Alice Crowley stood looking down the ramparts of a strange city in the far-flung country her husband's ambition had brought them to. Outside it was hot, though lush gardens sprouted sporadically through the city and peeked from private walled gardens below them. Hot oil, spices, and something like jasmine was carried up on the warm breeze along with noise from the marketplace, a cacophony of words Alice could not understand.
Philip shifted and groaned from the divan behind her.
"Alice darling, close the curtains, please," he requested in his posh London lilt, "aren't you afraid of getting sun, my dear?"
Alice sighed and did as he asked, turning away from the window. When she married an ambitious military man, Alice had known she might end up elsewhere in Europe or even in one of England's colonies, or waiting at home for her husband to return from months-long stretches abroad, an idea she had never really minded. She would have liked to find herself the lone mistress of their fairly new townhouse in London, or to retire quietly to a country cottage and await his return. Instead, she had been hauled along with him to the heart of the Ottoman Empire where he attended endless diplomatic meetings where she was not needed or welcome. The wives of the Ottoman politicians apparently did not socialize, or if they did, she was not invited. There were some other British expats, of course, and she and Philip tried to get together with them when they could, but so far all the other English women had either been much older or considered "socially unsuitable" by Philip. She listened to his opinion on potential friends, as if heeding his directives could make him forget her own lower social status, could make everyone forget.
So, Alice tried to be a good wife, cooped up as she was in the upper portion of a city townhouse. They were unsure how much longer Philip would be needed, and he vacillated between promising her they would be transferred soon and then that they would get a larger home with a garden if they did not. Alice was not free to walk about or explore the city, even with other women, and the native women went veiled and chaperoned in the streets below.
"Alice," Philip said thoughtfully, a glint in his eye, "perhaps there is something we could do to pass the time."
Oh, not this again, thought Alice. She had always been curious about what passed between a man and a woman in bed prior to marriage, but after marriage had found it sticky and disappointing. To her relief, there was a subtle knocking at the door, which she rushed to answer. It proved to be a messenger with a letter for her husband. Alice watched Philip's posture change as he read it, first sitting up straight and then springing up to pace around the room.
"It's the sultan," he said, raking his hands through his wavy brown hair, "you must get dressed my dear. In your finest--but most modest--gown."
"Those two things seldom go hand in hand," Alice cried in consternation.
Her velvet dress was far too warm, and her white dress overlaid with green chiffon had the high empire waist and low-cut bodice that was the fashion of the day.
"Well, you must work something out. The sultan has consented to see me, immediately, and asks that my wife accompany me to meet his wives."
Alice immediately began rifling through her clothes. Oh, damn the sultan, she thought defiantly. She could have had a langorous afternoon and evening to herself as she usually did when Philip was working, but instead she was to be dragged out and paraded about for women who she could not communicate with. Alice barely even spoke French, much less Arabic or Turkish.
Ultimately she decided to put a little spencer jacket over her gauzy white and green dress. It was heavier and a shade of burgundy that didn't quite agree with the colors of the dress, but it buttoned all the way up to the neck. The sultan had sent an ornate carriage with a velvet interior for them, and Alice felt her surliness dissipate a bit as they jostled down the street. This was, after all, a chance to get out and have an adventure after being cooped up for so long, and she was curious about the women of this country. Surely they could communicate through body language if nothing else!
Arriving at the palace was something of a whirlwind. They were shown into a high-ceilinged, beautifully tiled audience hall with marble and gold sheathed columns and colorful frescoes on the wall. Alice had barely time to take it all in before they were presented to the sultan.
He proved to be a very handsome man in a mixture of traditional and English garb, with a curling mustache and smiling eyes. He bowed to Philip and held out his hand to Alice, and when she made to shake his hand he took and kissed hers, to her great surprise. Before Alice's blush even had time to fade, he exchanged greetings with her husband and immediately gestured to a slim young man standing with head bowed nearby.
"Mrs. Crowley," he said graciously, "this servant shall take you to the women's quarters to socialize with my wives. They are very anxious to meet an Englishwoman--they have met women from many lands, you see, but not an English one. I hope you understand."
"It is my honor," said Alice with a cursy, glancing sidelong at Philip to make sure she was doing the right thing.
Philip smiled briefly at her before turning back to the sultan, and Alice was led away.
They walked through a veritable maze of cool dark hallways, all beautifully detailed and richly accented with gold. Alice knew she would never be able to find her way back without help.
Finally, they came to a set of heavy doors. The man threw them open and sunlight and spilled in, followed by more of that sweet floral scent. They were entering a high-walled garden filled with flowering shrubs and shady old trees. Alice saw a marble fountain and could hear more water in the distance. Her eyes had barely swept the garden before they were drawn to two women reclining alongside the fountain. One rose and came forward to greet her, smiling.
"You must be Mrs. Crowley!"
The woman said, in perfect English. She held out a graceful hand.
"I'm so pleased to meet you!"
"And I you," Alice murmured, in something of a daze.
The woman was tall and slim, with sleek wavy black hair, arched brows, and large elongated brown eyes. She was wearing sheer billowing trousers and an ornately embroidered red vest that fell to her knees over a sheer white undershirt. What Alice immediately noticed was the curve of the woman's uncorseted breasts under the shirt, and how her areolas were just visible through the thin fabric, brown and as large as plums.
"My name is Aisha," the woman said, taking Alice's hand and leading her towards the fountain, "this is my friend and co-wife, Idil."
Now the other woman was coming to greet them. She was attired similarly to Aisha, although in different colors, and was more full-figured than her counterpart. She had eyes of a light hazel that was striking against her brown skin, and her dark ringlets fell unbound over her large breasts. Alice once again found herself resisting the urge to stare at them, her thick nipples pebbling the gauzy fabric of her shirt.
"I'm so happy to meet you both," Alice managed, as Aisha led her to a large cushion.
"Take your jacket off, it is so hot."
The words were spoken as a suggestion, but Aisha was already reaching over to unbutton the spencer jacket. Alice slipped it off, embarrassed and wondering if she was visibly perspiring, as Aisha ran a soothing hand over her collar bone,
"There," the other woman said, laying the jacket aside and handing Alice a sweating golden chalice, "have something cool to drink."
Alice sipped daintily. The drink was ice-cold and tasted of mint and rosewater, a refreshing combination. Alice hesitantly asked if they were the sultan's only wives, and both women laughed. Aisha explained that they were not, but the other women, she said dismissively, were elsewhere.
"We are some of his favorites," Idil offered shyly, exchanging a sly glance with Aisha. Aisha giggled.
