The Lady Travelers Guide to Scoundrels and Other Gentlemen Read online

  “I suspect members are always going on trips abroad?”

  “Not at all,” Miss Honeywell said. “At least not yet. I’m not sure more than one member that I know of has actually traveled beyond England. It takes a great deal of time and preparation to arrange a trip to the Orient or the Grecian isles or the deserts of Egypt.”

  “A great deal of time and dues?”

  “Well, one does want to be prepared.” Miss Honeywell nodded. “And the ladies’ lectures do precisely that.”

  “I see.” And the longer a woman stayed in London paying monthly dues, the richer the coffers of the Lady Travelers Society became. And wasn’t that an interesting thought?

  India wasn’t sure if it was Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore or Mrs. Higginbotham, but one of them abruptly stood, stepped to Lady Blodgett’s side and spoke quietly in her ear. Lady Blodgett winced and glanced toward the back of the room, then sighed and smiled in a resigned manner. India’s gaze followed hers.

  A gentleman with a grim expression on his face and a leather satchel in his hand glared at the older lady. He was admittedly handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders, and appeared exceptionally tall. But then everyone seemed tall to India as she was somewhat shorter than she would have preferred.

  “Who is that?” she asked Miss Honeywell.

  “Lord Charming.” Miss Honeywell fairly sighed the answer.

  There was certainly something about the man, an air of confidence perhaps, or something in the assurance of his stride and the set of his chin that, in spite of his serious expression, did seem to scream charming. “His name is Charming?”

  The other woman snapped her gaze away from the gentleman, her eyes wide. “I didn’t...oh dear.” A blush washed up her face. “Did I really say that aloud?”

  “I’m afraid so.” While India had little patience with women who mooned over men, no matter how attractive they may be, she couldn’t help but feel a touch of sympathy. Gentlemen who looked like Lord Charming rarely preferred more ordinary creatures like Miss Honeywell, or, for that matter, India.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” she said under her breath, “I should have said dashing.” She grinned. “No, his name isn’t Charming or Dashing, of course, and he isn’t a lord, at least not yet. But he is the heir to the Earl of Danby. That’s Mr. Saunders. He’s the son of Lady Blodgett’s niece.”

  “My apologies but it seems there will be a slight delay,” Lady Blodgett announced. “We should only be a few minutes, but until we return please avail yourselves of the refreshment table. Oh, and—” her gaze flitted over those seated “—where is Miss Honeywell?”

  “Yes?” Miss Honeywell stood.

  “Be a dear, Sidney, and hand out this week’s pamphlets.” Lady Blodgett smiled and followed her friends to the back of the room. All three ladies kept smiling but India would have wagered all three would have preferred to be anywhere but here at the moment. Mr. Saunders opened the door, and the three women filed through.

  India rose to her feet. “Is he here often?”

  “I really couldn’t say.” Miss Honeywell frowned. “He was here last week. That was the first time I’d seen him, but, as I said, I am new in this position.”

  “Lady Blodgett and the others don’t seem especially happy to see him.” India’s gaze lingered on the door.

  “No, I’m afraid not.” A thoughtful note sounded in Miss Honeywell’s voice. “Lady Blodgett seemed quite pleased to see him at first. But no one appeared especially happy after Mr. Saunders and the ladies met privately. They haven’t been quite their usual, cheery selves since.”

  “I see,” India murmured. Still, while Mr. Saunders’s connection to the ladies did seem important, she wasn’t entirely sure of its significance.

  Part of her hoped that this Lady Travelers Society was legitimate. But if so, why hadn’t anyone here responded to her concerns about Heloise? If the ladies who managed the society weren’t simply taking money for services they were not really providing, why wouldn’t they want to do everything possible to recover one of their own? No, there was something decidedly wrong here.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Inspector Cooper might well be right. There might be a man behind it all.

  And it was becoming fairly obvious exactly who that man was.

  Still, at the moment, it was nothing more than speculation. Far better to face the inspector’s smug, superior attitude when she had found Heloise and was, as well, able to present actual proof that someone had set up an organization for the sole purpose of taking money from those who could least afford it. Worse yet—stealing their long-held dreams of adventures on foreign shores.

  India’s resolve hardened. The overly attractive Mr. Saunders might well be able to fool three unsuspecting elderly ladies into being the face of his nefarious scheme, but India Prendergast was made of sterner stuff. She absolutely would not rest until Heloise was safely home. And if one hair on the dear woman’s head was so much as ruffled, India would see to it Mr. Saunders spent the rest of his days in prison.

  No matter how dashing and charming he might be.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “LADIES, IF YOU would be so good as to be seated,” Derek Saunders said in his firmest, no-nonsense voice. Up until a few days ago, Derek had been unaware he had a firm, no-nonsense voice. But then, up until a few days ago, he hadn’t needed one.

  “I do hope you intend to be brief.” Aunt Guinevere cast him a chastising look and seated herself in one of the surprisingly comfortable leather chairs at the far end of the unoccupied room the Lady Travelers Society had appropriated for its use. Derek still had no idea how his great-aunt and her cohorts had managed to convince the Explorers Club to give them the use of not only a room to serve as an office but a lecture hall, as well, for a fee that was little more than a token. He suspected the elderly ladies wielded their late husbands’ prominence in the men-only club with the unflinching hand of an expert marksman.

  “We have members eagerly anticipating Gwen’s lecture, Mr. Saunders,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore pointed out.

  “And it’s rude to keep them waiting.” Mrs. Higginbotham pressed her lips together in a disapproving line. “Extremely rude.”

  “And we wouldn’t want to be rude, would we?” Derek opened the satchel his uncle had given him in the hopes it would encourage the pursuit of something other than a good time, removed a stack of papers and placed it on the desk. He settled in the chair behind the desk and narrowed his eyes, which did seem to go along with a firm, no-nonsense voice. “Particularly not as you are taking their money under the falsest of pretenses.”

  All three ladies gasped. It struck him as both insincere and overly rehearsed. Since his first visit here last week they had no doubt decided exactly how to respond to what he had discovered. Obviously, their intention was to act as innocent and guileless as possible.

  “My dear boy, we have no idea what you mean.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s eyes widened in feigned bewilderment.

  “And I for one find your comment more than a little insulting.” Mrs. Higginbotham sniffed. “False pretenses indeed.”

  “I’m certain, Derek, that this is no more than a bit of confusion on your part. Probably a simple misunderstanding.” Aunt Guinevere favored him with the sort of placating smile one would give a small boy, as if he were still six years old. “I’m confident it’s easily cleared up.”

  “I doubt that.” He shuffled through the papers that detailed the workings of the Lady Travelers Society to give himself, and them, a moment to prepare. The impressive stack included the membership roster, membership applications, proposed itineraries for members, the agreement with the Explorers Club and several of the society’s brochures. Not that he hadn’t rehearsed exactly what he planned to say, but practice was one thing, coming face-to-face with these deceptively virtuous-looking creatures
was something else altogether. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

  Before his mother had left to travel the continent with his current stepfather—her third husband—more than a month ago, she had asked him to keep an eye on Great-Aunt Guinevere, her mother’s sister, as the poor dear was getting on in years and, aside from her two lifelong friends, was quite alone in the world. Derek was one of Lady Guinevere’s few living relations, and wasn’t it his duty to make certain she was well? A duty, Mother had pointed out, that was not at all difficult and would go a long way toward showing he was at last accepting responsibility. And, at this particular juncture in his life, wouldn’t he hate to appear irresponsible in any way? Given that Uncle Edward, the Earl of Danby, had taken the occasion of Derek’s thirty-second birthday six months ago to threaten him with loss of his current income and much of his expected inheritance if he did not change his carefree, frivolous existence and begin acting a bit more like the next Earl of Danby should, appearing irresponsible was the last thing Derek needed.

  Under other circumstances, it might well have been unfair for Mother to have played that particular card, but there was no denying she was right. Besides, how difficult could it be to make certain a sweet, elderly relative was well and comfortable? Derek rarely saw the older lady, and the depiction Mother had painted of a feeble, eccentric widow in failing health and mind had played on every sense of guilt he’d ever had.

  Mother had lied.

  When Derek had finally called on Aunt Guinevere, he’d been informed by her butler that she was not at home but could be found in her offices at the Explorers Club. That in itself struck him as odd, but he attributed it to some sort of benefit for widows of prominent members, which, in hindsight, was stupid of him. When he’d arrived at that hallowed shrine to adventure, he discovered Aunt Guinevere was anything but feeble, at least in mind and spirit. Indeed, the old lady and her equally aged companions were engaged in what, to him, appeared very much like some sort of scheme to extort funds from other older ladies.

  He drew a deep breath. “I have studied in great detail all the paperwork you gave me last week. However, I do have some questions. Explain to me, if you will, exactly what is entailed in the operation of the Lady Travelers Society and Assistance Agency.”

  “In the operation?” Aunt Guinevere furrowed her brow. “Why, we operate right here at the Explorers Club. Three days a week.”

  “And we do have one hired staff member,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore added.

  “Although Sidney is more borrowed than hired,” Mrs. Higginbotham said thoughtfully. “We’re not actually paying her, after all. She is more in the manner of a volunteer.”

  “And a dear, dear girl.” Aunt Guinevere studied him in an assessing manner. “You should meet her, Derek.”

  “You’re not yet married—are you, Mr. Saunders?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said with a calculating look in her eyes. Derek had seen that look before, although he wasn’t sure if the ladies weren’t more interested in distracting him than marrying him off.

  “No, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore, I am not. And I did meet her the last time I was here, Aunt Guinevere.”

  Miss Honeywell was one of those deceptive creatures that at first appeared entirely nondescript but was oddly engaging upon further inspection and might well be quite lovely with minimal effort and clothing designed to flatter the feminine form rather than disguise it. Not that his opinion of Miss Honeywell mattered one way or the other. Women—even those who appeared quite proper and eminently suitable for marriage—were among the pursuits he was currently avoiding in his efforts to convince his uncle of his reformation. In his experience, women in general tended to be a great deal of trouble. Often enjoyable trouble but trouble nonetheless. Still, he couldn’t help but notice that Miss Honeywell, and a stern-looking woman sitting beside her with exceptionally rigid posture, were the only two in the lecture hall under the age of fifty.

  Derek forced a pleasant note to his voice. “And while I am aware my marital status might be a topic of some interest, right now we are discussing the operation—”

  “Derek,” Aunt Guinevere began.

  He held up his hand to quiet her. “Although operation may not be the appropriate term. So let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”

  “I suppose if we must.” Mrs. Higginbotham plucked an invisible thread from her sleeve.

  “The beginning is always an appropriate place to start, Effie, dear.” Aunt Guinevere nodded in a gracious manner. “Do proceed, Derek.”

  “Thank you.” He considered the ladies for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure of Aunt Guinevere’s age, nearing her eighties he thought, but it was difficult to determine. She and her friends were certainly not decrepit in any apparent way. Spry was the word that came to mind. And, from the look in their overly innocent eyes, crafty, as well. It struck him that he would be wise not to underestimate this trio. “Now then, the three of you began this enterprise six months ago?”

  “Closer to nine, I think,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said. “We met for the first two months in Gwen’s parlor. But it soon became obvious that would not do.”

  “For the purposes of?”

  “Why, acquainting women with the benefits of travel, of course.” Aunt Guinevere beamed. “And providing expert assistance and guidance through lectures and brochures and touring services to fulfill their dreams of adventure through travel.”

  “And for this expert assistance—” He glanced down at the paper in front of him. “You charge your membership a full one pound sterling every month.” He looked up at the ladies. “Is that correct?”

  “It’s really quite reasonable,” Aunt Guinevere chided.

  “And if you pay for an entire year at once, we give you a discount. A mere ten pounds.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smiled. “We are a bargain.”

  Mrs. Higginbotham nodded. “There is a great deal to take into account when one is traveling beyond England’s shores, you know, Mr. Saunders.”

  “Yes, I can imagine,” he said. “And for these alleged benefits—”

  “I would dispute the word alleged,” Mrs. Higginbotham said under her breath.

  “You now have—” Derek sifted through the papers “—some ninety members. Is that right?”

  “Actually, we’re approaching one hundred.” Pride curved Aunt Guinevere’s lips. “We had no idea we’d grow so quickly.”

  “You can see why we could no longer meet in Gwen’s parlor.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore leaned forward in a confidential manner. “You’d be surprised at how many women are longing to throw off the shackles of everyday existence and live an adventurous life of travel. It’s quite remarkable.”

  “No doubt.” Derek’s gaze shifted from one lady to the next. “So, the society brings in nearly one hundred pounds a month. And for their dues your members receive?”

  The ladies exchanged resigned glances.

  “Our expert advice on traveling the world,” Aunt Guinevere said in a well-rehearsed manner.

  “The companionship and camaraderie of like-minded women,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore added.

  “As well as knowledgeable guidance and, for a minor additional fee, the providing of arranged travel services,” Mrs. Higginbotham finished with a flourish.

  “And that, dear ladies, is where we have a problem.” Derek folded his hands together on the stack of papers and studied the women. All three had adopted blameless expressions, and all three had nearly identical glints of cunning in their eyes. “I shall grant you that the society does indeed provide a convivial atmosphere for ladies with similar interests in travel.”

  “That was mine.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smirked.

  “However.” Derek’s tone hardened.

  Mrs. Higginbotham sighed. “I do so hate it when men use the word however in that forbidding tone. Nothing good ever came of a man starting a sentence with
however.”

  Derek’s jaw tightened. “Nonetheless—”

  “Nonetheless is just as bad.” Mrs. Higginbotham huffed.

  He ignored her. “According to your membership brochure—”

  “Isn’t it lovely?” Aunt Guinevere said. “Poppy designed it herself. Don’t you think it’s fetching with her drawing of the pyramids in Egypt and the Colosseum in Rome and those charming American natives? Poppy is quite an accomplished artist.”

  “Goodness, I wouldn’t say I was accomplished. I am scarcely more than an amateur.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore blushed and waved off the comment in a modest manner. “I had hoped to be an artist when I was young, but that was one of those silly, girlish dreams and best forgotten.”

  “Nevertheless,” Mrs. Higginbotham said staunchly. “You’re very good.”

  “The brochure is indeed extremely well done.” Derek struggled to keep the impatience from his voice. “However—”

  Mrs. Higginbotham grimaced.

  “Aunt Guinevere, it’s my understanding that you rarely, if ever, traveled with Uncle Charles, which would seem to negate the claim of expert in regard to your knowledge of travel.”

  “I suppose...” Aunt Guinevere hedged. “If one goes strictly by personal travel...”

  “I suspect as well—” his gaze shifted between his great-aunt’s coconspirators “—neither Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore or Mrs. Higginbotham have substantially more travel experience than you do.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Saunders.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore sniffed. “I resided for nearly six weeks in Paris as a girl.”

  “And the late Colonel Higginbotham and myself spent several summers in the Lake District.” Mrs. Higginbotham paused. “Admittedly, that does not equate to foreign travel but it is some distance from here.”