With a characteristic sniff Gascoyne shed her gloves, bonnet and pelisse, placed them neatly on one chair and sat, bolt upright, on the edge of another. Even that appeared to strike her as frivolous idleness, for she drew a portmanteau towards her and began lifting out underwear and sorting it onto the camphor wood chest next to the chair.
‘What happens now, my lady, if I may be so bold as to enquire?’
‘We rest here at the Embassy, and one of the secretaries will send a request to the Sublime Porte—the palace—for us to be granted a firman which will allow us to travel. Then I can find a suitable dragoman and porters, and buy pack animals, horses and supplies. Then we set out for Anatolia.’
‘Where’s that, my lady?’ Gascoyne frowned at a minute mark on a camisole and placed it to one side. ‘I thought we were arrived, now we’re in Turkey.’
‘It is part of Turkey—the land to the east.’ Caroline rolled over onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. ‘It is unchanged for centuries, and there are many beautiful natural features and fascinating archaeological treasures that are hardly known about. This book—’ She pulled over her bulging reticule and dug out the volume she had been carrying around since leaving England. ‘This book tells all about what has been discovered so far. It is by the best-known explorer of the area—Mr Fenton. He writes so compellingly.’
Gascoyne looked down her long nose at the proffered volume. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t understand it, my lady. It doesn’t sound very suitable for English ladies either. How many carriage dresses do you think I should pack? And what about evening wear? Full dress, or only demi?’
‘Neither!’ Caroline rolled off the bed and straightened her gown at the sound of a knock on the door. ‘Come in. Oh, thank you; will you also send bathwater to my dresser’s room, please?’
The housekeeper bowed, and supervised the setting out of a cold collation, while menservants struggled in with a bathtub and ewers of hot water. Disappointingly it seemed that the Embassy did not have its own hammam.
‘No evening gowns, my lady?’
‘No. I shall take two gowns, and otherwise all those riding habits I had made.’ Caroline bit her lip as a thought struck her. ‘Provided I can find a lady’s side-saddle out here. If I cannot, then I shall just have to resort to breeches and a long coat over. It can’t be so difficult to ride astride, can it? Men do it all the time.’
‘Astride? In breeches? But, my lady, that is enough to ruin your reputation!’
‘Amongst whom?’ Caroline enquired tartly. ‘Anatolian shepherds?’
‘But are we not taking a travelling carriage? I cannot ride on any sort of saddle,’ Gascoyne wailed.
‘I will hire a small carriage for you and the luggage,’ Caroline promised, firmly trampling down the thought that roads to run a carriage over might not exist. The idea of Gascoyne on a camel was irresistible, if cruel, but she kept it to herself. Time enough to worry about that if the problem arose. ‘Now, shall we have our baths before we eat?’
Gascoyne, despite an initial protest that she should stay and attend on her ladyship before taking her own bath, was surprisingly easy to persuade—presumably too shaken by the awful revelations about their mode of transport to protest about anything else. She went off, after unlacing Caroline’s corsets and abjuring her to lock the door behind her.
Caroline sank into the cool water with a sigh of relief and lay back, idly twiddling her feet over the edge. It was a nice big tub, with a high back and deep sides. William and she had used to have a lot of fun in baths. He would sneak in and pounce with a soapy sponge when she least expected it, or pour in far too much scented oil and then rub it in all over her until she was as sleek as a wet seal and twice as slippery.
And then, when they were both thoroughly wet and laughing, he would tumble her out onto the piles of linen towels and they would make love…
‘Stop it!’ Caroline sat up abruptly, slopping water over the sides onto the highly polished wood. For goodness’sake, I have got to stop thinking about that! I have just made a complete fool of myself with a man, and proved I haven’t the temperament to even think about taking a lover. And I certainly don’t want to get married again: I would never find anyone as sweet as William, and I would probably end up with an insensitive lump like Hubert. So I had better learn to stop thinking about sex once and for all.
Which was an extremely sensible resolution, of course, if only one knew how to carry it out. And if only the memory of a mobile, sensual mouth and a pair of mocking grey eyes did not intrude every time one closed one’s own lids.
Two days’ rest in the Embassy served to restore the tone of Caroline’s mind somewhat. She had not ventured out yet, taking Mr Hamilton’s advice to adjust to the air and food, to rest, and decide what equipment she needed to purchase for her onward journey.
‘You will be visiting Bursa, I expect,’ he said confidently. ‘That is a relatively easy journey by land. If you wish to explore further along the coast, then I suggest hiring a boat.’
‘I am sure it is fascinating,’ Caroline replied politely. ‘And I will visit there at some stage. But my purpose in coming is chiefly to go into Anatolia.’
‘Anatolia? But very few westerners ever do that. It is wild and quite unchanged for centuries.’
‘Exactly—that is why I want to see it.’ She could see he was anxious, and added, ‘Will I have a problem getting a firman for that area? Is it restricted in some way?’
‘I do not think so—but it is so unusual, especially for a lady.’
‘I did not come all this way to do the usual thing,’ Caroline said briskly. ‘Now, what must I do to get my firman?’
‘I have sent a note to the official at the Sublime Porte who deals with such things. I expect an answer within a few days.’
Caroline told herself that she should not expect an instant response, and requested the loan of an interpreter who could show her around the city while she was waiting. Mr Lomax had departed even more promptly than he had expected, in the service of a returning diplomat rendered temporarily lame as a result of an injury.
She had been promised a guide for the afternoon, and had retreated to the sitting room placed at her disposal to con her notebooks for those sights she wished to visit first, when the Secretary reappeared, an expression of mixed alarm and satisfaction on his face.
‘The most extraordinary thing, Lady Morvall. A message from the Topkapi Sarayi: the Sultan will receive you personally in audience.’
‘The Sultan? But I did not ask for an audience! How has he even heard of me?’
‘Possibly officials dealing with your application for a firman were intrigued by the fact that a titled English lady is asking for such a thing. Lady Hester Stanhope caused no little stir, you know—she still does, for all that she is now in Syria.’
‘Well, I am no Lady Hester.’
‘Indeed not, I am glad to say,’ Mr Hamilton pronounced, reminding her forcefully of Hubert for a moment.
‘I presume declining is out of the question?’
‘Most certainly. I beg you would do nothing so deleterious to British interests, ma’am. This is a great honour.’
‘But what should I wear? How should I behave?’
‘Dress and behave as though you were summoned to a daytime audience with the Prince Regent, Lady Morvall.’
‘Should