A Grand Tour (Timeless Victorian Collection Book 2) Page 2

  “I shall consider myself warned,” he said.

  Mrs. Hodges let out a cough. No doubt her keen hearing had caught the entire conversation. There was not much her companion missed, and Isabelle now considered Mrs. Hodges as much a friend as a chaperone, despite the disparity of years between them.

  “Sarah,” Miss Primm called to her charge as they stepped onto the dock, “do put up your parasol. We must preserve your complexion.” This last was said with a pitying glance at Isabelle.

  For a moment, Isabelle wished she could actually growl at the governess.

  But to be fair, despite the fact she wore her bonnet today, she’d been careless in the past about shading her face—as the smattering of freckles across her cheeks attested. It had been rather freeing to let go of the notion she must remain beautiful at all times in order to catch a husband, and to instead let the warm sun touch her skin as the mood struck her.

  “Where to?” Lord Weston paused on the wharf and let the rest of the party catch up. “I admit, I’m unfamiliar with the sights of Tangier.”

  “We certainly should go to the medina—the old town,” Isabelle said. “The market there will be well worth visiting. And while we’re there, perhaps a viewing of the casbah—the sultan’s palace. Though it is unlikely that foreigners will be admitted without a prior appointment.”

  “The sultan.” Miss Taylor gave a little shiver of excitement. “We truly are far from home, aren’t we? Which way do we go?”

  Isabelle gestured to the right, where the crenellated walls of the fortified palace could be seen rising above the nearby buildings. The city sloped up from the harbor, and several men with donkey carts were lined up on the far side of the docks. They called out in French, exhorting the new arrivals to purchase a ride up the “terrible, steep” streets in order to avoid injury.

  “You seem to know a great deal about the city,” Miss Primm said, a note of censure in her voice, as though such knowledge were unladylike.

  “I believe in being informed about one’s ports of call,” Isabelle said.

  “Not to mention that we have already traveled in North Africa,” Mrs. Hodges said. “One gains a certain familiarity, even though Morocco is not Tunisia.”

  “You’ve been to Tunisia?” Lord Jasper glanced at Isabelle.

  “Yes, five years ago.” She kept her tone brisk, as though her soul had not been completely crushed at the end of that journey. “My father is a botanist, and our family accompanied him on several expeditions when I was younger. Now, might I suggest we hire a donkey cart to convey us up the hill?”

  After a bit of haggling between Lord Weston and one of the drivers, the party was soon ensconced in a cart and jolting up the steeply ramped street into the old city of Tangier.

  Sunlight gleamed on the indigo water of the bay, and the pale beach seemed quite inviting, with gentle waves lapping up and down the sand. Isabelle wiped a trickle of perspiration from her temple. Miss Taylor looked a bit flushed, despite the shade of her parasol, as did her governess. Mrs. Hodges, in her usual stoic fashion, seemed unmoved by the heat beneath her black umbrella.

  Somewhat to Isabelle’s annoyance, Lord Jasper had not broken a sweat, either, though Lord Weston had already mopped his forehead twice with his handkerchief.

  The donkey cart passed through the thick walls encircling the medina and into a hubbub of veiled women, darting children, brightly garbed men in long tunics, and the cries of vendors. The driver halted before a market square, and the party disembarked.

  Miss Taylor turned in a circle, eyes wide, and Isabelle wondered if she herself had ever been quite that much of an innocent. Luckily, neither of the gentlemen accompanying them seemed the type of scoundrel ready to prey on such naïveté. Harmlessly flirtatious and irritatingly dour, perhaps, but she’d kept company with worse.

  They meandered for a time through the market, pausing to admire a bit of jewelry here, bright mounds of colorful spices there. Thin silver fish, so fresh they had not begun to smell, glinted in a rough-hewn wheelbarrow. The gentlemen took a bit of time at a knife vendor, discussing the merits of the various shapes of blades. In one section, the rugs and scarves draped so thickly overhead that the narrow street felt more like a tent than an alley open to the sky.

  They emerged into another square, and Isabelle bought a selection of fruits from the date vendor there, choosing a sampling from the array ranging from pale brown to nearly black.

  “Are they safe?” Miss Primm asked, giving the packet of sticky fruit a suspicious look.

  “Of course they are. Try one.” Isabelle held the dates out, pleased to see that both gentlemen did not hesitate to take a fruit.

  Neither did Miss Taylor, though the young lady did strip off her glove before selecting a date—a practical touch that Isabelle quickly emulated. Even Mrs. Hodges took one, though she was not a particular fan of sweets.

  Miss Primm kept her gloves on and her hands firmly folded.

  “If the lot of you want to court sickness, then it’s upon your heads. Sarah, I’m disappointed. I thought you had better sense than to devour random native offerings.”

  The young lady in question simply grinned and took another date. “They’re delicious—but now I’m terribly thirsty.”

  “Tea seller, yonder.” Mrs. Hodges tipped her umbrella to the low tables set up beneath a bright yellow awning.

  They had already passed a number of tea vendors, the ornate teapots and finely decorated glasses unmistakable. Indeed, there seemed to be even more people drinking tea in Morocco than coffee. Small, strong cups of the bitter brew had been the staple drink in Tunisia, though Isabelle had never acquired a taste for it.

  Mint-flavored tea, however, was another matter.

  “Come, Miss Primm,” Lord Weston said. “You can see they boil the water over the braziers. I’m certain it’s perfectly safe to drink.”

  The governess sniffed, but when they were all settled on the rugs and cushions beneath the awning, she agreed to have a glass.

  The proprietor hurried up and bowed, then began the preparation of the tea, mixing hot water with dried tea leaves and fresh mint and, at the end, a cone of sugar. He poured them each a glass, holding the pot up very high as the tea frothed into scarlet glasses covered with scrolled gold decoration.

  “It seems a bit odd,” Miss Taylor said, “to be drinking a hot beverage when the air is so very warm.”

  She held her glass up to the light, the liquid inside the cup glowing like a ruby.

  “And yet, it’s most refreshing,” Isabelle assured her.

  “Perhaps it’s similar to the Indian habit of eating highly spiced foods,” Lord Weston said. “Somehow it triggers an interior cooling mechanism in the body.”

  Mrs. Hodges let out a harrumph, and Lord Jasper looked amused for a brief second before taking a swallow of his tea.

  “Not bad,” he said, as if he’d expected much worse.

  “Are you feeling cooled, my lord?” Isabelle could not help asking. For some reason—possibly that of being an older sister—his standoffish façade made her want to poke at him until she got a reaction.

  “Indubitably,” he replied, the barest edge of humor in his dry tone.

  “As I said.” Lord Weston drained half his glass and gave a satisfied nod. “Invigorating.”

  Even Miss Primm unbent enough to admit that she did not mind the sweet mint-flavored tea. High praise coming from someone who seemed determined to dislike everything about travel abroad.

  After they finished their tea, they went to look at the casbah. As Isabelle had expected, the gates were closed to tourists. They caught glimpses of ornately tiled courtyards with merrily splashing fountains and the Moorish arched doorways that had become so familiar in Tunisia.

  “The sun’s starting to go down,” Miss Primm said as they returned to the main street leading away from the palace. “We must make all haste back to the ship.”

  “Never fear,” Lord Weston said. “We’d never let you la
dies come to any harm. Besides, we have plenty of time before dusk falls.”

  Isabelle glanced at the shadows sifting into the sky and then at the tall walls enclosing the medina. Luckily, the way out was simple enough. They kept to the road at the edge of the wall, and every few cross streets she could see sunlight slanting off the water below.

  Miss Primm hurried ahead, exhorting Miss Taylor and Lord Weston to keep up, but Isabelle felt no need to sprint back to the harbor. Mrs. Hodges strode out a bit faster, with a single look over her shoulder as if to advise Isabelle to make good use of her moments alone with Lord Jasper. Isabelle tried not to roll her eyes at her companion in return. Mrs. Hodges was not in the habit of pushing Isabelle to spend time with eligible gentlemen, but there were exceptions. Apparently Lord Jasper was one. Perhaps Mrs. Hodges recognized a kindred spirit in his irritable nature.

  Oh, but that was unkind to her companion. And possibly to Lord Jasper as well.

  “Have you been much abroad, my lord?” she asked him.

  “I made the compulsory Grand Tour with my tutor several years ago, though we did not set foot in North Africa. You have an adventurous spirit, Miss Strathmore.”

  “Perhaps I do. Or perhaps, since my family traveled so often, I have simply fallen into the habit of it and not gotten out again.”

  “No.” He said the word firmly. “You strike me as a young lady who makes her way confidently in the world.”

  She blinked at him. “That’s rather an extraordinary statement to make on such short acquaintance. I did not take you for an idle flatterer.”

  “I’m not.”

  Still a bit distracted by his words, Isabelle scarcely noted the robed fellow coming up on her right side—until he tore her reticule from her grasp and dashed away down a nearby alley.

  “Stop!” she cried, shocked by the boldness of the theft.

  Lord Jasper pivoted and sprinted down the narrow street after the thief. Isabelle followed, outrage fueling her steps as she ran over the clay bricks. How dare he? In all her time in Tunisia she had never once been accosted in such a manner.

  It was difficult to keep the fellow in sight, but Lord Jasper was adept at following the thief’s twists and turns. Isabelle managed to keep Lord Jasper’s dark-blue coat in sight, and finally, in a courtyard covered in chipped green and white tiles, he caught up to the pickpocket.

  Panting, Isabelle arrived in time to see her escort grab her reticule back and give the man’s shoulder a rough shake.

  “I’ll haul you to the authorities for this,” Lord Jasper said, his voice low and full of threat. “Understand?”

  The man blurted out something in Arabic and then thrashed about in Lord Jasper’s grip. Cloth tore, and a moment later the thief was free. Ripped robe flapping, he whirled and dashed out of the courtyard, leaving Isabelle and Lord Jasper standing alone in the quickening twilight—alone and quite unfortunately lost in the dangerous heart of the old city.

  Isabelle glanced up at the sky hemmed in by the buildings surrounding the shabby courtyard. The air had turned the drab gray of a pigeon’s wing, and her anger cooled to a chilly apprehension. Whatever were they to do now?

  “Here.” Lord Jasper handed her the reticule, his voice tight.

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t have chased the thief.” She looked down at her bag. “There’s really not much of value inside.”

  “Why didn’t you stay with your companion?” he asked. “I had the matter well in hand.”

  “I . . .” She stared into his eyes, noting the unmistakable flash of displeasure in their depths. “It’s my regrettable spirit of adventure, I suppose.”

  In truth, it hadn’t occurred to her to stay behind, though most gently bred young ladies would have. She’d been too much on her own, perhaps, accustomed to acting for herself without always deferring to a gentleman.

  And now it had landed her in a spot of difficulty—though she did have company.

  “You’d still be lost in the medina, even if I weren’t here,” she said, a bit tartly.

  “I’m not lost. And it’s safer for me to be on my own than it is to have to protect you.”

  She didn’t have a ready response to that. Besides, there was no point in wasting time arguing with Lord Jasper when they really needed to be getting back to the ship.

  “If you’re not lost,” she said, gesturing to the alleyways opening off the courtyard, “then, by all means, lead the way.”

  With a quick glance at the twilight sky, he nodded to their left. “This way.”

  Not the choice she would have made, but she bit her tongue and followed. There was not enough room in the narrow stone-walled passageway for her to take his arm. And if it came to a fight, it was probably for the best that he had his hands free.

  After a few twists and turns, she was quite certain they were losing themselves even deeper in the maze of the old city. The smell of garlic frying in oil drifted from a nearby doorway, and a child watched them go past, wide-eyed and silent.

  Lord Jasper hesitated at a cross street. Isabelle tasted dust at the back of her throat and took a moment to catch her breath.

  “Are you sure you know the proper direction?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  A clatter of stone on tile came from behind them, and she shot a quick glance over her shoulder, her heartbeat leaping. There was nothing to be seen—but that didn’t mean menacing figures weren’t skulking invisibly in the shadows, hands resting on long, curved knives, waiting to leap out . . .

  As if sensing her fear, Lord Jasper reached back and grabbed her hand. Not for comfort, as it turned out, but in order to pull her along at a faster pace.

  “We’re losing the light,” he said.

  “I’m well aware of the fact.” The sky had turned from ashes to coal dust, the scattering of stars overhead little caring what fate befell the mortals scurrying below.

  Just when Isabelle was ready to give in to despair, they burst out of an alley onto the wide street leading down to the harbor. Light rushed back into the sky, reflected from the silver mirror of the bay, and she let out a deep breath of relief.

  “I told you I knew where I was going,” Lord Jasper said, a hint of smugness in his tone.

  She glanced at his strong profile silhouetted against the twilight. “How?”

  “I’ve always had an excellent sense of direction, even as a child. Not to mention the ability to find lost items. My mother is the same way and believes it to be a function of keen perception of the world around us.” He shrugged.

  “However you want to explain it, I’m very grateful.”

  “I will not say it was my pleasure, Miss Strathmore.” His teeth gleamed momentarily in an unexpected smile. “Still, you must admit it was an adventure. I understand you’re partial to such things.”

  “Only up to a point. I’d prefer not to risk life and limb in the depths of an unknown city.”

  He sobered. “I wouldn’t have let any harm come to you.”

  His words sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, and she belatedly realized their hands were still clasped.

  Oh no. She must not do something so foolish as to lose her senses over a gentleman. Especially not one as darkly handsome as Lord Jasper. She pulled free of his grasp and straightened.

  “High time we returned to the Floramay,” she said briskly.

  Remember, she told herself fiercely. Remember what happened last time. She would never make that mistake again.

  In the light of the fitful lamps lining the street, Gavin studied Miss Strathmore. She marched forward, pert nose pointed into the air, golden curls peeking from beneath her bonnet.

  Despite himself, his interest was piqued—and oh, wouldn’t Will find that amusing, after Gavin’s assurances that he intended to steer clear of women for the time being? But there was something about the young lady by his side—her self-assurance, her fortitude while they had been navigating the twisty streets of the old city—that he found intriguing.

  Ye
s, she was a bit impulsive, but contrary to his first impression, she did not seem to be a fortune hunter.

  Of course, he’d thought that of the other young women whose clutches he’d narrowly escaped too. Still, Miss Isabelle Strathmore wasn’t displaying any avaricious tendencies toward him. In fact, she’d let go of his hand so quickly he wondered if there was something the matter.

  When they reached the harbor, Gavin saw a clot of people had gathered on the dock below the Floramay. As he and Miss Strathmore approached, he identified the local authorities, the ship’s captain, Will, and Miss Strathmore’s doughty companion. Clearly a party was preparing to come in search of them.

  “Isabelle!” Mrs. Hodges called, catching sight of them. “There you are.”

  In a moment, he and Miss Strathmore were the center of a hubbub, everyone exclaiming and firing off questions.

  “Whatever happened?” Will asked. “We feared you’d gotten into a spot of trouble.”

  “We’re all right,” Gavin said. “Miss Strathmore’s reticule was snatched. We chased the thief down and retrieved it, then returned to the harbor.”

  “Was that wise?” Mrs. Hodges shot her charge a dark look.

  “Not particularly,” Miss Strathmore said. “And I must say, Lord Jasper is being too modest. His impeccable sense of direction saved us from being lost for hours in the medina.”

  “Excellent!” Will clapped Gavin on the shoulder. “Always a good man in a pinch.”

  Miss Strathmore said nothing more, but the warm look she shot him conveyed her thanks well enough.

  The leader of the local authorities shouldered forward. “Tell us more of this pickpocket.”

  Gavin gave him a brief description of the thief, but he doubted anything would come of it. Especially as the steamer was departing in the morning, the witnesses to the crime bound for Athens.

  “If you’ve no more need of Miss Strathmore,” her companion said, “we’re going aboard.”

  “I advise that all my passengers return to the ship,” the captain said, nodding to Gavin and Will. “Best that everyone is on board, safely tucked into their cabins. I want no more scares this evening.”