Read Online Heart of Light by Sarah A. Hoyt - Free Book Online Page B

alone on our carpetship cruise here. And we'll have time alone again soon. We plan to see the pyramids. So, sit down, man, sit down.”
    Peter sat down, with rather more willingness than he'd shown toward leaving. “You came in aboard Victoria's Invicta ?”
    “How did you know?”
    “I heard it had just left from London. And you appear newly arrived.” He looked at Emily and bowed slightly. “I do not think it is possible for me to have been in a hotel with the lovely Mrs. Oldhall for more than a day without being aware of her presence.”
    The comment disturbed Nigel, because Peter had never been a rake, never been obsessed with women. Yet his compliments to Emily seemed heavy indeed.
    Nigel raised an eyebrow to his old friend, in silent inquiry that Peter pretended not to understand. “I hear that each of the rooms in that ship cost upward of a hundred thousand pounds to outfit.”
    “Yes, it's very fine stuff,” Nigel said. “The best furniture and silk carpets and draperies.” He chuckled. “Better than at home.”
    And for the next few minutes, they discussed the carpetships and the general flourishing of the flight trade between Britain and its colonies.
    “A good thing for everyone,” Nigel said, “this far-flung trade. It makes the lot of the common man much easier.”
    “Yes,” Peter said, but his eyes narrowed, as though he'd meant to say no. “Although it costs so much to that same common man.”
    “Costs?” Nigel asked, quite at a loss for Peter's meaning.
    “And, Mr. Farewell?” Emily asked at last. “You came to Africa aboard what ship?”
    The question seemed to confuse Peter. He stopped, with his dark face and those eyes that had always seemed to Nigel as inscrutable as the mysterious center of any savage continent, turned toward Emily. His expression became suddenly opaque, as though a shutter had been closed across Peter's features. It did not cover his face, but it made his emotions and behavior inscrutable to any mere mortal. Nigel knew that expression all too well.
    Throughout most of their career in school, Peter had been the teachers' blue-eyed wonder child who knew everything, could answer every question and whose mind, coupled with his dauntless courage, reflected the hope of the brightest of futures. Yet, now and then, there were teachers who, for some reason or other, took a dislike to Peter. Perhaps they were intimidated by his brilliant mind. Or perhaps they feared his status as a member of one of the oldest, most respected and magically powerful of the titled families in Britain. But when a teacher disliked him, Peter would affect as blank and empty a stare when answering their questions as he now turned toward Emily Oldhall.
    “Pardon?” he asked Emily. “Ship?”
    “Oh, you said you were here before us,” Emily said, and colored like a child who has unwittingly committed social solecism. “I wondered by what means you traveled here.”
    Peter smiled. “I flew,” he said.
    Then he turned to Nigel and his face showed the same false smile no more open than a painted front. “Have you heard from Borne-Watkins? I heard he went into politics and had hopes of climbing very high indeed. There were rumors . . .”
    Borne-Watkins had been a weasel-faced boy and the class snitch, ever ready to run to a teacher or monitor with a story about someone else's misdeeds.
    As Peter slid smoothly into rumors and insinuations on the nature of Borne-Watkins's political career and what he might or might not have done to deserve it, Nigel listened in amazement that such a creature, so flawed in character, could climb so high. Their school—Four Towers Academy for the Education of Boys—had prided itself on instilling character, and yet here one of their gladuates was still without a character, prospering. It was almost interesting enough to make Nigel forget Peter's momentary blank look, his obvious confusion at Emily's question and his smooth refusal to answer it. Almost, but not