Hattie regarded him for a moment, her heartbeat returning to normal. “Do you have an address, perhaps? Or the town’s name?”
He shook his head and spread his arthritic hands in regret. “I am sorry.”
As they left, Berry assured her, “If she yet lives I will find her; an Egyptian woman living in France—it will not be a hardship.”
But Hattie had been thinking it through, her brow knit. “I don’t know—if she has a family and has made a new life, it may not be for the best.” She took a long breath, feeling the knot of sick misery lessen a little. “It was just a thought.”
He tucked her hand into his arm and they stood together for a few moments in silence. “What would you like to do? Return to the barge? Sit and rest?”
Lifting her face, she caught view of the enormous ruins of the Hypostyle Hall. “I would like to walk for a while, I think.”
And so she walked with him among the giant columns that bore testament to a once mighty civilization, standing timeless and unchanging amidst the uncertainties of the present. I was never very interested in any of this, she thought. But I should have been—it is my heritage, or at least in part. There is something very comforting in it; the concerns of the temporary inhabitants seem of little importance against the backdrop of millennia—of the countless generations who have lived and breathed and borne life’s heavy blows.
“At least it all makes sense, now.” They had not spoken in some time.
He drew a long breath. “I had hoped to spare you this.”
Absently, she ran a palm along the raised relief on an ancient column. “No, it is for the best—don’t you see? Only think of how wracked you have been, worried that I would speak to someone and find out—it would have eaten at you.” She slanted him a sidelong glance. “There should be no secrets between us, my-friend-who-is-not-named-Daniel.”
Placing his hand over hers on the column, he did not take the opportunity to divulge his secrets to her, and she did not press him. There was now no doubt in her mind that his allegiances—whatever they were—came second to his allegiance to her. “Who knows of this?” she asked, wishing no one did.
“Very few—it was kept very quiet so that his wife would not learn of it; there had been problems caused by other infidelities, and recall that Josephine could not conceive.”
Hattie slowly shook her head. “Such goings on—I thought he was devoted to the empress.”
His mouth curved into a small smile. “You are naïve, perhaps.”
“Another thirsty horse,” she observed in a dry tone, amazed she could see the humor in it.
“It is a common failing—particularly among men of power; often it presents a weakness to be exploited by their enemies.”
Which is why women like Eugenie are so useful, Hattie concluded. I suppose if they are beautiful and there for the taking, there is little hesitation. Immediately, she shied away from the thought—she didn’t like to think that Halima was like Eugenie.
Berry took her arm again as they walked through the southern colonnade, the shadows stretching across the pathways before them and the gravel quietly crunching beneath their feet. “I will contact Captain Clements; he will marry us and see that you are safely delivered to my sister.”
There was an edge of determination to his tone that she sincerely appreciated. With a soft smile, she looked up to him and was relieved that she retained her composure; that her mouth did not tremble. “You must see that I cannot marry.”
“I see no such thing.” His voice was like steel.
Lowering her gaze, she squeezed his arm, gently. “I imagine you have prospects, and a fond family. I will not offer them false coin.”
“You are a Blackhouse, Hattie. Nothing less.”
Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “After their treachery is revealed, I imagine that will be of little comfort.”
He was silent a moment and she took her courage in both hands and lifted her face to his. “We can be together, nevertheless.”
He did not change his pace or the tempo of his words but she was aware he was very unhappy with her. “You will never say such a thing again. Do you understand?”
“Be reasonable,” she gently pointed out. “I cannot marry anyone, even if the secret is kept. It would be—it would be dishonorable. And it is you that I love. I would not change anything—anything at all—if it meant I would not have met you.”
“You will speak no more nonsense,” was all he said, and she allowed the subject to drop. It was only a matter of time—he was a thirsty horse, himself.