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“My dear,” her aunt said, clasping her hands delicately in her lap. “It doesn’t appear as if she’s been aboard since we left Alexandria. Do you have any knowledge of Miss Corbyn’s whereabouts?”
“Of course not, Aunt.” Lydia affected an expression of mild offense. Then, with a delicate gasp, she said, “You don’t think she’s fallen overboard, do you? She has always liked to walk along the deck.”
Her aunt frowned as her uncle lifted an eyebrow. “She has always kept to her cabin, tooillto walk along the deck,” he said.
Lydia swallowed, her cheeks warm in the still air. “Well, she always said as how she mightliketo walk along the deck. Perhaps she left her cabin last night. It would have been dark. Maybe she stumbled.…” Her voice trailed off as she realized the absurdity of that fabrication. Lies grounded in truth were much more believable.
“I must speak to the captain,” her uncle said. “We’ll disembark as soon as possible.”
“Disembark? But, Uncle, we’re almost to Cairo. Perhaps Mr. Northcott’s family would permit me to remain—”
“We’ll all disembark together,” he said, his gaze reproachful. “We’ll not leave Miss Corbyn stranded and alone in a foreign land.”
He turned to leave, and Lydia’s heart raced. They were going to ruin everything. They were going to make her leave theTamariskand Mr. Northcott, and all of Lydia’s plans would crumble to dust. “Miss Corbyn left with Mr. Evelyn,” she blurted.
“What?” Her aunt’s hand fluttered at her neckline. “What are you saying? Lydia, if you know where Miss Corbyn has gone, you must tell us.”
Lydia shifted uncomfortably on her feet, but in for a penny, as the saying went. With a swallow, she murmured, “She left theTamariskin Alexandria.” Drawing a breath, Lydia forced her eyes to meet her aunt’s gaze. “I saw her on the shore with Mr. Evelyn. She was pursuing him most shamefully.”
Her uncle’s frown grew. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”
Lydia shook her head. “I didn’t wish to cause a scandal, or to damage Miss Corbyn’s reputation more than she’d already done herself. I thought it would be best to keep what I saw to myself.”
Her aunt looked skeptical. “I can’t believe it of Miss Corbyn. Are you sure you’re telling us everything, Lydia?”
Lydia’s hand fisted the fabric of her skirt. “I’m sorry, Aunt. I wish I had known what she was planning. I know how much you enjoyed her company.”
“We’ll disembark as soon as possible,” her uncle repeated, and Lydia resisted the urge to stamp her foot. He shook his head as he left, but Lydia couldn’t be certain if the disappointment on his face was for her or Miss Corbyn.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Helen’s felt hat acquitted itself admirably against the sun. They’d been riding for an hour or more, and she’d begun to drowse as Fiona ambled beneath them. Mr. Evelyn startled her when he spoke, his voice deep and rich behind her.
“Helen.”
His use of her given name sent heat flooding her cheeks. She turned and he flinched as the hat’s brim struck him across the bridge of his nose.
“Yes?”
“Look there.”
She turned, following his gaze. A warm breeze tugged at the edges of her scarf, and the sun shimmered above the horizon. And then she saw it. In the distance, a hint of blue smudged the earth. As they rode, it grew larger and more distinct, stretching before them like a lazy feline taking the best spot in the sun.
The Nile! Her chest tightened at the magnificent expanse that lay before them.
The road grew more populated as they neared the river, and sparse settlements became little towns. Birds wheeled overhead, their cries harsh as they searched the river below for prey.
Presently, they passed a handful of whitewashed villas with latticed windows and tall palms and then another cluster of mud-brick buildings. A farm of some sort, it was set some distance from the main road. A long, narrow drive led to a small enclosure where children played with a stick and wooden ball. Nearby, camels and horses stood in the welcome shade of a mimosa tree.
In an unexpected turn, Mr. Evelyn guided Fiona down the drive and Helen frowned. “What is this? Why are we stopping?” For all his earlier kindness, Mr. Evelyn could be a bit heedless when it came to decisions that affected others.
“You need your own mount.”
“I do? But we’re almost to Cairo.”
“Yes, and unless you wish to arrive at Mr. Shepheard’s hotel as we are, you need your own mount. Otherwise, I fear we’ll be quite the talk among the other guests.”
Her sunburn pulled as her brow lowered, and she forced her expression to relax. “You make a good argument,” she conceded, “although gossip is probably unavoidable whether we arrive on one camel or six. But if you thought to procure another camel, you might have said as much.”
