The Governess and the Sheikh. Marguerite Kaye

Cassie.’ Celia enfolded her sister in a warm embrace and held her close as she wept, stroking her golden hair away from her cheeks, just as she had done when they were girls, mourning their poor departed mama.

      For a few moments Cassie surrendered to the temptation to cry, allowing herself the comfort of thinking that Celia would make everything better, just as she always had. But only for a few moments, for she had resolved not to spill any more tears. Augustus did not deserve them. She had to stop wallowing in self-pity, and anyway, what good did tears do? She sat up, fumbling for her handkerchief, and hastily rubbed her cheeks dry, taking a big gulp of air, then another. ‘So you see, Bella and Papa were right all along. I’m selfish, headstrong and foolish, and far too full of romantic notions that have no place in the real world. “A heart that can be given so easily cannot be relied upon, and must never again be given free rein.” That’s what Aunt Sophia said, and I have to say I agree with her. I have tasted love,’ Cassie declared dramatically, temporarily forgetting that she had abandoned her romantic streak, ‘and though the first sip was sweet, the aftertaste was bitter. I will not drink from that poisoned chalice again.’

      Celia bit her lip in an effort not to smile, for Cassie in full unabridged Cassandra mode had always amused her terribly. It was reassuring that her sister wasn’t so completely given over to the blue melancholy as to have lost her endearing qualities, and it gave her the tiniest bit of hope that perhaps her very tender heart would recover from the almost-fatal wound dealt it by Augustus St John Marne. Ramiz would have dispensed swift retribution if he ever got his hands on him. Celia toyed momentarily with the satisfying vision of the feckless poet staked out, his pale foppish skin blistering and desiccating under the fierce desert sun, a legendary punishment meted out to transgressors in bygone days in A’Qadiz. And then, as was her wont, she turned her mind to practicalities.

      ‘You are expected at the border of Daar-el-Abbah in three days. Ramiz will escort you there, but Bashirah is too young to travel and I’m afraid I can’t bear to leave her so I won’t be coming with you. It’s not too late to change your mind about all this though, Cassie. The city of Daar is five days’ travel from here and you are likely to be the only European there. You will also have sole responsibility for the princess. She has a dreadful reputation, poor little mite, for she has been left to the care of a whole series of chaperons since her mother died in the process of giving birth to her. The prince will expect a lot from you.’

      ‘And I won’t let him down,’ Cassie said, clasping her hands together. ‘Who better than I to empathise with little Linah’s plight—did I not lose my own mother? Have I not helped you to raise our three sisters?’

      ‘Well, I suppose in a way, but …’

      ‘I am sure all she needs is a little gentle leading in the right direction and a lot of understanding.’

      ‘Perhaps, but.’

      ‘And a lot of love. I have plenty of that to give, having no other outlet for it.’

      ‘Cassie, you cannot be thinking to sacrifice your life to a little girl like Linah. This position cannot be of a permanent nature, you must think of it as an interlude only. It is an opportunity to allow yourself to recover, and to do some good along the way, nothing more. Then you must return to England, resume your life.’

      ‘Why? You are content to stay here.’

      ‘Because I fell in love with Ramiz. You, too, will fall in love one day, properly in love, with the right man. No matter what you think now, there will come a time when looking after someone else’s child will not be enough.’

      ‘Perhaps Prince Jamil will marry again, and have other children. Then he will need me to stay on as governess.’

      ‘I don’t think you understand how unusual it is, his taking you into the royal household in the first place. Daar-el-Abbah is a much more traditional kingdom than A’Qadiz. Should he take another wife—which he must, eventually, for he needs a son and heir—then he will resort to the tradition of the harem, I think. There will be no need for governesses then.’

      ‘What is Prince Jamil like?’

      Celia furrowed her brow. ‘I don’t know him very well. Ramiz has a huge respect for him so he must be an excellent ruler, but I’ve only met him briefly. In many ways he’s a typical Arabian prince—haughty, distant, used to being revered.’

      ‘You make him sound like a tyrant.’

      ‘Oh, no, not at all. If I thought that, I’d hardly allow you to go and live in his household. His situation makes it difficult for him to be anything other than a bit remote, for his people idolise him, but Ramiz says he is one of the most honourable men of his acquaintance. He is anxious to forge an alliance with him.’

      ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure he is, but what does Prince Jamil actually look like?’

      ‘He’s very good looking. There’s something about him that draws attention. His eyes, I think—they are the most striking colour. And he’s quite young, you know, he can’t be any more than twenty-nine or thirty.’

      ‘I didn’t realise. I had assumed he would be older.’

      ‘Though he has not married again, it is not for lack of opportunity. I don’t know him well enough to like him—I doubt any woman does—but what’s important is, I trust him. The thing is though …’ Celia hesitated, and took Cassie’s hand in her own ‘… he’s not a man who will readily tolerate failure, and he’s not a man to cross either. You must curb your tongue in his presence, Cassie, and try to think before you speak. Not that I expect you’ll see very much of him—from what I’ve heard, one of the contributing factors to his daughter’s bad behaviour is his complete lack of interest in her.’

      ‘Oh, how awful. Why, no wonder she is a bit of a rebel.’

      Celia laughed. ‘There, you see, that is exactly what I have just cautioned you about. You must not allow your heart to rule your head, and you must wait until you understand the whole situation before leaping in with opinions and judgements. Prince Jamil is not a man to get on the wrong side of, and I am absolutely certain that should you do so he would have no hesitation in trampling you underfoot. The point of this exercise is to restore your confidence, not have it for ever shattered.’

      ‘You need have no fear, I will be a model governess,’ Cassie declared, her flagging spirits fortified by the touching nature of the challenge that lay ahead of her. She, who had resolved never to love again, would reunite this little family by showing Linah and her father how to love each other. It would be her sacred mission, her vocation. ‘I promise you,’ Cassandra said with a fervour that lit her eyes and flushed her cheeks and made Celia question her judgement in having ever suggested her sister as a sober, level-headed governess, ‘I promise you, Celia, that Prince Jamil will be so delighted with my efforts that it will reflect well on both you and Ramiz.’

      ‘I take it, then,’ Celia said wryly, ‘that you are not having second thoughts or falling prey to doubts?’

      Cassie got to her feet, shook out her dress and tossed back her head. Her eyes shone with excitement. She looked, Celia could not help thinking, magnificent and quite beautiful, all the more so for being completely unaware of her appearance. Cassie had many faults, but vanity was not one of them. Celia felt a momentary pang of doubt. How much did she really know of Jamil al-Nazarri the man, as opposed to the prince? Cassie was so very lovely, and she would be very much alone and therefore potentially vulnerable. She stood up, placing a restraining hand on her sister’s arm. ‘Maybe it is best that you should take a little more time, stay here for a few more days before committing yourself.’

      ‘I have decided. And in any case, it is all arranged. You are worried that Prince Jamil may have designs on me, I can see it in your face, but you need not, I assure you. Even if he did—which seems to me most unlikely, for though in England I pass for a beauty, here in Arabia they admire a very different kind of woman—it would come to nothing. I told you, I am done with men, and I am done for ever with love.’

      ‘Then I must be done with trying