Silk and Secrets(2)

Sara rose and crossed the room to enfold him in a heartfelt embrace. "I'll miss you, Ross," she said softly. "Be careful."

"I'm always careful." Ross kissed her forehead, then turned to his friend.

He had intended to shake hands, but Mikahl, once more un-English, gave him a quick, powerful hug. "And if being careful isn't enough, be dangerous. You're rather good at that, for an English gentleman."

Ross smiled and clapped the other man on the shoulder. "I've had good teachers."

They were all laughing as Ross left. He always preferred leaving with laughter rather than tears.

* * *

Constantinople

January 1841

The British ambassador to the Sublime Porte lived a dozen miles from Constantinople, in a large village on the Strait of Bosphorous. As Ross entered the embassy to pay a courtesy call, he was amused to find an interior that would not have looked out of place in Mayfair. As a bastion of Englishness, the ambassador's residence could not be faulted, even though on the outside it looked like the home of any wealthy Turk.

A servant took Ross's card in, and only a few moments passed before the ambassador himself, Sir Stratford Canning, came out to greet the distinguished visitor.

"Lord Ross Carlisle!" The ambassador offered his hand. "It's a great pleasure to finally meet you. I've read both of your books. Can't say that I always agree with your conclusions, but they were most interesting and informative."

Ross smiled and shook Canning's hand. "To a writer, it is enough to be read, Sir Stratford. Being agreed with would be too much to hope for. I recently finished another book, so soon you will have more things to disagree with."

The ambassador laughed. "Will you be in Constantinople for long, Lord Ross?"

"Just a fortnight or so, until I've made arrangements to go south into the Lebanon. After that, I intend to visit northern Arabia. I'd like to travel with the Bedouins."

Canning gave an elaborate shudder. "Better you than me. My fondest wish is to spend all of my time in England, but the Foreign Office persists in sending me abroad. This is my third posting in Constantinople. Flattery, you know, they keep telling me that no one else can fill the position as well."

Knowing Canning's formidable reputation, Ross observed, "Very likely the Foreign Office is right."

"I was about to have some tea in my study. Would you care to join me?" After Ross nodded, Canning led the way down a hall and into a neat office with book-lined walls. "There have been letters waiting here for you for several weeks."

"Originally I had planned to reach Constantinople at the beginning of December," Ross explained as he took a seat. "But I decided to stay for a few weeks in Athens. That is the advantage of traveling purely for my own pleasure."

Canning rang for tea, then crossed the room and opened a drawer in a cabinet. After a moment of rummaging, he brought out a packet of letters tied with ribbon and brought it to Ross. His face suddenly sober, he said, "I'm afraid that one of the letters may contain bad news, for it is black-bordered."

The ambassador's words dispelled Ross's light sociable mood. Taking the packet, he said, "Will you forgive me if I read it immediately?"

"Of course." Canning handed his guest a letter opener, then sat down behind his desk and made a polite show of busyness.

Ross flipped through the letters quickly, noting the handwriting of Sara, Mikahl, and his mother, among others. The black-bordered letter was near the bottom of the pile. He was relieved to see that the address was written in his mother's bold hand, which meant that she at least was well.

He steeled himself before breaking the seal. His father, the Duke of Windermere, was nearly eighty, and though his health was good for a man of his years, it would not be surprising if death had called for him. If so, Ross hoped the end had been quick.

Having prepared himself to accept the death of his father, it took Ross a moment to comprehend that the letter did not say what he had expected. When the contents registered, he exhaled softly and closed his eyes, rubbing his temple with one hand while he thought of the ways this news would change his life.

Quietly Canning said, "Is there anything I can get for you, Lord Ross? Some brandy, perhaps?"

Ross opened his eyes. "No, thank you. I'm all right."

"Is it your father?" the ambassador asked hesitantly. "I met the duke some years ago. A most distinguished man."

"Not my father." Ross sighed. "My brother—half-brother, actually—the Marquess of Kilburn, died unexpectedly last month."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know Lord Kilburn, but I'm sure that it must be a great loss to you."