The Lioness of Morocco(51)

Victoria could feel her pulse in her throat. She regretted causing such an uproar, but she could not take back her words now, and who was to say, it might even be better to have the truth finally come out. Maybe John would be so disappointed in his mother that he would leave Mogador and they could all return to London at once. The very thought almost brought her to tears. And anyway, Selwyn’s lungs were healed by now. There was nothing keeping them in this horrid country! She eyed John carefully, but the look he gave her was so angry that she quickly lowered her gaze.

Sibylla was beside herself, but had no choice but to confess the truth to her daughter and her sons. She looked at her children one by one. “What Victoria has said is true, Emily. André Rouston is your father.”

For a few seconds, everyone was paralyzed by shock. Emily gasped.

“This is not how I wanted you to find out,” Sibylla added faintly.

“I rather think you didn’t want me to find out at all!” Emily’s animosity cut Sibylla to the quick.

“I so wanted you to have a happy and carefree childhood. I did not want the stigma of illegitimacy to cast a pall over your life. Benjamin had just died, I was alone and had no idea what would happen next. In that moment, Rouston offered me support and stability. I was convinced that we would have a future together, but unfortunately . . .” She choked on her words. “But things turned out differently. Believe me, Emily, I kept silent only to spare you this heartache.”

Emily got up. “All my life, you have told me that my father was dead. I will never forgive you for lying!”





Chapter Twenty-Four

Mogador and Qasr el Bahia, December 1860

André stopped in front of the door to Sibylla’s office and closed his eyes. He had not felt this happy, almost elated, for quite some time. He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes and knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

Sibylla was standing by the window and looking down over the harbor. Her clerk stood behind a high desk, pen in hand, looking at her expectantly.

“We hope that the shipment meets your expectations and we look forward to a long and successful collaboration with you. Yours sincerely, etc.,” she dictated. “That’s all for now, Aladdin. Leave the letter here so that I can sign it.”

“Very well, Mrs. Hopkins,” the clerk said as he left the office.

Sibylla turned. “Hello, André. I’ve been expecting you. Did you bring me more saffron?”

The sight of her evoked in him the familiar feelings of pain, tenderness, and admiration. The sunlight sparkled in her white-blonde hair and was refracted in her tiny diamond earrings. Her straight shoulders and back radiated authority, but he also took note of the worry lines around her eyes.

“As I do every December.” He placed his saddlebag on the desk and took out the linen sack. Then he looked up with concern. “You don’t look well.”

“Why, aren’t you gracious! Is that what you call the famous French charm?” Sibylla opened the sack and poured out some of the saffron. But she did not inspect the quality of the pistils with her customary diligence.

“I could probably foist a sack of marigolds on you today,” André remarked with a smile.

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” She unlocked the cabinet in which she stored the saffron until it was shipped. They could hear muffled shouts, the clatter of crates, the squeaking of a winch, and a door being slammed shut in the warehouse below.

He took the earthenware vessels from her and placed them on the tabletop. “I just ran into Emily.”

The young woman had been lying in wait for him. She knew that he would be coming to Mogador around this time and had instructed a beggar sitting at the Bab Doukkala to inform her as soon as Monsieur Rouston rode by. He had only just dismounted from his horse in front of the French consulate when she had appeared in such a state of agitation that for a moment he had feared something had happened to Sibylla. He had been completely unprepared for what Emily did say.

Sibylla fetched the scale from the cabinet and slammed it on the table. “We should be discussing the quality of your crop and not my family.”

“Sibylla.” André gently placed his hand on her arm. “Emily told me what happened. Don’t you think that twenty years is long enough to live with a lie?”

“How dare you?” She jerked her arm back.

“I can imagine how painful this must all be for you, but I am glad Emily finally knows I am her father.”

Sibylla’s face twitched. For a brief moment, he expected her to throw him out along with his saffron. However, she only noted, very softly, “I expect you have known for some time.”

He thought back to that day when he had first met five-year-old Emily. He was standing on the city wall, looking out at the ocean and allowing his thoughts to drift like clouds across the sky when he caught sight of them: Nadira and Sibylla on the beach, playing with a little girl. The first thought that flashed into his mind was that that girl with the black curls could not possibly be Hopkins’s child.

He had asked around in town and been relieved beyond measure to discover that Sibylla had never remarried, that she lived alone with her children and was running her father’s shipping business. But he simply could not stop thinking about the child. A short while later, he had been successful in reestablishing his contact with Sibylla by way of his saffron and managed to meet the little one. Over the years, the certainty that he was Emily’s father had only grown stronger.

“You would never have told me, would you?” he asked gently.

She covered her eyes with her hand and said nothing. When he stepped closer and touched her shoulder, she flinched.

“What did you expect me to do?” she asked angrily. “You preferred your life with Aynur to a life with me. She bore you a daughter mere weeks after Emily was born!”

“I would have preferred a life with you, Sibylla . . .” He stopped. Aynur had lured him into her arms with a ruse back then. But later, he had understood her reasons, and she had become a good companion for him. He did not wish to speak ill of her. “Emily has asked if she might stay with me at Qasr el Bahia for the time being. I told her that she may.”

She spun around. “That is out of the question! I won’t allow it.”

“This is Emily’s decision. You must respect it.”

“Never!” Sibylla felt deeply wounded—by Emily, who had turned her back on her, and by André, who was helping her do so.

“You have withheld the truth from me for twenty years and denied me the opportunity to be a father to Emily. But now that she really needs a father, I must be one for her!”

“Do you believe that I would surrender Emily to your . . .” Sibylla could not bring herself to say the word “wife.” “To Aynur?! She will refuse to accept her because she’s my daughter. She will attempt to harm her, she will—”

“Please calm down, Sibylla! First of all, Aynur will do nothing of the sort. Secondly, I will be there as well. And thirdly, it is Emily’s wish.”

“But she is still a child and has no idea!” Sibylla protested.

André gingerly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. For a few seconds, all they heard was the distant breaking of the surf and the sounds of the harbor until Sibylla burst out, “Oh, that Sara Willshire, I could kill her! She has turned my whole family against me! Emily has thrown away her chance to study at the Royal Academy of Arts, and now she hardly speaks to me at all. The minute I say something, she leaves the room.”

“Give her time. The news has been a shock.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one she’s treating like a criminal.”

Sibylla haltingly told André that Emily wasn’t the only one angry with her. Thomas was resentful that she had not confided in him and John felt personally disgraced. “And to think that all our acquaintances knew,” he had fretted. “What a fool the other traders must think me!”

And Victoria, the instigator, stayed hidden in her room. Whenever Sibylla crossed paths with her in the house, the young woman quickly hurried away.

Sibylla looked into André’s eyes. “Victoria is ashamed, but she still has not asked for my forgiveness. To be perfectly frank, I’m not ready to give it yet. You must be upset with me as well.”

“Mon Dieu, no! What else could you have done? I was the one who made a grave mistake. I betrayed your feelings. And mine.” He drew a deep breath. “You wanted to protect Emily, as did I. So I said nothing for all these years, even though it wasn’t always easy.”

“I fear that Emily will be called a bastard if you publicly acknowledge her as your daughter. I couldn’t bear that, André.”

“Anyone who even thinks about uttering that word will have me to deal with,” André replied. “That’s another reason for Emily to go with me to Qasr el Bahia. People will gossip, but soon they tire of it and accept that I am Emily’s father.”

Sibylla leaned against him. “Had I known how you felt, many things would have turned out differently.” She sighed softly.

“Would you have forgiven me?” he asked earnestly.

She said nothing, but permitted him to stroke her hair.