A/N: Seems I had a little more inspiration for this after all. It's weak though, so all encouragement and suggestions very much welcome.

Chapter 2

The Queen of the Nile glided up the river to the monotonous, churning rhythm of propeller blades pushing the polluted waters out behind them in a scummy brown wake, and the deep burr of the engine that occasionally choked and changed pitch as they hit a weed bed.

Maryanne played with the long string of beads lying against her dress as she stood at the railing, watching Egypt slip lazily into her imperfect memory. She did not see the squalid villages piled haphazardly on the bank, or hear the naked children playing in the filth and detritus that lined the shore, or smell the agricultural effluence that poured into the water from ditches. When she was asked questions about her honeymoon at coffee mornings with the other faculty wives, or offered up polite anecdotes from her travels at the ladies' bridge club, she would not need such information. They would only be interested in the majestic vistas of Egypt's ancient monuments, or the exciting discoveries her husband had made on his dig, or the luxury of their executive suite on the transatlantic ocean liner that had brought them from Boston.

Maryanne sighed. A few months ago she had been a girl with no greater concern than whether her father would let her get away with her fashionably short hemline, or if it went with her new fur-collared wool coat, but now she was a woman with afternoon engagements and dinner parties and departmental functions.

And a husband.

Arthur Chamberlain had been a friend of her father's ever since joining the Department of Ancient History and Archaeology at Harvard when he was still studying for his doctorate, and then later his colleague. She could remember the two of them drinking brandy in her father's study after dinner as they argued over the rights to the Tutankhamen burial treasures, or pored over the latest report from Howard Carter's dig in the Boston Gazette. On other occasions she had listened patiently as he tried to explain hieroglyphics to her, getting lost as he spiralled off into rambling digressions about Champollion and the Rosetta stone and Napoleon's Egyptian campaign. She had never inherited her father's passion for the subject, but she still maintained a respectful awe for the man who shared it with him.

When her father died two months ago, Arthur almost became her last link with the world he had inhabited; a world she had never truly belonged in but felt terrified at the thought of leaving. The dusty halls of academia, with their marble silence and gilt lettering and musty smell of withered manuscripts, were safe and familiar. Arthur too was something familiar, a constant in her suddenly unstable existence. When he succeeded to her father's chair at the university and became a professor, whether out of some sense of loyalty or obligation he took it upon himself to look after his late predecessors' eighteen-year-old daughter. Had she been younger he could have made her his ward, but being of an age when she could not respectably live with a man who was not her relation, he made her his wife instead.

So a month ago they had married in a small ceremony at the university chapel, and two weeks later they were sailing to Alexandria on their honeymoon.

Of course, there had never been any question of where they would spend it. Not only was Egypt an eminently fashionable travel destination after all the column inches dedicated to the recent discovery of Tutankhamen's tomb, but Arthur had also recently managed to secure funding for a dig, and being the parsimonious scholar he was, saw it as the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

Maryanne wouldn't have objected even if she'd had a say in the matter. If being able to tell people that she had gone to Egypt on her Honeymoon was all the pleasure the trip afforded her, then it would be enough.

And she didn't expect the trip to offer much else in the way of pleasure. While her husband was occupied with his dig, she anticipated spending several hot, tedious weeks sipping tea under a parasol outside the ruins of some ancient necropolis, wishing she was somewhere else.

"Penny for them," came a voice from over her shoulder.

Startled out of her reverie, she turned to see a dark-haired gentleman in a cream linen suit, regarding her from the shade where he leaned against the side of the cabin.

Maryanne immediately stopped fiddling with her beads and glanced nervously about the deck. But the only other person she could see was a young woman in a primrose-coloured blazer, sitting in a deckchair completely engrossed in her book.

"Forgive me," the Englishman said as he pushed himself upright and strolled towards her, "I don't mean to be nosy, but it seems too jolly nice of a day to be looking so sombre..."

Maryanne awkwardly pushed a wispy lock of hair back under her hat, and lowered the brim to hide her blush.

"Yes, you're quite right – where are my manners?" the man said amiably as he pulled himself up short, favouring her with an instantly disarming smile. "Jonathan Carnahan, delighted to make your acquaintance."

He put out his hand as he introduced himself, but Maryanne hesitated.

"Do I need to fetch a third party to introduce us properly?" His eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced up the deck towards the woman in the primrose blazer.

Maryanne quickly made a noise to recapture his attention. She really didn't want another witness to her embarrassment, and realising that she was probably being a little over-cautious about her first lone encounter with a man after becoming a married woman, she warily put out her left hand.

"Mrs. Maryanne Chamberlain, pleased to meet you."

Was it her imagination, or did his expression falter for just an instant before he took her hand and genteelly raised it to his lips, then touched them to the gold band on her wedding finger?

Straightening up again, he cocked one brow in polite surprise.

"You're American," he stated with a smile. "I don't suppose you're anything to do with the chaps I just met in the saloon? No," he answered himself with a wry shake of the head, "you're far too much of a lady to be mixed up with such rough sorts..."

He cocked his head, as if waiting for her to agree with him, but in that she had to disappoint him.

"They wouldn't happen to be a surly, dark-haired misanthrope by the name of Daniels, a mouthy Kentucky cowboy named Henderson, and a bespectacled hanger-on answering to Burns, would they?"

She smiled as she saw Jonathan recognise her descriptions, agreeing with them with a vigorous nod.

"That's them all right," he chuckled. "They're not a bad bunch really, good enough company to pass an evening with, but I wouldn't have thought any of them was sophisticated enough for a lady of your obvious refinement. If you don't mind me asking, which one is fortunate enough to be, er... your husband...?"

Maryanne nearly laughed at the very idea. But then her face fell at the thought of telling him who her husband actually was. How did one with all dignity explain that she was married to a man twenty-five years her senior, who was more interested in scraps of papyrus and fragments of limestone than spending time with her on their honeymoon?

"Oh, I don't suppose you met him with the others, as he's very much involved with his studies. We're not really on social terms with our travel companions, you understand..."

Thankfully, Jonathan seemed to sense her reluctance on the subject, and quickly passed over it.

"Well, it's going to be a miserable trip for you if that's all you have for company." He frowned in concern, beginning to suspect that the quiet solitude he had disturbed was not an uncommon occurrence. It was not right that such a young, vibrant girl should be left to amuse herself quietly. "But I know someone who I think would be very glad to make your acquaintance, as she's a bit shy of coarse ruffians herself. Will you come and meet my sister, Evy?"

Grateful to be the recipient of such kind attention after the indifference of her husband, Maryanne nodded with a smile, thentook his proffered arm and let him lead her along deck towards the woman reading in the deckchair.