female to be unwed, even in England.’
‘Quite. Reading between the lines, I suspect her to be the spinsterish type. You know, the kind of women the English seem to specialise in—plain, more at home with their books than the opposite sex.’ Jamil grinned. ‘Once again, exactly what Linah needs. A dull female with a good education and a strict sense of discipline.’
‘But Highness, you cannot be sure that—’
‘Enough. I will brook no more argument. I’ve tried doing things the traditional way with Linah, and tradition has singularly failed. Now we’ll do it my way, the modern way, and perhaps in doing so my people will see the merits in reaching out beyond the confines of our own culture.’ Jamil got to his feet. ‘I’ve already written to Lady Celia accepting her kind offer. I did not bring you here to discuss the merits of the proposal, merely to implement my decision. We meet at the border of A’Qadiz in three days. Lady Celia will bring her sister, and she will be accompanied by her husband, Prince Ramiz. We will cement our relationship with his kingdom and take delivery of Linah’s new governess at the same time. I’m sure you understand the importance of my caravan being suitably impressive, so please see to it. Now you may go.’
Recognising the note of finality in his master’s voice, Halim had no option but to obey. As the guards closed the doors to the courtyard behind him, he made for his own quarters with a sinking heart. He did not like the sound of this. There was going to be trouble ahead or his name wasn’t Halim Mohammed Zarahh Akbar el-Akkrah.
At that moment in the kingdom of A’Qadiz, in another sunny courtyard in another royal palace, Ladies Celia and Cassandra were taking tea, sitting on mountainous heaps of cushions under the shade of a lemon tree. Beside them, lying contentedly in a basket, Celia’s baby daughter made a snuffling noise, which had the sisters laughing with delight, for surely little Bashirah was the cleverest and most charming child in all of Arabia.
Cassie put her tea glass back on the heavy silver tray beside the samovar. ‘May I hold her?’
‘Of course you may.’ Celia lifted the precious bundle out of the basket and handed her to Cassie, who balanced her niece confidently on her lap, smiling down at her besottedly.
‘Bashirah,’ Cassie said, stroking the baby’s downy cheek with her finger, ‘Such a lovely name. What does it mean?’
‘Bringer of joy.’
Cassie smiled. ‘How apt.’
‘She likes you,’ Celia replied with a tender smile, quite taken by the charming image her sister and her daughter presented. In the weeks since Cassie had arrived in A’Qadiz she seemed to have recovered some of her former sunny disposition, but it saddened Celia to see the stricken look that still made a regular appearance in her sister’s big cornflower-blue eyes on occasions when she thought herself unobserved. The shadows that were testimony to the many sleepless nights since that thing had happened had faded now, and her skin had lost its unnatural pallor. In fact, to everyone else, Cassandra was the radiant beauty she had always been, with her dark golden crown of hair, and her lush curves, so different from Celia’s own slim figure.
But Celia was not everyone else, she was Cassie’s oldest sister, and she loved her dearly. It was a bond forged in adversity, for they had lost their mother when young, and though the gap between Cassie and their next sister, Cressida, was just a little more than three years, it was sufficient to split the family into two distinct camps, the two older ones who struggled to take Mama’s place, and the three younger ones, who needed to be cared for.
‘Poor Cassie,’ Celia said now, leaning over to give her sister a quick hug, ‘you’ve had such a hard time of it these last three months—are you sure you’re ready for this challenge?’
‘Don’t pity me, Celia,’ Cassie replied with a frown. ‘Most of what I’ve been forced to endure has been of my own doing.’
‘How can you say that! He as good as left you at the altar.’
Cassie bit her lip hard. ‘You exaggerate a little. The wedding was still two weeks away.’
‘The betrothal had been formally announced, people were sending gifts—we sent one ourselves—and the guests had been invited to the breakfast. I know you think you loved him, Cassie, but how you can defend him after that …’
‘I’m not defending him.’ Cassie opened her eyes wide to stop the tears from falling. ‘I’m just saying that I’m as much to blame as Augustus.’
‘How so?’ Until now, Cassie had refused to discuss her broken betrothal, for she wanted only to forget it had ever happened, and Celia, who could see that the wound to her sister’s pride was as deep as that to her heart, had tactfully refrained from questioning her. Now, it seemed, her patience was about to pay off, and she could not help but be curious. She leaned over to lift Bashirah from Cassie, for she was making that little impatient noise that preceded an aggressive demand for sustenance. Celia thought of Ramiz and smiled as she settled the baby at her breast. The child had clearly inherited her demanding temperament from her father. ‘Won’t you tell me, Cassie?’ she said gently. ‘Sometimes talking about things, however painful, helps, and I’ve been so worried about you.’
‘I’m perfectly all right,’ Cassie replied with a sniff.
She looked so patently not ‘all right’ that Celia laughed. ‘Liar.’
Cassie managed a weak smile in return. ‘Well, I may not be all right at the moment, but I will be, I promise. I just need to prove myself, make a success of something for a change, give everyone, myself included, something to be proud of.’
‘Cassie, we all love you, no matter what. You know that.’
‘Yes. But there’s no getting away from it, Celia, I’ve behaved very foolishly indeed, and Papa is still furious with me. I can’t go back to England, not until I’ve proved I’m not a complete nincompoop.’
‘Cassie, Augustus failed you, not the other way round.’
‘He was my choice.’
‘You can’t choose who you fall in love with, Cass.’
‘I’ll tell you something, Celia, I’m going to make very sure I choose not to fall in love ever again.’
‘Oh, Cassie, you say the silliest things.’ Celia patted her sister’s knee. ‘Of course you will fall in love again. The surprising thing is that you have not fallen in love before, for you are such a romantic.’
‘Which is precisely the problem. So I’m not going to be, not anymore. I’ve learned a hard lesson, and I’m determined not to have to learn it again. If I tell you how it was, maybe then you’ll understand.’
‘Only if you’re sure you want to.’
‘Why not? You can’t think worse of me than I already do. No, don’t look like that, Celia, I don’t deserve your pity.’ Cassie toyed with the cerulean-blue ribbons that were laced up the full sleeves of her delicate-figured muslin dress. ‘Augustus said these ribbons were the same colour as my eyes,’ she said with a wistful smile. ‘Then again, he also told me that my eyes were the colour of the sky at midnight, and that they put a field of lavender to shame. He brought me a posy of violets in a silver filigree holder and told me they were a hymn to my eyes, too, now I come to think about it. I didn’t even question the veracity of it, though I know perfectly well what colour of blue my own eyes are. That should give you an idea of how deeply in love I thought I was.’
A pink flush stole up the elegant line of Cassie’s throat. Even now, three months after it had all come to such a horrible end, the shame could still overwhelm her. Hindsight, as Aunt Sophia said, was a wonderful thing, but every time Cassie examined the course of events—and she examined them in minute detail most frequently—it was not Augustus’s shockingly caddish behaviour, but her own singular lack of judgement that mortified her most.
‘Augustus St John Marne.’ The name, once so precious, felt bitter on her tongue. Cassie made a moue of distaste. ‘I first met him at Almack’s, where I was fresh from another run-in with Bella.’
‘Bella Frobisher!’ Celia exclaimed. ‘Who would have believed Papa could stoop so low? I still can’t believe she’s taken Mama’s place. I doubt I will ever be able to bring myself to address her as Lady Armstrong.’
‘No, even Aunt Sophia stops short of that, and she has been pretty much won over since James was born. I have to say though, Celia, our half-brother is quite adorable.’
‘A son and heir for Papa. So the auspicious event has mollified even our terrifying aunt?’
Cassie giggled. ‘Bella Frobisher may be a witless flibberty-gibbet,’ she said in a fair imitation of their formidable Aunt Sophia’s austere tone, ‘but her breeding is sound, and she’s come up trumps with young James. A fine lusty boy to secure the title and the line, just what the family needs. And honestly, Celia, you should see Papa. He actually visits James in the nursery, which is far more than he did with any of us, I’m sure. He has him signed up for Harrow already. Bella thinks I’m jealous, of course.’ Cassie frowned. ‘I don’t know, maybe I am, a little. Papa has only ever been interested in us girls as pawns in his diplomatic games—he and Bella had drawn up a short list of suitors for me, you know. I mean, I ask you, a short list! How unromantic can one get. It was what I was arguing with Bella about the night I met Augustus.’
‘Ah,’ Celia said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing. Only you must admit that when someone tells you to do something you are very much inclined to do the exact opposite.’
‘That’s not true!’ Cassie’s bosom heaved indignantly. ‘I fell in love with Augustus because he was a poet, with a poet’s soul. And because I thought he liked all the things I did. And because he is so very good-looking and most understanding and—’
‘And exactly the sort of romantic hero you have always dreamed of falling in love with.’ Celia kissed the now-sated and sleeping Bashirah and placed her carefully back into her basket. ‘And partly, Cassie, you must admit, because you knew Bella and Papa would not approve.’
‘I concede, that might have been a tiny part of the attraction.’ Cassie frowned. Celia had merely articulated what she herself had long suspected. When Bella had handed her the list of suitors her father had compiled, Cassie had promptly torn it in two. The confrontation had ended, as most of her confrontations with Bella ended, in an impasse, but over dinner, and during the coach ride to King Street, Cassie had found her resentment growing. It was while in this rebellious mood that she had encountered Augustus, a singularly beautiful young man who was most gratifyingly disparaging of her stepmother’s treatment of her.
‘We danced a quadrille that night at Almack’s,’ she told Celia, forcing herself to continue with her confession, ‘and during supper Augustus composed a quatrain comparing me to Aphrodite. He dashed it off right there on the table linen. I thought it was just the most romantic thing ever. Imagine, being a poet’s muse. When he told me about his impoverished state, I positively encouraged myself to fall in love, and the more Papa and Bella protested against my betrothal, the more determined I was to go through with it.’ Cassie brushed a stray tear away angrily. ‘The terrible thing is, in a way I knew it wasn’t real. I mean, there was a part of me that looked at Augustus sometimes and thought, Are you seriously intending to marry this man, Cassandra? Then I’d think about how much he loved me, and I’d feel guilty, and I’d think about how smug Bella would be if I changed my mind, for it would prove her right, and—and so I didn’t do anything. And the funny thing is that, though there were times when I questioned my own heart, I never once doubted Augustus. He was so impassioned and so eloquent in his declarations. When he—when he jilted me it was such a shock. He did it in a letter, you know; he didn’t even have the decency to tell me to my face.’
‘What a coward!’ Celia’s elegant fingers curled into two small fists. ‘Who was she, this heiress of his, whom he abandoned you for? Do I know her?’
‘I don’t think so. Millicent Redwood, the daughter of one of those coal magnates from somewhere up north. They say she has fifty thousand. I suppose it could have been worse,’ Cassie replied, her voice wobbling, ‘if it had been a mere twenty …’
‘Oh, Cassie.’ Celia enfolded her sister in a warm embrace and held her close as she wept, stroking her golden hair away from her cheeks, just as she had done when they were girls, mourning their poor departed mama.
For a few moments Cassie surrendered to the temptation to cry, allowing herself the comfort of thinking that Celia would make everything better, just as she always had. But only for a few moments, for she had resolved not to spill any more tears. Augustus did not deserve them. She had to stop wallowing in self-pity, and anyway, what good did tears do? She sat up, fumbling for her handkerchief, and hastily rubbed her cheeks dry, taking a big gulp of air, then another. ‘So you see, Bella and Papa were right all along. I’m selfish, headstrong and foolish, and far too full of romantic notions that have no place in the real world. “A heart that can be given so easily cannot be relied upon, and must never again be given free rein.” That’s what Aunt Sophia said, and I have to say I agree with her. I have tasted love,’ Cassie declared dramatically, temporarily forgetting that she had abandoned her romantic streak, ‘and though the first sip was sweet, the aftertaste was bitter. I will not drink from that poisoned chalice again.’
Celia bit her lip in an effort not to smile, for Cassie in full unabridged Cassandra mode had always amused her terribly. It was reassuring that her sister wasn’t so completely given over to the blue melancholy as to have lost her endearing qualities, and it gave her the tiniest bit of hope that perhaps her very tender heart would recover from the almost-fatal wound dealt it by Augustus St John Marne. Ramiz would have dispensed swift retribution if he ever got his hands on him. Celia toyed momentarily with the satisfying vision of the feckless poet staked out, his pale foppish skin blistering and desiccating under the fierce desert sun, a legendary punishment meted out to transgressors in bygone days in A’Qadiz. And then, as was her wont, she turned her mind to practicalities.
‘You are expected at the border of Daar-el-Abbah in three days. Ramiz will escort you there, but Bashirah is too young to travel and I’m afraid I can’t bear to leave her so I won’t be coming with you. It’s not too late to change your mind about all this though, Cassie. The city of Daar is five days’ travel from here and you are likely to be the only European there. You will also have sole responsibility for the princess. She has a dreadful reputation, poor little mite, for she has been left to the care of a whole series of chaperons since her mother died in the process of giving birth to her. The prince will expect a lot from you.’
‘And I won’t let him down,’ Cassie said, clasping her hands together. ‘Who better than I to empathise with little Linah’s plight—did I not lose my own mother? Have I not helped you to raise our three sisters?’
‘Well, I suppose in a way, but …’
‘I am sure all she needs is a little gentle leading in the right direction and a lot of understanding.’
‘Perhaps, but.’
‘And a lot of love. I have plenty of that to give, having no other outlet for it.’
‘Cassie, you cannot be thinking to sacrifice your life to a little girl like Linah. This position cannot be of a permanent nature, you must think of it as an interlude only. It is an opportunity to allow yourself to recover, and to do some good along the way, nothing more. Then you must return to England, resume your life.’
‘Why? You are content to stay here.’
‘Because I fell in love with Ramiz. You, too, will fall in love one day, properly in love, with the right man. No matter what you think now, there will come a time when looking after someone else’s child will not be enough.’
‘Perhaps Prince Jamil will marry again, and have other children. Then he will need me to stay on as governess.’
‘I don’t think you understand how unusual it is, his taking you into the royal household in the first place. Daar-el-Abbah is a much more traditional kingdom than A’Qadiz. Should he take another wife—which he must, eventually, for he needs a son and heir—then he will resort to the tradition of the harem, I think. There will be no need for governesses then.’
‘What is Prince Jamil like?’
Celia furrowed her brow. ‘I don’t know him very well. Ramiz has a huge respect for him so he must be an excellent ruler, but I’ve only met him briefly. In many ways he’s a typical Arabian prince—haughty, distant, used to being revered.’
‘You make him sound like a tyrant.’
‘Oh, no, not at all. If I thought that, I’d hardly allow you to go and live in his household. His situation makes it difficult for him to be anything other than a bit remote, for his people idolise him, but Ramiz says he is one of the most honourable men of his acquaintance. He is anxious to forge an alliance with him.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure he is, but what does Prince Jamil actually look like?’
‘He’s very good looking. There’s something about him that draws attention. His eyes, I think—they are the most striking colour. And he’s quite young, you know, he can’t be any more than twenty-nine or thirty.’
‘I didn’t realise. I had assumed he would be older.’
‘Though he has not married again, it is not for lack of opportunity. I don’t know him well enough to like him—I doubt any woman does—but what’s important is, I trust him. The thing is though …’ Celia hesitated, and took Cassie’s hand in her own ‘… he’s not a man who will readily tolerate failure, and he’s not a man to cross either. You must curb your tongue in his presence, Cassie, and try to think before you speak. Not that I expect you’ll see very much of him—from what I’ve heard, one of the contributing factors to his daughter’s bad behaviour is his complete lack of interest in her.’
‘Oh, how awful. Why, no wonder she is a bit of a rebel.’
Celia laughed. ‘There, you see, that is exactly what I have just cautioned you about. You must not allow your heart to rule your head, and you must wait until you understand the whole situation before leaping in with opinions and judgements. Prince Jamil is not a man to get on the wrong side of, and I am absolutely certain that should you do so he would have no hesitation in trampling you underfoot. The point of this exercise is to restore your confidence, not have it for ever shattered.’
‘You need have no fear, I will be a model governess,’ Cassie declared, her flagging spirits fortified by the touching nature of the challenge that lay ahead of her. She, who had resolved never to love again, would reunite this little family by showing Linah and her father how to love each other. It would be her sacred mission, her vocation. ‘I promise you,’ Cassandra said with a fervour that lit her eyes and flushed her cheeks and made Celia question her judgement in having ever suggested her sister as a sober, level-headed governess, ‘I promise you, Celia, that Prince Jamil will be so delighted with my efforts that it will reflect well on both you and Ramiz.’
‘I take it, then,’ Celia said wryly, ‘that you are not having second thoughts or falling prey to doubts?’
Cassie got to her feet, shook out her dress and tossed back her head. Her eyes shone with excitement. She looked, Celia could not help thinking, magnificent and quite beautiful, all the more so for being completely unaware of her appearance. Cassie had many faults, but vanity was not one of them. Celia felt a momentary pang of doubt. How much did she really know of Jamil al-Nazarri the man, as opposed to the prince? Cassie was so very lovely, and she would be very much alone and therefore potentially vulnerable. She stood up, placing a restraining hand on her sister’s arm. ‘Maybe it is best that you should take a little more time, stay here for a few more days before committing yourself.’
‘I have decided. And in any case, it is all arranged. You are worried that Prince Jamil may have designs on me, I can see it in your face, but you need not, I assure you. Even if he did—which seems to me most unlikely, for though in England I pass for a beauty, here in Arabia they admire a very different kind of woman—it would come to nothing. I told you, I am done with men, and I am done for ever with love.’
‘Then I must be done with trying to persuade you to reconsider,’ Celia said lightly, realising that further protestations on her part would only unsettle Cassie further. ‘Come then, let me help you pack, for the caravan must leave at first light.’
Chapter Two (#ulink_fe8c1b76-02ea-50ca-95ba-57ad04359377)
At dawn the next day, Cassie bade Celia a rather tearful goodbye and set off, following closely behind Prince Ramiz, who led the caravan through the dark and empty streets of Balyrma and out into the desert. She wore the royal blue linen riding habit she’d had Papa’s tailor make up especially for this trip, which she fervently hoped would not prove too stifling in the arid heat of the desert. The skirt was wide enough to ensure she could sit astride a camel with perfect modesty. The little jacket was cut in military style, with a high collar and a double row of buttons, but was otherwise quite plain, relying on the severity of the masculine cut to emphasise the femininity of the form beneath it. By the time the caravan began to make its way through the first mountain pass, however, the sun was rising and Cassie was wishing that a less clinging style was currently more fashionable. Though she wore only a thin chemise under her corset, and no other petticoats, she was already frightfully hot.
The first two days’ travel took a toll on both her appearance and spirits. The heat seared her face through her veil so that her skin felt as if it were being baked in a bread oven. Her throat ached from the dust and constant thirst, and the unfamiliar sheen of perspiration made her chemise cling like an unpleasant second skin that had her longing to cast both stays and stockings to the winds.
The excitement of the journey was at first more than compensation for these discomforts. The dramatically shifting scenery of ochre-red mountains and undulating golden dunes, the small grey-green patches that marked the location of oases, the ever-changing blue of the sky and the complete otherness of the landscape all fascinated Cassie, appealing at an elemental level to her romantic heart.
Until, that is, she started to lose sensation in the lower half of her body. The camel’s saddle, a high-backed wooden affair with a padded velvet seat that gave it a quite misleading air of comfort, began, on the second day, to feel like an instrument of torture. Renowned horsewoman that she was, Cassie was used to the relative comfort of a leather saddle with the security of a pommel, ridden for pleasure rather than used as a mode of long-distance transport. Six hours was the longest she’d ever spent on horseback. Counting up the time since she’d left Celia at the royal palace, she reckoned she’d been aboard the plodding camel for all but eight hours out of the last thirty-six. What had begun as a pleasant swaying motion when they had first started out, now felt more like a side-to-side lurching. Her bottom was numb and her legs ached. What’s more, she was covered from head to toe in dust and sand, her lashes gritty with it, her mouth and nose equally so, for she had been forced to put up her veil in order to see her way as dusk fell and Ramiz urged his entourage on, anxious to make the pre-arranged meeting point by nightfall.
Sway left, sway right, sway forward. Sway left, sway right, sway forward, Cassie said over to herself, her exhausted and battered body automatically moving in the tortuous wooden saddle as she bid it. Sway left, sway right, sway—‘Oh!’
