From Cairo, With Love (Timeless Romance Single Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2016 Mirror Press

  E-book edition

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. These novels are works of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.

  Interior Design by Heather Justesen

  Edited by Stephanie Clarke and Lisa Shepherd

  Cover design by Rachael Anderson

  Cover Photo Credit: Richard Jenkins Photography

  Published by Mirror Press, LLC

  eISBN-10: 1-941145-88-4

  eISBN-13: 978-1-941145-88-3

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  Venice Harbor was filled to capacity. Valentine Baker viewed the scene with wide eyes and a smile she couldn’t seem to contain. Masts shot high into the sky, and sailing ships vied for space with steamers, gondolas, and small canopied craft that ferried visitors to their destinations. She was in Venice, and the very next morning she would be on her way to Egypt. She had gone from living a conventional life in a conventional English village to being an Independent Woman who traveled the world with flair.

  Well, she amended, she wasn’t certain she contained any amount of flair, really, but at least she was doing something different—something wonderful! The world was only three years’ shy of saying goodbye to the nineteenth century and ushering in the twentieth. Valentine was convinced that 1897 was a grand time to be alive, and she planned to take advantage of every amazing moment.

  As preparations were made for the passengers to leave the steamship and transfer to a covered ferry, Valentine bounced on her feet, belatedly realizing she was demonstrating a decided lack of flair. She stopped bouncing and made every effort to stay still; to be a credit to her cousin’s lofty status as a countess.

  Evangeline Stuart Bellini, “Eva” to family, was Valentine’s maternal cousin; she had been married for two years to Count Matteo Bellini, formerly Europe’s most sought-after bachelor. Evangeline was an accomplished artist, and the Bellinis were visiting Venice from their home in Florence for the second Biennales, a prestigious art show and competition. Valentine squelched a now familiar stab of apprehension at visiting her cousin, having last seen her nearly seven years ago. So much had transpired over the years. Eva’s stepfather had been imprisoned for making an attempt on her life, and her stepsisters were sent away to school. Eva and Valentine had become friends anew, through correspondence, after Eva’s wedding.

  Valentine was the youngest and only girl of seven children. When her parents died, she went to live with her second eldest brother, Samuel, his wife, and their four children. He had just become a solicitor and was looking for a home in which to raise his family. Eva graciously offered her family home near London in exchange for care of the grounds and household upkeep. Samuel accepted her generous offer. Valentine spent her time helping her sister-in-law with the children and the move to a new town.

  Valentine, struck by the beauty of the country home and its gardens, wrote Evangeline to thank her for her generosity and to offer felicitations on her recent nuptials. Eva warmly responded, and the two exchanged letters, becoming fast friends through their correspondence. Both young women regretted the loss of contact in earlier years. Valentine realized both she and Eva would have benefitted from the company of the other—Eva had been all but a prisoner in her own home and Valentine had never felt as though she belonged anywhere. Her brothers were kind, their wives gracious, their children playful and loving, but always living on the generosity of her brothers constantly reminded her of her own lack.

  A breeze blew across the harbor and lifted curly black tendrils of hair away from her face. She clutched her hat in her fingers and knew she probably ought to secure it in place on her head, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. The air was brisk, fresh, and alive with a myriad of sights, smells, and sounds. She didn’t want to obscure any of it by wearing a hat. It was silly, she knew, but she hated hats. Even as a child they’d been a nuisance to her. Constantly falling off, getting knocked askew, or trampled under her own feet as she played with her brothers—hats represented containment, a notion she’d always chafed under.

  Her brothers had all the freedom in the world to run roughshod over life if they chose. However, once Valentine entered her teen years—it would have been earlier had mother been able to force it—Valentine had been . . . obliged . . . to rein in her activities and pay closer attention to more feminine pursuits that didn’t suit her personality.

  Valentine shook off the dampening thoughts and smiled at the porter who assisted her transfer, along with her trunk, to the dock and then onto the small human-rowed ferry. She’d traveled the bulk of her trip—a delightful series of train rides south through the continent—with an elderly woman who had taken her leave of Valentine when they reached Italy. Val had traveled alone the rest of the way to Venice. It marked the first time in her twenty-four years of life she’d done anything remotely like it, and she gloried in the rush of euphoria the simple circumstances had produced. She was traveling! Alone!

  She stared at the tall buildings on either side of the waterway as the small ferry took on three more passengers—an elderly couple with a middle-aged daughter. They spoke rapidly in Italian to their “captain,” who made quick work of getting the boat underway once all trunks were secured by a young porter who then, also, jumped aboard. Her heart raced in anticipation of seeing Eva and her lovely home.

  Palazzos, securely moored in place for centuries, stood proud against the brilliant blue sky. Their stately appearance was breathtaking. She recognized St. Mark’s Square and the Doge’s Palace, familiar to her from drawings and a photo Eva had sent her the year before. Pigeons flocked to the square, secure in the knowledge that the multitude of tourists would feed them crumbs. Which, of course, they did.

  Valentine smiled at the sight and realized she probably looked as entranced as a child when her fellow passengers regarded her with small smiles of their own. It was as if they knew she was experiencing the sights for the first time. She felt herself flushing, and was gratified when the threesome smiled warmly. The younger woman said something to her in Italian.

  “Oh, I am sorry. I don’t speak Italian.”

  “It is an amazing city, no?” the daughter asked in heavily accented English.

  “Yes, very much.” Valentine nodded, glad for the kindness but nonetheless relieved when the three took up a conversation and left her again to her observations.

  The captain rowed for some time, depositing the other passengers before maneuvering past Rialto and making his way through the canals to the address Valentine had given him. The beautiful row of enormous, stately homes lined the water and Val’s jaw dropped when he stopped next to a building that was nothing short of palatial.

  She pulled herself together and accepted help from the ferry to the stone steps that led to a pair of massive double doors. The porter knocked on the doors and spoke briefly with a man who answered—presumably a butler—and then retrieved her trunk from the captain. The porter deposited it on the steps next to Valentine and nodded with a smile. Valentine remembered, almost belatedly, to withdraw a few coins from her reticule to give the young man
a gratuity.

  “Val!” A gasp from inside the mansion drew her attention. The butler stood aside, the corner of his lip quirked in a smile, as a woman of Valentine’s age rushed through the open door grasping her in an enthusiastic embrace. “You’ve arrived, safe and sound!”

  Valentine smiled, surprised at the prick of tears forming in her eyes. “Eva, how wonderful to see you at last.” She laughed as her cousin pulled back and then hugged her again, also laughing.

  “I am so glad you are here! I only wish we could visit longer. The contessa tells me you shall return with her from Egypt when your voyage is finished.”

  Valentine nodded as Evangeline pulled her inside, after making a quick request to the butler to bring Val’s luggage to her room. Valentine had determined to be urbane and sophisticated, but the soaring ceiling, marbled floors, and artwork combined with large windows that bathed the room in light overwhelmed her senses. “Oh, Eva,” she breathed. “This is your home?”

  Eva nodded and grasped Valentine’s hand, leading her into a parlor that bore the same visual feast as the front hall. “It is Matteo’s home, but the entire family makes use of it when visiting Venice. His parents also have their own palazzo, but the family tends to always gather in one location.” Eva smiled and pulled Val down onto a settee, grasping both of her hands. “I shall introduce you to Contessa in a moment, but for now, you must tell me about your travels.”

  Valentine smiled, and felt her shoulders relaxing in the face of her cousin’s warmth and friendship. Their visit would not be an awkward one at all. “It was uneventful, really, but so wonderful! My companion was an elderly woman traveling to visit family, but she was nearly deaf, so we didn’t converse much. I used the time to take in all the scenery and sketch.” Val wrinkled her nose. “I am not nearly the artist you are, but sketching is the one feminine hobby at which I’m somewhat proficient. I am a dismal failure at all else, I’m afraid.”

  “Pish posh, there is more to life than embroidery and the pianoforte.” Eva grinned and squeezed her fingers. “Incidentally, I have mentioned Matteo has three very handsome brothers, have I not? Of course, only David is truly worthy of consideration, the younger two are still quite wildly sowing their oats, but—”

  Valentine laughed. “You have mentioned the brothers. In fact, a few times.”

  Eva grinned at her again. “Now, I know you’ve said you’re quite content for the moment, especially as you come into your inheritance of the cottage by the coast next year if you remain unmarried, but oh, Val, the heredity in this family—” Her eyes sparkled with humor. “Well, I shall let your life unfold as it will. But you will meet everyone at dinner in a couple hours, and you cannot say I didn’t warn you.”

  Valentine swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. She would have loved to have a sister while growing up, and she well remembered the few times the extended family gathered—she and Eva had always gotten on well together, and she had come to relish the closeness they’d established through letters over the past two years.

  Eva smiled, and her own eyes misted. “Oh, my dear cousin, we could have been of great benefit to one another, but we must move forward and be glad to have found our friendship again.”

  “Of course, and I wouldn’t have you believe I am at all unhappy. I am so thrilled to be here. I’m excited to accompany the contessa to Egypt.” Val’s brow wrinkled. “Incidentally, how shall I address her?”

  Eva laughed. “‘Contessa.’ It is what everyone calls her, even family.”

  “And you’re certain she is amenable to this? I am a stranger to her, after all.”

  “Not as much a stranger as you might believe. I shared some of your letters with her, nothing personal, of course, and she finds you ‘delightful and refreshing.’ Just the sort of temperament she requires in a traveling companion.” Eva paused. “She is unconventional, mind you. I do believe you may anticipate a delightful adventure. I know you have felt rather suffocated, of late, and I have the highest of hopes that this holiday will prove most diverting.”

  Valentine felt a thrill at her words, accompanied by a fissure of doubt. “Do you suppose there might be something amiss in my character, Eva? I do want a family, I envy my brothers and their children, but I am also content to envision taking possession of my seaside cottage first. I do not want to marry just anyone. I would like very much for it to be someone special.”

  “Of course there is not a thing wrong with you, Valentine Baker. I should expect that you would desire a man suited to your temperament and interests. I’ve yet to encounter a woman who does not wish for a love match.” She paused. “Allow me to amend that. I have had the misfortune to encounter a few who wish to ensnare Matteo’s brothers entirely for societal and financial gain. But, most women desire love.” Eva smiled. “And I wish very much for you to have that.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a delightful blur. Valentine met Eva and Matteo’s one-year-old daughter, received a grand tour of the palazzo, which amazed Valentine at every turn, and enjoyed some quiet time in a lavish guest room that had been prepared for her. She had thought to nap, but was far too excited to sleep. Instead, she sketched the view from her bedroom window, which looked down over the canal and the beautiful houses along it, complete with vibrant flowers in window boxes and gondoliers taking passengers to their destinations.

  A maid arrived to help Valentine prepare for dinner, a novelty Valentine had never before experienced. Although she felt a bit silly—she really could dress herself—there was something pleasant about being pampered and having her hair styled by a young woman who clearly had some practice. When Valentine examined herself in the mirror before going down to dinner, she was pleasantly surprised at her reflection. She had always been pretty enough, she supposed, but the elegant coiffure now combining braids and curls that piled atop her head in artful abandon flattered her face and framed her moss-green eyes perfectly. She’d always wished for blonde hair, but looking at the glossy black configuration now, she felt quite beautiful.

  Valentine smoothed her hands across her midsection, checking for wrinkles in her form-fitting deep green evening dress. It was one of three “fancy” dresses her sister-in-law, Beth, had helped her buy before leaving England. Styled in the latest fashion, it was elegant but simple, and Valentine quite loved it.

  “Bella, signorina,” the maid said with a smile and held the door open for her. Valentine forced herself to proceed with grace rather than dash down the hallway to the wide staircase that wound down to the main floor. It was a grand adventure, after all, and she was determined to enjoy every moment and not rush.

  The comforting sound of voices grew as she stepped onto the main floor and wound her way toward the dining room. A combination of male and female voices carried through the air—the sounds of laughter told her these were people who were well acquainted and comfortable with one another. She reached the threshold and stood just outside for a moment, taking in the scene.

  Gas sconces on the walls had been lit, casting a warm glow around the room. Pieces of Evangeline’s artwork hung in small groupings on the walls. Footmen placed steaming trays of food on the sideboard, and the dining table was set with crystal, silver, and fine white china. Eva stood near the table, chatting with a tall man whose back was to her, and a woman who was exquisitely dressed and had elegantly coiffed graying hair. Across the room, drinks in their hands, stood four men talking together. One of the men was animatedly carrying the conversation. One of the others, however, caught her eye. He was tall, like the rest, with dark hair and tanned skin that spoke of time spent outdoors. His handsome face held her quite spellbound, and she barely registered Eva’s presence when she joined her at the door.

  “I see somebody has caught your eye, cousin,” Eva whispered, her lips curved in a smile.

  “Eva,” Valentine whispered in reply, “you were correct. He is quite stunning. I fear I shall be tongue-tied all through dinner.”

  Eva laughed softly. “Nonsense.
You can see how well he tells a story—he holds everyone quite spellbound.”

  Valentine again regarded the man she’d examined, her breath catching when he smiled—indulgently?—at the speaker. She frowned. “No, not him. I’m talking about the one next to the story teller.” She looked at Eva. “Standing slightly taller than the rest.”

  Eva’s mouth dropped and she closed it quickly, grasping Valentine’s fingers with a light laugh. “I am so partial to my husband’s brothers, I suppose I assumed . . .”

  “Is he not one of your in-laws?”

  “No, dearest. That is Mr. Maxwell. He’s English, and his brother is the man who currently runs the Egyptian dig Contessa funds. The one to which you shall be traveling. He is to accompany you and Contessa to the site.”

  “Hmm.” Valentine watched the man in question as he subtly distanced himself from the other three gentlemen, who, she could now see, shared a striking family resemblance to one another. Mr. Maxwell, although his olive complexion was similar, was clearly not one of the brothers.

  Eva’s glance flicked from Mr. Maxwell to Valentine, and back again. “Hmm,” she echoed, pursing her lips as a smile quirked. “I do believe introductions are in order so that we might begin dinner. I’ve seated you between Matteo’s brother, David, and me. Come,” she pulled on Valentine’s arm, “meet my husband and his family.”

  “Contessa, may I present my cousin, Miss Valentine Baker?” Eva smiled and put a hand at her mother-in-law’s elbow.

  Valentine dipped a brief curtsey, and Contessa nodded once, perfunctorily, as if satisfied. “Now that we have established your good manners, we shall dispense with it.” A smile crossed her features, and Valentine detected a warmth that put her at ease. “Miss Baker, a pleasure at last. I trust you shall enjoy your first journey to Egypt as much as I did.” Her English was perfect, spoken in an accented, but confident tone.

  “Please, madam, do call me Valentine. Or Val.”