“No,” he denied for what felt like the hundredth time since he had arrived.
“My son speaks the truth.”
Michael swiveled at the sound of the voice to find Josephine’s mother standing on the threshold to the study. Michael looked at the woman who had birthed Josephine and felt instant dislike. Her eyes were red and her face haggard, as if she were distressed, but there was a hardness about her mouth that belied her unpleasant nature. Josephine had told him about her mother’s cold and harsh treatment of her. Looking at this woman, he could well believe it.
“With all due respect, madam, I am not going to take your word for it.”
“No? Would this be sufficient proof to convince you, then?” The unpleasant woman sneered, holding out a paper. “My disgraceful daughter left this letter. It is addressed to Lord M. Ithought it was for Lord Montfort, her fiancé, but in light of your revelations, it might be meant for you. It does not signify. Either way, she is a harlot and—”
Michael ripped the letter from her hand with such force that it cut off the woman’s tirade. He unfolded the piece of paper with a hand that, to his infinite shame, was not quite steady. Recognition hit him as he first identified the paper as a page of Josie’s notebook, and then he beheld Josephine’s elegant hand.
Dear Michael,
It is with a heart full of both sorrow and newfound clarity that I write these words, knowing they may cause you pain. Please forgive me for not delivering them in person; my courage fails me in that, though I know this letter alone must seem a betrayal.
It is not because of any flaw in you that I must say what follows, but rather because I have come to realize that the life you offer, that of an officer’s wife, would not suit me.
The pasha has offered me a world of discovery and learning, unraveling Egypt’s ancient mysteries of perfumery. He promises to lay such ancient knowledge at my feet and grant me a place in which I might chase my passion freely, crafting scents from exotic flowers and breathing life into my art. His promises hold for me the allure of a life spent in the pursuit of something that feels like my soul’s true calling.
I hope that, in time, you may forgive me and think of me with warmth and understand why I had to take this path.
With gratitude and fondness,
Josephine
His eyes scanned the note while his mind fought to find a reason to discredit what he was reading. This could not be real. There was a terrible hoax taking place. The girl who had laughed and talked with him, who had kissed him with such passion andabandon, who had given herself to him in the ultimate act of love, would not write this.
But the words sounded like something she would have said. Her passion for perfumery came off the page with vivid intensity.
No. It couldn’t be. He needed to retreat and regroup. He couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t breathe. He was a moment away from breaking down in front of these people.
“This is not over,” he rasped as he stumbled to the door.
The walk to his home was a blur. The words on the paper resonated through his brain with the cruelty of whip lashes. When he got to his room, he searched inside his valise for the vial of perfume and the note she had written with the formula. The paper. The handwriting. The faint smell that lingered on the parchment, like a ghost of the woman who had written upon it. Everything matched.
The fragrance she had made for him taunted him. She had given it to him the night she had given him her virginity. Or had she? He had believed she was a virgin, but there had been no barrier, no blood. He never thought to question that. It wouldn’t have mattered to him anyway, because he loved her. But now… the actions of that night took a different significance in his brain.
He wanted to deny it, but it was useless. Yes, Josephine had deserted him. With the abundance of proof, there was no option but to believe it.
Perhaps the more foolish notion had been to believe that a woman like her, made of passion and emotion, one who had heirs to dukedoms and foreign dignitaries at her feet, would settle for a lowly second son whose main commendation was the love he felt for her.
She had left. Breaking his heart and destroying his ability to trust with her betrayal.
CHAPTER 14
The Present
Devon,England
March, 1866
Twelve years later
She was back in England, but she was far from being home. After twelve long years in captivity in a foreign land, she didn’t even know where home was anymore. Maybe she didn’t have one. Not yet, at least.
Josephine stood at the railing of the ship and gazed at the familiar cliffs of Dover she thought never to see again, and her eyes misted. During the weeks of her sea voyage from Egypt back to England, she had had plenty of time to fret about her future.
What would she do now? Where would she live? How would she manage in a society that seemed almost foreign, despite being the one she was born to? She rubbed her clammy palms down the front of her dress. A proper English dress. Complete with corset, petticoats, hoops, and all the other layers and accoutrements. She had once worn this clothing with such ease.Now she squirmed within the confines of her garments. Another reminder of how much she had changed, and how unfitting she felt to resume her previous life.
