No Role For A Gentleman. Gail Whitiker

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      The lady tilted her head, as though in reconsideration of her first impression. ‘And is it your intention to go there one day, Mr Bretton?’

      ‘I sincerely hope to, yes,’ Laurence said, knowing that if the opportunity were presented to him, he would go in a heartbeat. The consequences—and there would be consequences—could be dealt with once he got back. Right now it was important that he convince Miss Northrup of his sincerity, since he had obviously damaged his credibility and commitment to the field by having had the audacity to question hers.

      Thankfully, the earnestness of his reply must have convinced her of the true extent of his interest, for she nodded briefly and said, ‘Then I will offer you a few words of advice. If ever you do go, be sure to stay at Shepheard’s in Cairo. It is an exceedingly civilised hotel and the view from the terrace is quite splendid. Also, when dealing with the locals, take time to negotiate anything you are offered. You will be hideously overcharged if you do not.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Laurence said, relieved he had not done irreparable damage to a relationship he had every intention of pursuing. ‘If I am ever fortunate enough to find myself haggling over the price of a fellukah, I will be sure to remember your advice.’

      ‘A fellukah is fine if you are only looking for transportation across the Nile, but if your trip is to be of a longer duration, I would suggest a dahabeeyah,’ the lady said. ‘They are far more comfortable, some being quite luxurious, though the price will reflect that, of course.’

      ‘Of course.’ This time, Laurence knew better than to smile, though he was strongly tempted to do so. He’d never met a woman who knew what a dahabeeyah was, let alone one who was able to tell him it was the preferred method for travel along the ancient river. ‘Shall I bring Volney’s Travels with me to the lecture tomorrow evening?’

      ‘If you wouldn’t mind. Unless …’ Miss Northrup turned back to the clerk, who was still gazing at her with adoration and said, ‘Is there any chance of you being able to procure a copy of the book for me before then?’

      The young man’s face fell. ‘I shall do my best, but I very much doubt it.’

      ‘Ah. Then I would be most grateful for the loan of Volney’s Travels, Mr Bretton,’ Miss Northrup said, turning back to him with a smile. ‘And I promise to return it as soon as I am able. As one who has experienced the difficulty in finding reliable source materials, I know how hard it is to let such an exceptional volume out of your hands.’

      ‘In this case, I have no concerns,’ Laurence assured her—knowing that as long as she had the book, he had an excuse for seeing her. ‘Volney and I will see you at the Apollo Club tomorrow evening. Good day, Miss Northrup.’

      ‘Good day.’ She started to turn away, and then stopped. ‘Oh, Mr Bretton, there is … one more thing.’

      Laurence turned back. ‘Yes?’

      She opened her mouth to speak, but then a tiny furrow appeared between her brows and she closed it again. Clearly, she wanted to say something, but for whatever reason was reluctant to do so. In the end, she merely shook her head and smiled. ‘Never mind. You will find us upstairs in the Oracle Room tomorrow evening. Please try not to be late. And don’t forget to bring the card.’

      It was not what she had been going to say. Laurence was certain of that. But, hardly in a position to demand that she disclose what had so briefly tugged at her conscience, he simply assured her that he would not be late, offered her a bow then returned to his earlier browsing, all the while blessing the Fates for having sent him to this particular bookshop on this particular day.

      To think he would actually be sitting in on a lecture given by the renowned archaeologist William Northrup! It was almost too good to be true, especially given the time he had devoted of late to activities that, while necessary to his family’s well-being, did absolutely nothing to quench his thirst for knowledge. He was first and foremost a student of history and tomorrow evening, he would have an opportunity to talk with like-minded gentlemen about the exciting discoveries taking place in the area of Egypt known as the Valley of the Kings.

      It was a long time since he had found himself looking forward to anything as much … except to seeing the intriguing Miss Northrup again, Laurence admitted, casting another glance in her direction. A woman of rare beauty, she obviously shared her father’s love of ancient Egypt and, contrary to what society expected, had been allowed to travel with him to share in the excitement of his explorations. There had been no mistaking the enthusiasm in her voice when she had spoken of her impressions of the ruins at Dendera, and if she had worked at her father’s side for so many years, there could be no question that her interest in the subject was genuine.

      Laurence could think of no other young lady—and he had met a great many over the last eight months—who would welcome such an adventure, which was all the more reason for getting to know the charming and decidedly intriguing Miss Joanna Northrup a great deal better.

      Joanna did not speak to Laurence Bretton again. Though she was aware of him browsing through a selection of books on a table close to the window, she could think of no reasonable excuse for approaching him a second time—other than to correct his erroneous assumption that she was Miss Joanna Northrup—and so, tucking her purchases under her arm, left the shop and climbed into the waiting carriage.

      Why she had allowed the error in address to stand was something she was not so easily able to explain. She’d had eight months to come to terms with the fact that she was now Lady Joanna Northrup. Eight months to accept that as a result of the untimely deaths of her uncle and his heir, her father was no longer a humble academic, but the Fourth Earl of Bonnington. Surely that was time enough to come to terms with such a drastic alteration in one’s circumstances.

      ‘Obviously not,’ Joanna murmured as the carriage clipped smartly towards her new home on Eaton Place. Otherwise she would not have allowed a handsome but completely unknown gentleman to come up to her in a shop, offer to lend her a book then use the offer as an excuse to introduce himself, all without informing him of her true position in society.

      The Practice, as her father’s eldest sister was so fond of saying, was to wait for a person acquainted with both the lady and the gentleman to make the introduction, then for the lady to enter into the conversation to the degree to which she felt it appropriate, that degree being determined by the gentleman’s position in society and, to a much lesser degree, by the nicety of his manners and comeliness of his person.

      From what little Joanna had been able to glean of Mr Bretton’s situation in life, the conversation was not one of which her aunt would have approved.

      Of course, had he not introduced himself, she would not be in the enviable position now of having Mr Volney’s book to read over the weekend. She would still be scouring London’s many bookshops, quizzing inexperienced clerks in her search for the elusive volume and probably meeting with the same disappointing results as she had in all of her previous attempts. So, in fact, her meeting with Mr Bretton had been most fortuitous in that it had saved her from all those endless hours of tedium!

      The fact he had initially been sceptical of her interest in Egypt was a failing Joanna was willing to overlook. She had encountered it countless times before, both from gentlemen who thought she hadn’t a brain in her head and from women who couldn’t understand her desire to be more than a wife or mother. But given that his interest in the subject was surely as keen as her own, she was willing to forgive him his boldness in approaching her, and to excuse herself for having encouraged the conversation. She was even СКАЧАТЬ