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‘God knows why I never strangled you, Rafe.’
‘Because you love me, little brother. You’re the only one who does.’ He yawned and put down the book. ‘I’m exhausted. God knows I have enough troubles of my own at the moment. What a mess we’ve both made. Go sleep. We’ll need our strength to face Mother tomorrow.’
Chapter Seventeen
Isis raised her Ankh high above Gabriel’s head, catching the sun in its eye. ‘With tears, anger and love I wove Osiris’s body together. But what is resurrected will never be what was—what is lost remains lost.’
—Captives of the Hidden City,
Desert Boy Book Four
Sam stared at the door to the drawing room. She could hear voices insides, but not the words. Edge’s deep voice—calm. And a woman’s voice—calmer. Her mama-in-law.
Her hands fisted. Edge had not come to tell her. He’d left it to Tubbs to inform her.
She didn’t want to go in. She didn’t want the first time she saw Edge after his anger to be like this. She took a deep breath and entered none the less. Edge might be angry at her, but he would need her now, whether he admitted it or not. She would show him precisely how proper and patient she could be.
The woman in a dove-grey dress seated on the sofa looked very much like her sons—the same high cheekbones, thin lips and cold eyes. The archetypal Duchess.
Edge rose to his feet, his face even more than usually expressionless. He looked like a bored stranger accompanying his mother on a morning call.
‘Mother, may I introduce Lady Edward, my wife.’
Sam had an absurd urge to curtsy. Instead she murmured a polite greeting and turned to Edge.
‘How is your brother this morning?’
‘A little feverish, but better, thank you. I will see if he is ready for you to visit with him, Mother.’
Sam quelled the urge to grab at his sleeve as he passed. That or pick up the porcelain figure of a sphinx on the table and hurl it at him. Instead she tightened her jaw into a smile and wondered what did one say to one’s mother-in-law when she was regarding you like something a rag shop wouldn’t deign to sell?
‘I am happy to finally make your acquaintance, Your Grace. You must be delighted to have your sons back in England.’
‘Naturally. I would have preferred it to happen under less...irregular circumstances.’
‘I see. I presume by irregular you mean our marriage? Would you care for some tea, Your Grace?’
‘No, I thank you. I was referring to that, yes. Naturally I would have hoped Edge would respect the family name by marrying at the Greybourne chapel as he did with poor, dear Dora.’
Poor, dear Dora. Flame mixed with ice in a viscous dance inside Sam’s chest. She pressed her hands to her thighs and noticed they were damp and shaking.
‘We felt it best to marry in Cairo at the embassy. It was perfectly respectable, I assure you. My brother was married there.’
‘Ah, yes. Your brother. Lord Sinclair or the other one?’
‘The other one.’
‘Nevertheless. Such a hasty marriage and then that nonsensical gossip that Edward might have written those books. Naturally I denied it, but thanks to rumours surrounding the marriage it fell on fertile ground.’
‘Denied it?’
‘Of course. Greybournes do not pen novels.’
Sam’s jaw was beginning to ache. She drew ‘patience’ in big block letters in her mind.
‘Did you not ask Edge about it?’
‘Naturally not. Edward might have had his moments of weakness after the boy’s death and I will always regret that he chose to leave rather than follow dear Dora to Bath and attempt a reconciliation, but he would never stoop so low as to sully the Greybourne name by penning pamphlets.’
Patience be damned.
‘They are not pamphlets. They are novels and they are brilliant! Why, even your own friend—what was her name? Lady Buckston or Munchinson or something?—adores them. You should be bursting with pride Edge has created something so marvellous, so unique...’
‘My dear... Lady Edward. You obviously belong to a younger, looser crowd than Edward is used to associating with, but I assure you—’
‘Edge.’ Sam bit out the word. ‘He might have resented it when I forced that name on him as a child, but I do know he hates being called Edward. I don’t even call him Edward when I wish to annoy him, which is often.’
‘Nonsense. The Dukes of Greybourne have named their sons Rafael and Edward for the past two hundred years.’
‘Edge didn’t. He named his son after Poppy, your brother. Jacob Phillip after Phillip Jacob Carmichael. Not an Edward or a Rafael in the list. I dare say the Duke was not happy with that.’
