Chase tsked. “Don’t you think that we should be sweeping sand for eternity?”
“Better to sweep it for eternity than break something,” Henry replied wisely.
Chase drew in a breath, his heart swelling with so much pride it hurt. “Oh, Henry. I love you, my boy.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Henry said factually, clutching his brush happily, eyeing the sand. “I love you, too.”
Chase grabbed his son, picked him up, and spun him around laughing. “Where shall we look?!” he cried.
If anyone had asked him but six years ago if he would ever find this much joy in life, he would have told them that they had absolutely lost their wits.
It had been utterly clear to him then that he was not a man who deserved joy.
Victoria had changed all that. And Henry had taught him that hope and a good sense of humor were vital in this life.
Now, he had joy. He had it in spades…or in brushes, as the case may be.
He stopped spinning Henry, who was howling with delight.
And he spotted the source of his greatest joy.
Victory came out of the tunnel, brushing her hands, her brow furrowed, her lips pursed in contemplation as she seemed to be reciting something to herself.
She squinted into the sunlight and held up a hand to shade her gaze. There was dust in her hair.
She wiped her hands on her simple apron, which covered the costume she’d had designed for herself. A costume which was really very loose breeches and a linen shirt. But he’d never dare tell her.
“Whatever are you two doing?” she asked happily.
Henry lifted his brush. “We are going to go look for beads in the sand,” he said.
“I thought we were looking for treasure,” Chase pointed out.
“Papa.” Henry sighed with great drama. “Do not be ludicrous. Beads are treasure. As are pot shards,” he added.
“Well said, my darling,” Victoria stated proudly.
She came up to Chase and slid her freckled arm, which she’d exposed by rolling up her shirt sleeves, around his waist.
“Dinner will only be in an hour,” he informed.
“Have you been toiling away at it?” she asked, winking at him.
“Of course,” he said.
She knew his secret. Anything he touched, he burned.
Oh, he’d tried. Many, many times. But he simply could never quite manage cooking over the fire.
Fortunately, he had other strengths. He was quite good at organizing the boat, ensuring that all Victoria’s tools were kept up. He made certain that everything was stored in a proper order. He also ensured Henry did his reading, his math, and at present his astrology, because the sky over Egypt at night was perfect for stargazing.
And he took care that Victoria ate and drank and slept. For if he did not, he’d quickly discovered such was the intensity of her concentration that she simply would have stayed excavating and recording for hours and hours until she was completely ill from lack of water and burned as red as a strawberry.
“Dinner is ready,” Catharine yelled, waving from down by the boat.
His sister-in-law had taken up drawing and had sketched many of the reliefs on the tomb wall earlier in the day. She seemed much happier in Egypt than she had in the salons of the ton.
Victory cocked her head back and squinted up at him, the sun being terribly bright. “Whatever are you thinking?” she asked. “You’re gazing at me quite intensely.”