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Hiding her true emotions, covering over her desires, foregoing her needs and catering to the needs of others. What of her needs? Her desires?
She could have it all. Have him. The thought made her breathless and giddy with longing. It was time to start living her own life, on her own terms. She’d been hiding herself for too long in proverbs, in other people’s experiences.
India continued with her story, the audience dividing their attention between what she was saying and the tableau. “In the years after her death her monuments were defaced, her name erased, and she was lost to history. Nevertheless, her story persisted, in the oral traditions, and on the cartouche and wall drawings I discovered.”
What an interesting life India led. Mari wanted to hear more about her journeys. Mari had never even considered the idea of traveling outside of England.
“I presented the cartouche to the Egyptian government,” India continued, “though I have several excellent charcoal rubbings for your perusal here tonight. And the collar, which the lovely Miss Perkins is wearing—” she swept her hand toward Mari “—will be on display tonight and then at the British Museum. As for my theory on Hatshepsut’s gender... I’ll be publishing my findings.Wewill be publishing my findings.”
India nudged Edgar. “Isn’t that right?”
“Ah... absolutely right. Female Pharaoh... long, happy rule. Lady India will prove it to the world.”
His eyes never left Mari’s face.
Shocked silence.
Scattered applause.
“Claptrap!” Ravenwood exploded, lumbering to his feet. “Utter hogwash! A female could never be Pharaoh.”
Mari watched the argument unfold from her position on the stage. India’s sworn enemy was challenging her theory in front of all of the guests. He must be one of those dangerously handsome rakes who thought they could get away with anything.
“Not now, Ravenwood,” India said, glaring at the duke.
“But it’s utter rubbish. It wasn’t possible for a female to ascend to the throne,” said Ravenwood, stalking toward the stage. He waved at Mari’s necklace and headdress. “This is all nonsense. Fever dreams. You’ll never be able to prove any of it.”
“Ah... refreshments are being served in the Gold Salon, next door,” India said desperately. She’d obviously decided to ignore Ravenwood and attempt to distract the guests with food. “Won’t you join us?”
Footmen drew the stage curtains, leaving Mari and the twins in darkness.
Adele and Michel set down their palm fronds and rushed to her. “Did you see that?” asked Adele.
“Ravenwood said it was hogwash!”
“I think they’re going to fight a duel,” said Adele.
“Men can’t fight duels with ladies,” said Michel.
“They can if it’s Lady India,” said Adele. “She’ll skewer him with her dagger.”
“Why don’t you two go and see what’s happening?” Mari said. “I have to adjust my gown and then I’ll join you.”
The twins left. Mari searched in the dim light for her pashmina. She couldn’t leave the stage box until she’d covered her shoulders and repinned her hair.
India had told her that a maid would come to help her but no one arrived. Probably Ravenwood had created so much chaos everyone had forgotten about her.
She’d have to make do by herself. She twisted, trying to unclasp the necklace.
It appeared to be caught on something.
Drat. It was caught in her hair. Too many tiny gold dangling pieces. They’d become hopelessly tangled.
And her hair wasn’t the only thing tangled in the necklace now. The sharp shards of gold had caught the fabric of her dress as she raised her arms.
Mari raised her shoulder experimentally. The fabric of the loose-fitting gown slipped to one side, nearly baring her entire breast. Attempting to restore order to the gown, the necklace caught on her sleeve.
It was a bloody deathtrap of a necklace, and she didn’t care if she was learning to swear like a sailor. She was a lady Pharaoh. She could do whatever she bloody well pleased.
