The Lord’s Inconvenient Vow

‘No, may I see your sketches?’

He took her sketchpad with all the care he gave to the shards and remains his uncle excavated. She tried not to squirm as he lingered over a sketch of a wall painting from the temple below the cliffs and one of a funerary urn bearing the head of Bastet, the feline god.

‘You’ve a good eye for detail. There is not one mistake here. Very strange.’

She gritted her teeth, but as he turned she saw the wavering at the corner of his mouth and relaxed a little. She could never tell when his peculiar sense of humour would surface. She’d forgotten that about him—under his granite shell there was another Edge, the one who was endlessly considerate of Poppy and Janet and her mother, and who she often suspected was laughing even when he was doing his very best to scold her.

‘Most amusing. You would not be smiling if you know how close you came to being shoved off on to your posterior.’

He frowned.

‘That is most definitely not a proper word in mixed company.’

‘Posterior? It is a perfectly innocuous word.’

‘The word might be innocuous, but its...what it alludes to...’

‘Your behind?’

‘Sam! Will you ever grow up?’

‘I am grown up. In a couple of months I shall make my debut in Venetian society, be crammed into a frilly dress and have no choice but to behave like a simpering simpleton. But I am not there yet and I see nothing wrong with speaking of something completely natural. You and Lucas and Chase did it often enough when in your cups—I distinctly remember you once discussing the attributes of a certain ghawazi dancer in rather off-putting detail.’

He groaned.

‘You are impossible.’

‘And you’re stiff-necked, stuffy and stodgy bundled together and tied with a neat little bow and dipped in vinegar.’

‘Not little. I take offence at that.’

She couldn’t stop her smile. Somehow he always managed to pull the rug of her annoyance out from under her.

‘No, not little. Is being a great big bore preferable to being a little one?’

‘As long as I am great at something.’

She shifted, turning more fully to him and shielding her eyes from the sun.

‘Do you wish to be great at something, Edge?’

‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘I don’t know. Probably in some vague way, but not in actuality because it means they must invest effort in it. What do you wish to be great at?’

Even under the glare of the sun and the warmth of his tanned skin she could see the rise of colour in his lean cheeks. He moved his leg as if to slide off the statue and she caught his sleeve.

‘Wait. I won’t press if you don’t wish to talk of it. Is your arm better?’

He rolled his left shoulder.

‘Better. But it was infuriating to be invalided out just before Napoleon abdicated. Have you heard from Lucas or Chase?’

‘They sent word they are to remain in France. Something to do with my uncle. I haven’t seen them in...far too long.’

She clasped her hands, hoping he didn’t notice them shaking. Moving so often meant her only home was her family—Lucas, Chase and her mother in the inner core, and Cousin Huxley and the Carmichaels directly after them. And Edge. Beyond them she had no home, no roots, no anchor. If something happened to Lucas or Chase... It would be unbearable.

‘I miss them.’ The words burst from her. ‘Even with the war ended everything is uncertain. Even now they might not be alive and it could be weeks before I know.’

He placed his hand on hers, warm and firm, but he didn’t try to reassure her. She wished he would break with his nature and offer comfort, even lie to her, but it wasn’t Edge’s way. Talking with him always felt like approaching an island patrolled by a wary navy—being allowed ashore was an arduous process. Perhaps it was because he came to live with the Carmichaels when he was six. She’d never dared ask why. All she knew was that Poppy and Janet loved him deeply and absolutely and were never wary of showing that love, even now he was grown. They’d cried when he arrived and even Huxley and her mother had looked a little damp. In fact, only Edge remained calm during the reunion, though he’d looked different than her memory—familiar but a stranger. Or perhaps she was different, grown up. She didn’t want to be, but everyone told her she was.

She resisted the urge to lean into his strength, searching for something to say.

‘I would like to see London again one day. My mother swore never to return so I have not been since I was a child. Did you visit the British Museum? That would be top of my list if I ever return.’

He withdrew his hand and clasped his arms round his knees.

‘One day you will. Your mother’s decisions after your father’s scandal are her own, Sam, not yours. From what Poppy and Huxley said, he was merely a good man who made a mistake while he was far away from his family.’

‘It is not like you to varnish the truth, Edge. An affair with an engaged woman and a duel with her cuckolded betrothed is a rather serious mistake,’ she scoffed.

‘True, but it is still sad when an otherwise good man’s memory is reduced to his worst action. And remember that your father’s death does not reflect on you in any way.’

‘According to society, it does.’

He looked out at the horizon, his voice shifting again, turning stiffer and more hesitant. ‘Society is strange. People separately can be...pleasant, but sometimes together... They are like a mythical many-headed beast guarding a kingdom, full of suspicion and even exultation when one fails to solve the riddle that allows you in.’

She turned to him, concern overcoming her pain.

‘Did they say things about you when you were in London, Edge?’

‘There is always gossip.’

‘But you’re perfect,’ she blurted out and even before he laughed she turned as red as a sunset and hotter than the Nubian Desert in midday.

‘I did not mean you are perfect...’ she said crossly.

‘I know that.’ He was still laughing. ‘You meant I was so boring there could be nothing to gossip about.’

‘I did not mean that either. But truly I cannot see what they could object to.’

‘Thank you for that, Sam. But anything outside the ordinary is suspect to a closed group.’

‘Do you mean because Poppy and Janet raised you instead of your parents? Why were you sent to live with them, Edge?’ It was the most daring thing she’d ever asked him and she waited for his usual dismissal, but he merely stared at the horizon, his profile sharp against the sky. She knew him almost as well as her brothers, but she was not certain she knew him at all. Perhaps that was why those people were suspicious of him.

‘I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything of those first six years at all. No... I remember snow and grey, that is all. But if it was anything like what I saw these past months then I’m glad I don’t. My parents... I spent time with my mother because of my sister’s debut. My father thankfully does not leave Greybourne because he could make a funeral procession feel like a fête. They are utterly unlike Poppy and Janet. My mother is very cold and condescending and my father is...rigidly pious.’ He glanced at her. ‘Go ahead, say something about the apple not falling far from the tree.’

There was almost a snarl in his words which also wasn’t like him and she shook her head.