Free Every Whispered Word by Karyn Monk Page B

you a very reasonable offer, considering the land has not proven to be of any value.”
    â€œI believe the land is of extraordinary value, Elliott.”
    â€œIn twenty years your father never came across a single diamond.”
    â€œMy father wasn’t looking for diamonds.”
    â€œI’m just pointing out that given your current financial situation, you are fortunate that the De Beers Company is interested in acquiring it simply because they want to expand their holdings around Kimberley.”
    â€œI’ve told you, Elliott, I will never sell the land to De Beers so they can eventually destroy it in their search for diamonds—whether they plan to do so next year or fifty years from now. That land is a precious window into the past, and it needs to be protected. Which is why I have to get back to it as quickly as possible. When I’m there, the workers are not so afraid. I suppose male pride makes them think if a white woman is willing to work the site, then they should be at least as brave.”
    â€œPride has nothing to do with it. I know you hate to hear this, Camelia, but the Kaffirs see you as a source of money, nothing more. Once that money is gone, they will abandon the site and you will be left with nothing.”
    â€œThen I will dig the site by myself,” Camelia insisted. “For as many years as it takes.”
    â€œYou are as stubborn as you are proud. Just like your father.”
    â€œYou’re right. I am.”
    He sighed. “Very well, Camelia. Have it your way. As I also had planned to attend the Archaeological Society ball, I will escort you.”
    â€œThat’s very kind of you, Elliott, but it really isn’t necessary. Zareb will drive me.”
    â€œZareb will only cause people to talk,” Elliott argued. “Everywhere he goes people are drawn to your carriage because of the ridiculous sight he makes, wearing those outlandish African robes of his. You shouldn’t permit it, Camelia—you must instruct him to wear something more appropriate to a servant, at least for the time he is here.”
    â€œEnglish clothes are meant for the English.”
    Camelia and Elliott turned to see Zareb standing at the doorway. His expression was composed, but the taut line of his mouth told Camelia that he had not missed Elliott’s reference to him as a servant.
    â€œI do not make the mistake of thinking that being in England makes me one of them,” Zareb continued, “any more than being in Africa makes an African out of you, your lordship.” He set the tray he was carrying down on the table in front of the sofa. “Your tea, Tisha.”
    â€œThank you, Zareb.” Camelia doubted Elliott understood that Zareb had just insulted him. Elliott would never think any white man would want to be like an African.
    Oscar leapt onto the table and snatched a ginger biscuit from a plate, knocking a pitcher of milk onto the floor in the process.
    â€œOh, Oscar,” sighed Camelia, scooping the monkey up and drying his milky paws with a linen napkin, “must you always get into everything?”
    Content to be in her arms, Oscar began to ravenously eat his biscuit.
    â€œI must be going, anyway, Camelia,” Elliott informed her. “I hope you will reconsider my offer to take you to the ball.”
    â€œThank you, Elliott, but I really would prefer to go in my own carriage,” Camelia assured him. “I know you enjoy those kinds of affairs, but I find them tiresome. I would hate to think that I was forcing you to leave early on account of me. I’m sure you are eager to talk to the members about your new importing business here.”
    A hint of frustration shadowed his elegantly chiseled face. However much he would have liked to further argue the issue with her, Camelia knew he would not do so in front of Zareb. Despite all the years he had spent in South Africa, Elliott still held the rules of British society in