always obeyed him and always worried about what he might want, and grandpère, he accepted. This was what he expected, you see, that his wishes were all that mattered. My grandmother wanted my mother to make my father obey grandpère too, but I do not think my mother could have made my father do anything, even if she desired to attempt it. I think perhaps maman died when I was young just to get some peace.â
âHow sad. For them and for you.â It was sad. More sad than she knew how to say.
âAh, no, not for me.â He grinned up at her. âNot sad at all. It means that I am free to explore the world, to go to all those places with the beautiful names.â
âSamarkand. The Gates of Jade,â she said. But she still thought it terribly sad. He was free to be an adventurer, but freedom of that sort meant not caring about others and having no one who cared about you. It was not a freedom she would choose. But perhaps he did not really have a choice.
For all that he sounded eager for adventure, she could hear a note of sorrow in his voice. Or was that only her imagination? Emily did not think so, and she longed to comfort him.
* * *
They stopped to camp each evening, since the rocks and wind made it impossible to travel on the river in the dark. The servants gathered wood for a fire and cooked a dinner in a large potârice, with bits of mutton and vegetables seasoned with aromatic spices.
The Kurds were obviously startled when the English ladies not only ate with the men but were served first. Lucien heard the servants explaining that this was indeed the custom of the English pashas, and in their country the sultan was actually a woman with no one above her. The Kurds shook their heads in disbelief. He must remember to tell Emily about this. It would amuse her.
The ladies themselves made an effort to conform to local customs, washing their hands in the running water of the river and eating with the fingers of their right hands only. And they did not turn up their noses at the simple fare they were offered. Lady Penworth even brought out her newly learned Arabic phrases to praise the cook for his efforts.
âCan you imagine what Lady Bulwer would say to this?â Lucien asked Oliphant with a laugh.
But Oliphant did not share his amusement. âLady Bulwer feels it necessary to maintain her position,â he said, his voice holding more than a trace of bitterness. âThese ladies are so assured of theirs that they have no need to assert it. They are so high up that the difference between a chimney sweep and a mere gentleman is indistinguishable.â
âOliphantâ¦â Lucien shook his head in exasperation.
âNo, it is true. They know who they are and are comfortable with it. There is no uncertainty.â Oliphant paused and looked sharply at Lucien. âYou too. You have that same assurance, that same comfort. Who are you, really?â
That was an uncomfortable question. Lucien shrugged it off. â Nâimporte. â
Oliphantâs mouth twisted in a sour smile. âThatâs right. It isnât importantâfor you. But for some of usâ¦â He left the circle around the fire and strode off into the darkness.
There was no point in following him. When he was in this black mood, wallowing in his unworthiness, there was no talking to him.
It was foolishness as well. From what he could see, Lady Julia was quite as taken with Oliphant as he was with her. Everyone in the Penworth party seemed to be aware of this, and no one seemed to think there was any problem. If he was not mistaken, Lady Emily had taken it upon herself to arrange the order of the march so that Oliphant and Julia regularly rode together, with no objections from Lady Penworth.
He smiled to himself. He had no objection to this arrangement either. Riding beside Emily had been nothing but pleasure.
Back in Constantinople, he had considered himself fortunate to be able to
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