“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…”

By now even Lord Potheroe and Darcy were intrigued and, encouraged by their enthusiasm, Edward began.

“Aahotep was reputed to have lived in the Old Kingdom Era—that is, during the period between 2686 and 2181 BC. She was, according to my source, a somewhat unpleasant creature, although perhaps we should not blame her too much for her wayward life. She was born the fifth daughter of a poor fisherman on the Nile and sold into slavery quite young when her parents decided they could not afford any more girls. She began her career quite humbly as a slave in the household of a grand vizier but soon rose to become a servant of some importance.”

“Oh, let me guess,” said Lady Potheroe smiling. “She was exceptionally beautiful.”

“You have been teasing me, Lady Potheroe; you have heard this story before.”

“Mr Fitzwilliam, the woman in question is always exceptionally beautiful; it is a staple of the best stories from every civilisation. Is that not so, Oliver?”

Lord Potheroe laughed. “You would know, my dear.”

“Of course,” agreed Elizabeth. “What is the good of a story if the woman is not beautiful and the hero not brave? Do go on, Edward.”

“Well this beautiful woman was evil as well—”

“Not essentially evil, Edward,” said Darcy, entering into the spirit of things, “just forced to become so as a result of circumstances beyond her control.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Lady Potheroe. “Was there a handsome young man with whom she fell in love and an evil older man who cast covetous eyes upon her?”

“Enough,” cried Edward, laughing good-naturedly. “I can see my audience is far crueler than Aahotep could ever be.”

“Dear Edward, we should not tease, and I do want to know the story before Mrs Darcy and I retire to discuss fabrics. Come, finish your tale.”

The merriment of the company thus calmed, Edward continued.

“Very well; yes, Aahotep was very beautiful and, yes, she did eventually attract the eyes of a richer, older man who desired her enough to marry her and elevate her in society. She was clever as well as beautiful and helped her husband augment his riches, but he was less than just in dividing his newfound wealth with her, and when he died, she was able to govern her new business with greater freedom. It was whispered by some that her husband did not die of natural causes but was rather helped along the road by his less than loving wife, although he was not himself a popular man and most people were prepared to accept this as nothing more than jealousy. And then, she married again, a far richer husband, and enhanced his wealth as well, and after a few short years this husband too died. But life was precarious in those days. And then Aahotep married a third time, and this husband had a handsome young son named Ammon, of whom she quickly became enamoured.”