Lady Emily's Exotic Journey Read Online Free

“It’s not as if your father—the late earl, I mean—was a devoted parent whom you loved dearly. As I have heard it, you rarely saw either him or your mother.”
    â€œYou don’t understand. I am not complaining about the lack of paternal—or maternal—love. I don’t care a fig about that. I don’t even care that my mother was a notorious whore. Not really. Now that my brother has married your sister and taken over as my guardian, I need never see her again. But because I don’t know who might have fathered me, and because my mother claims that she does not know either, I cannot know who his other children may be.”
    Emily realized what the real problem was. Her hands turned icy. How had she failed to consider this? How could she have been so lacking in perception that she never saw Julia’s real fear?
    Julia turned to face her and gave a short, angry laugh. “You do see, don’t you? Every time I meet a young man I wonder, ‘Are you someone I could marry, or are you my brother?’ How can I know? Should I ask him if his father knew my mother? That will simply remind him of the scandals. Shall I ask, ‘By the by, do you happen to know where your father was in October 1838?’ I cannot ask, so I can never know.”
    â€œJulia.” Emily held out a hand, and Julia grasped it.
    â€œI will never forgive my mother. Never.”

Two
    The sounds of the gentlemen returning from their formal visit to the palace drifted into the salon where the ladies were having tea. Lady Bulwer, almost completely overwhelmed by her dress of purple and yellow plaid taffeta, tilted her head to listen, and then continued to pour from an elaborate silver tea service. Two handsome young footmen in livery—purple, laced with gold—passed trays of pastries.
    Utterly delectable pastries of flaky pastry with some unusual nut, dripping with honey. Emily had to force herself to wipe her fingers on her napkin, when she really wanted to lick them clean. She felt as if she were six years old again, with her nurse insisting that a lady would never lick the crumbs of icing from the plate. Being a lady had many advantages, she knew, but looking greedily at the beads of honey on her plate, she recognized some disadvantages as well.
    There were pastry crumbs all over her lap, she noticed, as well as a few more drops of honey. She tried dabbing them unobtrusively with her napkin, but only smeared them. Her mother and Julia were, as usual, immaculate. She did not know how they managed to keep their crumbs from falling all over the place. Did they know some secret to selecting only well-behaved pastries?
    â€œWell, that went quite well, I think,” declared Sir Henry, leading the way into the salon. “Abdülmecid was exceedingly gracious. He must have received good reports of you from his ambassador in London.”
    â€œI hope so. I fear that my command of French does not equal the sultan’s.” Lord Penworth shook his head ruefully. “I trust I did not commit any insulting solecisms.”
    â€œOn the contrary,” said Chambertin cheerfully. “You make it that the sultan feels superior. There is no flattery that could be so effective.”
    That produced a bark of laughter from Sir Henry. “And talk of a railway fits in nicely with his Tanzimat , the modernizing reforms he’s been trying to bring about. He’d be pleased to see a railway connection to Baghdad and Basra, especially if someone else pays for it, eh?” He rubbed his hands. “Well, now that that’s taken care of, I think we could all do with a cup of tea.”
    Eventually, everyone settled down with a cup of tea. To Emily’s regret, Sir Henry dismissed the footmen with their trays of pastries. She consoled herself with the fact that M. Chambertin had immediately come to her side and requested permission to join her. Permission she gave, of course. How could