Daughter of the God-King(4)

The reaction to this disclosure was a rather heavy silence, with the baron lowering his gaze to the floor and Robbie’s expression suddenly shuttered. Hattie looked from one to the other in surprise, but was forced to acknowledge the blond woman with Robbie because she offered with a doubtful smile, “Here—in Paris? But I recently left your parents in Thebes.”

“Did you indeed?” Hattie was very much afraid her tone may have indicated her displeasure at having been shown to be equivocating, not to mention it was of all things annoying that this too-tall blond knew more about her parents than she did. She hastily added, “I thought they would be here in Paris, instead; I meant to surprise them, you see.”

The baron took the opportunity to interject, “A coincidence; I have recently journeyed from Thebes, myself.”

Again, there was a tense silence in response to this observation and the woman did not acknowledge this remark with even a glance in his direction. Hattie, alive to the undercurrent, wondered why they had all converged upon her when they didn’t seem to like each other very much and half-hoped for an open quarrel so that she could use the opportunity to speak privately with Robbie. Not to mention the self-assured gentleman was now standing at the vice-consul’s back, pretending to converse with a woman wielding a flirtatious fan even though Hattie was well aware he was eavesdropping on their conversation. Why, every man jack on the premises appears to be prodigiously interested in my doings, she thought with surprise; it is all very strange.

The ambassador informed the newcomers, “We were discussing the latest Blackhouse discovery—the tomb of the god-king’s daughter.”

“Extraordinary,” agreed the baron. “Indeed, the artifacts uncovered include the sacred sword Shefrh Lelmelwek—the Glory of Kings, bestowed by the gods on the pharaoh himself.”

Hattie didn’t need to look at Bing to feel her companion’s surprise. It appeared the vice-consul was indeed lately come from the excavation at Thebes, and he was very well informed. Bing’s brother had indicated in his letters that the discovery of the mythical sword was a well-kept secret.

With an attitude that bordered on the rapturous, the ambassador looked to Hattie, wide of eye. “Such a mystery! How could such a wonder have been bestowed upon a mere female? And how could she have warranted a tomb in the Valley of the Kings?”

Hattie did her best to come up with an answer, wishing she had paid more attention when Bing was speaking of such things. “We must suppose that she performed some extraordinary service so as to be a heroine in the eyes of the Eighteenth Dynasty.”

Bing made a small sound behind her that indicated Hattie was mixing her dynasties again—but honestly, who could keep them straight? It was three thousand years ago, for the love of heaven. But correction was to come from the blond woman, who announced in an indulgent tone, “Seti was Nineteenth Dynasty, I believe.”

Curbing an urgent desire to make a cutting remark, Hattie recalled her circumstances and subsided. “Yes—yes I am sorry; I misspoke.” She then caught the self-assured gentleman’s gaze upon her again and realized he was amused. Why, he is laughing at me, the wretch; I should spill my punch on him, just to show how little I appreciate being the object of his amusement—or being exposed as ignorant in matters Egyptian. The man turned away as Hattie sipped her punch, thinking that this was an odd sort of party—and Robbie was making no effort to have a private word, which was perplexing in itself; if nothing else, he should want to take her aside to give her a bear-garden jawing for surprising him in such a way.

But he had his own surprise that, as it turned out, would trump hers. Robbie turned to the woman in warm approval, and pulled her hand through his arm. “Madame Auguste knows a great deal about the excavations—she lived in Egypt for years.”

“No more,” she laughed. “Now I will be an Englishwoman.”

“England’s gain,” offered the ambassador gallantly, and sketched a small bow.

With a smile that bordered on the patronizing, the woman addressed Hattie. “Only think, Mademoiselle Blackhouse, we shall be neighbors, you and I.”

With dawning horror, Hattie found she was having trouble putting together a coherent thought. “Is that so?” she managed, and almost dispassionately noted that she could now hear her heartbeat in her ears—never a good sign.

“Wish me happy, Hattie,” Robbie revealed with his easy smile. “Madame has agreed to marry me, and I am the luckiest of men.”





Chapter 2





With a discreet movement, Bing removed Hattie’s cup of punch from her nerveless hand—apparently afraid her charge would drop it or perhaps even throw it—but Hattie was made of sterner stuff and with a monumental effort, righted her ship and pinned a smile to her lips. “Why, that is wonderful news. My best wishes, Madame.”