Page 155 of A Modest Independence

Or time for him to forget her and find someone else.

“I’m finished.” Ahmad’s voice wrenched Jenny from her thoughts.

Her gaze dropped to his. “Already? That didn’t take long.”

“It’s only the hem.”

“And the sleeves and waist and bodice.” She was marked all over with chalk and fairly riddled with pins. “Do you suppose it will be ready in time?”

“For your visit to the pyramids next week? Yes. For your driving lesson today? No.” He got to his feet. “Mira will work on the skirts this afternoon while I finish the jacket.”

Jenny clasped Ahmad’s hand for balance as she stepped off of the footstool.

Moments later, Mira joined Jenny in her bedroom to assist her in removing the needle-ridden garments.

Mira’s health had improved greatly since they’d settled in Cairo. Jenny had seen that she got enough rest and never pushed herself too hard. It was enough for her to occupy herself with her little sewing projects—trimming out the gowns that Ahmad made or helping to alter the seams and hemlines.

“It’s much warmer today,” Jenny said as Mira helped her into a day dress. “I wonder if Abdullah wouldn’t prefer to give me my driving lesson earlier?”

“Shall I go and ask him, madam?”

“No, indeed. I’ll dash off a note and have one of the boys take it round. Is Karim in the kitchen?” The cook’s young son was forever hovering about begging sweets from his mother.

“I’ll fetch him.” Mira exited with the habit over her arm, shutting the door behind her.

Jenny sat down at the little inlaid writing desk in the corner and pulled out a slip of paper. The silver nib she used on her quill was usually kept in the same deep drawer. She reached inside, searching for it amongst the notecards, gum sealing wafers, and half-empty bottles of ink.

“Drat,” she muttered. Why was it that the thing one was looking for was never where it was supposed to be? She stretched her arm further to the back of the drawer, feeling about with her hand.

Her fingers closed around a small wooden box.

And her heart stopped. Indeed, for one aching moment, she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

She knew what it was. There was no reason to torment herself. No reason to take it out of the drawer and look at it. If she had any sense, she’d leave it alone.

But she couldn’t leave it alone. Couldn’t prevent herself from drawing out the box, opening the lid, and staring at the diamond engagement ring Tom had given her.

Her throat closed on a swell of emotion.

That night in her hotel room at Shepheard’s, he hadn’t proposed marriage. He hadn’t proposed anything. But he’d left the ring when he’d gone. She’d only realized it later when she’d finally finished crying.

Had it been a mere oversight? Or had he meant something by it?

Jenny had no idea. All she knew was that a gentleman didn’t give a lady such an item on a whim. He gave it to her because he had feelings for her. And because he hoped that someday she might reciprocate those feelings and consent to be his wife.

Was that what Tom had intended?

After six weeks with not a single letter from him, Jenny had cause to doubt it.

Upon moving into her new house, she’d placed the ring in her writing desk drawer and tried to forget about it. Perhaps she had for a while. And yet, seeing it now, it seemed the most heartless thing to hide it away. As if it were a rejection of Tom and the tender feelings he’d had for her.

But what else was she to do? She couldn’t wear it. They weren’t engaged. She had no right. And putting it on her finger, even if only for a second to see if it fit, would have far too much meaning.

Jenny touched the fine gold chain at her throat. Images of her mother’s medallion danced at the edges of her memory, her stomach trembling with the familiar feeling of nausea.

She wouldn’t forget what it felt like to be powerless. And she’d never lose sight of how important it was to maintain her independence.

But love was important, too.