***

The next week was full of interest as they pored over maps, made arrangements, and wrote out long lists of things to do. Edward’s father did not give his blessing to the trip but he did not forbid it, which was all that could be hoped for. Edward declared himself happy to travel with his relatives, particularly as Sir Matthew had sailed the day after their meeting. That being the case, he said he would rather wait and travel with friends, even if it meant a delay, than take passage alone.

Normal life was almost forgotten in all the excitement, but Elizabeth was reminded of it when the post brought two letters of interest. One was from Mr Inkworthy, who professed himself willing to travel with them to Egypt, and the other was from Mrs Bennet.

Elizabeth felt a twinge of guilt as she opened it, for she had said nothing of the proposed trip to her mother. She knew the information would provoke a strong reaction, either elation or despair, and an inevitable disturbance of Mrs Bennet’s finely tuned nerves. And so she had refrained from saying anything thus far. There would be time enough for that once all the arrangements had been made.

Her twinge of guilt was soon replaced by a different emotion, however, for the contents of the letter gave her an idea.

“You have thought of something,” said Darcy, who was writing a letter to Georgiana close by.

“Yes, I have. You know that Sophie Lucas, Charlotte’s youngest sister, has recently been jilted and that she has been very unhappy,” said Elizabeth.

“I remember you mentioning it, yes.”

“Charlotte and Maria have both been worried about her. They invited her to stay with them, but although Sophie dutifully accepted the invitations and dutifully paid her visits, she showed no interest or pleasure in them. And now Mama writes that Mr Jones the apothecary is seriously worried about her and fears she may be going into a decline. Lady Lucas is in despair and does not know what to do.”

Darcy stopped writing.

“I am very sorry for it,” he said. “I liked Sophie. It cannot have been easy for her, being so much younger than the rest of the family, particularly as her sisters have both been married for ten years or more, and she is the only girl left.”

“Even her brothers have now all gone out into the world,” said Elizabeth, “which means that she is the only child left at home—although, at two and twenty, she is not a child anymore. I have been thinking that I will lack female companionship when we go to Egypt and that I would like another woman to talk to when so far from home. I cannot ask Jane to go with us, she is busy with her young brood, and I cannot ask Georgiana, as she is expecting again, but Mama’s letter has led me to think I would like to invite Sophie. The change of scene would be good for her and give a new turn to her thoughts. She has always loved the children, and she would be a great help with them as well as providing me with some companionship.”

“I think it a very good idea. If you can persuade her to come, then do so,” said Darcy.

“The only drawback is that as soon as Sophie knows we are going to Egypt, Mama will know as well,” said Elizabeth. “There is no such thing as a secret in Meryton.”

“She will have to know at some time,” said Darcy. “Or had you planned on posting her a letter from Southampton as we boarded the ship?”

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

“I must admit the idea had crossed my mind! But if I am to write to Sophie, I had better write to Mama at the same time. She will make a fuss, no doubt, but she is a long way away in Hertfordshire, and I will just have to bear her reproachful reply.”

She could not complain about this minor worry, she thought, as she took up her quill, for the late afternoon was otherwise idyllic. All six of her children were behaving themselves beautifully. Beth was sitting by the window, embroidering a handkerchief; William was reading a book about the pharaohs; John was lying on the floor and reenacting the Battle of Alexandria with his toy soldiers; Laurence and Jane were playing chase, running in and out of the French windows without knocking anything over; and Margaret was talking to her doll.

Darcy, finishing his letters, went to join John.

“Playing with toy soldiers?” Lizzy teased him as he walked past her.

“Helping my son with problems of historical strategy,” he returned.

“Do not get too carried away. Remember, the Potheroes are dining with us tonight. In another half hour, the children will have to go upstairs and we will have to dress.”

“Half an hour is enough for us to win the battle, is it not, John?” said Darcy.

John nodded seriously.

“I only hope it is enough for Edward to return,” said Elizabeth. “You told him we were expecting company for dinner, I hope?”

“Yes, I reminded him about it this morning.”

Elizabeth was satisfied and returned to her letters.

As it happened, she need not have worried, for Edward walked into the sitting room soon afterward, just in time to bid the children good night. He was looking well pleased with himself and revealed that he had been with his tailor, discussing some new clothes he would need for the trip.

“You will be able to learn more about what to wear once the Potheroes arrive,” said Elizabeth.

“The Potheroes!” said Edward, clapping his hand to his head.

“You had not forgotten?” Elizabeth said. “Even though Darcy reminded you?”

“No, of course not,” he declared mendaciously.

“Then I think it is time you retired to dress, and we must do the same,” said Elizabeth.

She tidied away her writing implements and then went upstairs, kissing the children good night before retiring to her room, where her maid had laid out a beautiful dinner dress. It had a high waist and narrow skirt, and it was decorated down the front with frills of lace. A newly fashionable lace ruff completed the outfit, but after a few minutes of wearing it, Elizabeth took it off, for although it looked very grand, it scratched.

Darcy entered the room a few minutes later, dressed in his evening clothes and looking as handsome as when she had first seen him at the Meryton assembly. His dark hair was combed over the fine contours of his head, and his figure—as hard and firm as when she had first met him—was encased in a black tailcoat, white ruffled shirt, and well-fitting pantaloons. That evening so long ago had sealed his fate, and hers, too. Despite the difficult start to their courtship, it had led to many years of happiness for both of them.

“You look beautiful,” he said, kissing her on the neck.

She could not resist turning to kiss him and would have continued to do so all evening if she had not heard the Potheroes’ carriage rolling up outside the house. Reluctantly, she pulled away from him and, equally reluctantly, Darcy let her go.

He gave her his arm and they left the room, descending the long and splendid staircase and arriving on the first floor landing in time to greet their guests.

They all went through to the drawing room, which, in common with other town houses, was located on the first floor. Edward was waiting for them, suitably attired.

He is very handsome, thought Elizabeth as she saw him in all his glory. I wonder if he and Sophie…

But then told herself that matchmaking was seldom successful and decided that she had quite enough to think about without such complications.

They were soon all talking happily together. The conversation was at first general, but as they went through into the dining room, dinner having been announced, it turned to the subject on everyone’s mind.

“I am longing to know more about your trip,” said Elizabeth to Lady Potheroe, as the soup was served. “Is the heat immense?”

“Well, my dear, it is unbearable at midday, although the evenings are delightful. You must be sure to take clothes of the lightest materials. Linen and muslin are best. And you must make sure to be well covered from the sun. We met a very agreeable couple while we were out there—do you remember the Wakeleys, Oliver dear?—they told us that one of their maids foolishly left off her shawl during a shopping trip to the market and was boiled as red as a lobster. The wretched girl was in pain for days and insisted on returning home as soon as ever she could move. But of course, if you take care, there is no need—”

Lady Potheroe chatted on at some length about the different requirements for adults and children and Elizabeth listened diligently throughout.

Although she had never met the older lady before tonight, Elizabeth could not help but be charmed by her warm manner and matter-of-fact attitude to the perils of travelling in foreign lands. Lady Potheroe had already given Elizabeth more information on medicines to take and clothes to pack than any book could have done. Moreover, she had offered the name of her own seamstress for Elizabeth to consult.

By the time the dessert was brought in, Elizabeth felt much more confident about leading her children off on this marvellous, yet potentially hazardous adventure.

“Of course when you arrive at the Valley of the Kings, you will be amazed at how spectacular the pyramids are,” Lord Potheroe said, as he took a spoonful of syllabub. “I couldn’t take my eyes off them for the first three days, could I, m’dear?”

“It was the same for all of us, Oliver. The structures are so fantastic, one cannot help but feel dwarfed by them.”

“It seems you were quite taken with Egypt, Lady Potheroe,” said Darcy, smiling at his guest.

“It is impossible not to be,” Lady Potheroe replied. “Indeed, just talking about it this evening with you young people makes me wish I was returning with you. But I cannot,” she continued with a smile at Edward, who seemed to be about to invite her in his zeal to convert as many people as possible to his cause. “Our youngest daughter is finally getting married in three months time, and I barely have enough time to choose gowns with her as it is.”

“Then our loss is England’s gain,” said Edward gallantly.

“However,” Lord Potheroe continued, “do not let Amelia’s enthusiasms blind you to the inconveniences of Egypt, and there are many. You should be aware of the dangers of drinking the water and the diseases that seem to be rife among the poor, even once the plague season has passed. And the animals can be deadly as well. Never be tempted to swim in the rivers, Darcy, no matter how hot it gets. The Nile crocodiles are the most fearsome creatures I have ever seen. We witnessed a male drowning a—”

“Oliver, this is hardly appropriate dinner conversation,” Lady Potheroe interrupted gently.

Her husband looked awkward.

“You are right as usual, my dear,” he said.

Elizabeth changed the direction of the conversation by saying, “Have you visited the British Museum recently? Edward had business with Sir Matthew, and we saw the beginnings of his exhibition room. He longs to fill it with treasures one day, but at the moment it is practically empty, apart from a few pots and a frieze of an Egyptian woman. She looked remarkably like the little doll Edward gave to Margaret—or, should I say, the doll which Margaret appropriated!”

Edward finished the last of his dessert and sat back on his chair. “Ah, you mean Aahotep.”

“It is a peculiar little trinket,” Darcy said.

“Egypt is full of such things, Darcy,” Lord Potheroe said rather dismissively, but his wife held up a finger.

“Do tell us more, Mr Fitzwilliam. I adore Egyptian folktales.”

Her husband smiled indulgently. “Amelia speaks the truth. Whenever we ventured into the souks and she spotted a vase or a tapestry or a rug with even a hint of a story—the gorier the better, I might add—I knew I would not be able to wrest her away until the whole ghastly tale had been told and my wallet would be lighter of a good few pounds.”

The Darcys laughed as Edward pushed his plate aside.

“It is not a long story,” he said, “although it is rather intriguing. I must confess a similar love of Egyptian stories as Lady Potheroe, and so I made it my business to discover what I could about Aahotep.”

“Bravo, Mr Fitzwilliam,” said Lady Potheroe. “We romantics must stick together. Please tell us the story.”

“Yes, do, Edward,” Elizabeth agreed eagerly. “Then I promise Lady Potheroe and I will leave you gentlemen to your port.”

Edward bowed from his chair. “Very well then—although I warn you, I have no means of knowing how authentic this tale is…”