Lady Travelers Guide to Deception with an Unlikely Earl Page 6

  The steward escorted them to their respective staterooms, conveniently all in a row along the same side of the corridor.

  “Your luggage has been unpacked and your baggage stowed for the voyage,” Mr. Gilmore said when they reached Sidney’s quarters. He opened the door and she stepped into the room. “Should you need anything at all, Mrs. Gordon, I am at your service.” He nodded and closed the door behind him.

  While not especially spacious, her first-class stateroom was larger than she had expected with an iron bed, small sofa, writing desk, clothes cupboard and washstand. One did wonder if Mr. Corbin’s accommodations were as nice. Mr. Armstrong’s journey, of course, was funded by his uncle. In spite of his concern for finances, Mr. Cadwallender had spared no expense but then Effie, Gwen and Poppy had met several times with him allegedly about the Lady Travelers Society’s plans for their trip. Or at least that’s what Sidney was told. She really had no idea exactly what had transpired in those meetings. The ladies were unusually quiet about them which was suspicious in and of itself. Perhaps the publisher hadn’t been at the dock to see them off out of courtesy but to make certain the elderly trio was indeed leaving the country and out of his hair.

  Sidney pulled off her hat and gloves and tossed them on the bed. As eager as she was to further explore the ship as well as meet her fellow passengers, she was resigned to taking her first dinner in her room tonight on the recommendation of the Lady Travelers Society. The pamphlet on sea voyages advised that one should always spend one’s first night on board any vessel privately in one’s own room, especially if one had never been on a ship before. The pamphlet delicately endorsed the wisdom of such advice as one never knew how one might respond to sea travel. Of course they wouldn’t actually be at sea for the first sixty miles of the voyage and Sidney wondered if regardless of whether one was on the Thames or an ocean, one would feel substantially the same.

  She glanced around her quarters and smiled. This would do nicely but then she would be quite happy with nearly anything. She was off to see the world. On a grand adventure and even if—thanks to Mr. Armstrong—it ended badly, it would still be an adventure. And there was no reason it couldn’t start this minute with a walk on the deck. She would very much like to see London and the countryside pass by on their way to the sea. She grabbed her hat and gloves and pulled open her door.

  “Sidney dear,” Effie said brightly, her hand raised to knock. “May we come in?”

  “Of course.” Sidney pushed aside a momentary stab of disappointment. But the voyage to Alexandria would take nearly two weeks and there was plenty of time to enjoy everything the ship had to offer.

  “We still have a great deal to discuss, you know,” Effie said, stepping past her into the room, Gwen and Poppy right behind.

  “My goodness.” Poppy looked around. “This is identical to my room.”

  “I suspect they’re all very much the same.” Gwen settled on the sofa.

  “Did you notice nearly everything is bolted to the floor?” Poppy sat down next to Gwen. “How very odd.”

  Effie rolled her gaze at the ceiling and took the last spot on the sofa. “Unlike a hotel, this room will tend to roll about with the waves.”

  “I knew that.” Indignation sounded in Poppy’s voice. “I simply thought it was curious.”

  “It is curious,” Gwen said diplomatically, “as well as to be expected.”

  “Was there something in particular you wished to discuss?” Sidney closed the door, took off her coat, and placed it along with her hat and gloves in the cupboard, then perched on the edge of the bed. “I thought we had been quite thorough about our plans.”

  “One can never be too prepared for deception,” Effie said firmly.

  It did seem they had had endless discussions about how to make Sidney appear as if she was completely familiar with Egypt although none of them was certain exactly how to dampen Sidney’s expected enthusiasm. If they had decided anything at all it was to take their venture one day—one step—at a time.

  “I don’t know why, but this feels rather delicate.” Effie glanced at the others then drew a deep breath. “It’s about your husband.”

  Sidney stared. “My what?”

  “Your husband,” Poppy said. “Your dead husband.”

  Sidney laughed. “I don’t have a dead husband.

  “We know that, dear. We wouldn’t be having this discussion if you did.” Gwen sighed. “We realized this morning that we had not discussed your husband—dear, dear whatever his name is.”

  “He should at least have a name beyond Mr. Gordon,” Effie said. “Someone—Mr. Corbin or the buffoon or someone else entirely—might ask about him.”

  “You are supposed to be a widow,” Gwen pointed out. “And widows generally have dead husbands.”

  “Not you, of course,” Poppy added, “but most widows. We all do.”

  “I had forgotten about the dead husband,” Sidney murmured. This was becoming more and more complicated but, as she wrote as Mrs. Gordon, it probably couldn’t be helped. Not for the first time did she regret the decision to write under an assumed name. It had been at Mr. Cadwallender’s insistence although he had initially proposed she write not as Miss Sidney Honeywell but as Mr. Sidney Gordon, which had struck her as being a traitor to her gender. However, she did agree to become Mrs. Gordon and while she’d never said she was a widow, the world assumed she was.

  “You must never forget about the dead husband,” Effie warned. “And he needs a name you can remember.”

  Sidney frowned. “I’m certain I’ll be able to remember his name.”

  “You’re not very good at remembering names, dear. You do tend to be a bit scattered,” Poppy said gently. “What was your father’s name? You should be able to remember that.”

  “My father’s name was Charles.”

  Effie glanced at Gwen. “Unless you have any objections.”

  “Because my husband’s name was Charles?” Gwen asked. “Don’t be absurd. The world is simply littered with Charleses, a fair number of them dead. Why, if I was bothered by every dead Charles I encountered, I would spend most of my time being out of sorts.” She cast Sidney an affectionate smile. “I daresay my husband would be honored to lend his name to your imaginary husband.” She grinned. “As long as he was handsome and dashing, of course.”

  “Of course.” Effie turned to Sidney. “He was, wasn’t he?”

  “Goodness, she wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t. Not that a man’s appearance is as important as his character,” Poppy added quickly, “but, as we are inventing him, we might as well make him as attractive as we want. Or rather as Sidney wants.”

  “I don’t see why not.” Effie nodded. “What did he look like, Sidney?”

  “I don’t know.” Sidney crossed her arms over her chest. “And I don’t see why this is necessary.”

  “Because someone might ask and you need to be prepared. It’s the details in a project like this that make all the difference between acceptance and being found out,” Gwen said firmly. “Now, tell us. What did he look like?”

  “Very well.” Sidney sighed. This did seem absurd but the ladies probably had a point. “I suppose he was tall.” She had always thought tall men to be particularly attractive. “With nicely broad shoulders.”

  “The result of a passion for out of door activities, no doubt.” Effie nodded. “Go on. What color hair and eyes did he have?”

  Sidney thought for a moment. “Blue eyes, I think. No, better yet—gray. Which might seem nondescript but are really quite warm. Yes, that’s good. And they lit up when he smiled. He had a wonderful smile. And his hair...” One wouldn’t think making up a fraudulent husband would be quite this difficult. “Brown perhaps? A light brown.” No, not brown. What goes well with gray eyes? “Or... I know, a dark blond. The color of sand. Oh yes, that’s better. I like that. What do you think?�
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  All three ladies stared at her with the oddest expression on their faces.

  “What is it?” Sidney drew her brows together. “Is he not handsome enough?”

  “No, he’s fine,” Poppy said with a weak smile. What on earth was the matter with her?

  Gwen cleared her throat. “Now tell us about your life together.”

  “I thought we had discussed this as well. My story should be much like the one I created for Millicent.” Sidney sighed. “There really wasn’t much of a life together. I married Mr. Gordon—Charles—when I was eighteen—”

  Poppy nodded. “He swept you off your feet.”

  “And we immediately set off for Egypt as he was a promising, young archeologist—”

  “An excellent place for a honeymoon.” Approval sounded in Effie’s voice.

  “And I was determined to be by his side.”

  “Most courageous of you,” Gwen said. “Go on.”

  “We barely had a few months together before he died tragically.” Sidney paused. “Should I know how he died?”

  “Well, you would wouldn’t you? As his wife.” Poppy glanced at the other ladies. “How shall we do away with him?”

  “Perhaps a camel sat on him?” Gwen suggested.

  “Or he could have drowned in the Nile.” Poppy brightened. “Yes, that’s good.” She fluttered her fingers. “Drowned and washed away never to be seen again.”

  “Better yet.” Effie cast a triumphant smile at the others. “Egypt is full of vile creatures.” She glanced at Sidney. “Isn’t it?”

  “Oh my, yes.” Sidney nodded. “There are several varieties of venomous snakes as well as scorpions and crocodiles—”

  “That’s it!” Excitement rang in Effie’s voice. “Poor, dear, dashing Mr. Gordon was eaten by a crocodile!”

  Poppy frowned. “That doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

  “It doesn’t have to be pleasant.” Effie huffed. “It simply has to be fatal.”

  “I know that,” Poppy said. “I just think it would be extremely difficult to move past the death of a husband if he were eaten by a crocodile.” She shook her head. “It’s not at all the kind of thing a woman could put behind her.” She shuddered.

  “Which is precisely why,” Effie said slowly, “Sidney prefers not to discuss it. She has never truly recovered from his loss, you see.”

  Gwen’s brow rose. “After almost fifteen years? They were hardly married any time at all.”

  “Which makes it even more tragic,” Poppy said firmly. “He was, after all, her true love and in spite of the passage of time, she is still mourning—like Her Majesty.”

  Sidney frowned. “Then shouldn’t I be wearing black?”

  “Very well.” Effie cast Poppy an exasperated look. “Not exactly like the queen.”

  “Still mourning the loss of Mr. Gordon,” Sidney said under her breath and nodded. “That sounds perfectly reasonable to me. However, in spite of my dreadful loss, I decided to stay on in Egypt because I couldn’t bear to return to London without poor Mr. Gordon and I felt it important to carry on with his work. Besides, I fell madly, deeply in love with the country and its history and its people.” That much was at least partially true. “Thus was the beginning of my adventures.”

  “Excellent.” Poppy beamed.

  “Well, fine, anyway.” Gwen cast her an encouraging smile.

  “It will do,” Effie added then paused. “I think it might be best, all things considered, if we tried never to leave you alone with either the buffoon or Mr. Corbin.”

  Sidney stared. “You don’t think I can do this?”

  “Of course we do, dear,” Poppy said quickly. “It’s just that it’s been our observation that while you’re very good at writing, you’re not overly skilled at deception or—”

  “Prevarication.” Gwen winced. “Or dishonesty or—”

  “Lying,” Effie said bluntly. “You do not lie well, Sidney. Which is an admirable quality really, under most circumstances. However—” Effie grimaced “—these are not most circumstances.”

  “I am well aware of that,” Sidney said. “I have given all of this a great deal of thought. Indeed, I’ve thought of little else since I agreed to be part of this farce. And yes, I have always prided myself on my sense of honesty.” She thought for a moment. “I am most grateful for your help and I daresay, I couldn’t manage this on my own but do not for a moment think I do not understand the importance of this venture. My reputation and my future are at stake. And in many ways, this is no one’s fault but my own.”

  “Well, we were the ones who responded to Lord Brenton’s letters,” Poppy said faintly.

  “Regardless, that’s not where this began.” Sidney drew a deep breath. “If I had paid more attention, I would have realized the world was taking my stories as fact and I could have taken steps to correct that impression. I should have taken a stand then, regardless of the consequences.”

  Effie frowned. “But Mr. Cadwallender—”

  “It’s my life and they’re my stories, Aunt Effie, and I should have stood up for both.” Sidney shook her head. “I allowed myself to be convinced by Mr. Cadwallender that my revealing the truth would be disastrous. As he was my publisher and a man, I assumed he knew best. In that, I believe now that I was wrong.”

  Effie grinned.

  “What I should have done scarcely matters now. Now I have a reputation to protect and a wrong to set right.” Sidney raised her chin. “In the eyes of my readers, I am Millicent Forester. I am the Queen of the Desert. I shall not let them down.”

  “Excellent.” Gwen beamed.

  “I absolutely will not allow an arrogant ass—”

  “Or buffoon.” Poppy shrugged. “Both do seem accurate.”

  “—to ruin my life, my future and my livelihood.” Determination washed through her. “This is a game I intend to win. I have a role to play, ladies. Mr. Armstrong is determined to prove I’m not what the world has been led to believe I am. All I have to do—” she squared her shoulders “—is prove him wrong.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I SEE I’M not the only one who enjoys watching the sun rise over the ocean,” Harry said in his most cordial manner. It wasn’t easy. This was the first dawn of their voyage and cordial was the last thing he felt this morning toward this interloper.

  “Good day, Mr. Armstrong.” Mrs. Gordon’s gaze remained on the horizon.

  “I wouldn’t have taken you for such an early riser.” Perhaps she would scurry back to her cabin once she had fully absorbed the sunrise.

  “What a remarkable coincidence, Mr. Armstrong,” she said coolly. “I would not have thought to encounter you at this time of day either.” She glanced at him. “Especially not with a bottle of champagne in your hand.”

  “If I had known you were going to be here, I would have brought two glasses.”

  “I never indulge in spirits before breakfast, Mr. Armstrong.”

  “Perhaps you should, Mrs. Gordon.” He paused. He’d been trying for nearly a year now to be the kind of man he was expected to be—the kind of man an earl was supposed to be—and, even though she didn’t know of his title, he had decided not to reveal too much of his questionable past. Still, this was a fairly innocuous revelation. “When my friends and I first set off for Egypt, nearly twenty years ago, we marked the first sunrise of the first day with a bottle of the best champagne our collective resources could afford. Every voyage to Egypt after that, regardless of whether one or all three of us were traveling, we always greeted the first dawn with champagne. This bottle was delivered to my quarters before we left port from one of those friends.”

  “That’s really quite charming.” She considered him thoughtfully. “I would not have thought you so sentimental.”

  Rubbish. “I don’t think sentimental is the right word—”

>   “Habit, then.”

  “I tend to think of it more in the manner of tradition.”

  “Regardless, I do not wish to interfere.” She smiled. “I shall leave you to your tradition.” She turned to go.

  “Join me,” he said without thinking.

  She turned back to him, her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Why?” He grinned. “Are you always so suspicious?”

  “No. In fact, I am quite trusting of most people. Trusting you, however—”

  He winced. Not that he didn’t deserve her distrust.

  “—does not strike me as especially wise. I would be remiss if I did not question your motives. We are here after all because you are determined to prove me a fraud and I am determined to prove you wrong.” She shrugged. “Under these circumstances, suspicion does seem the wiser course.”

  “I’ll grant you that. However, just for the span of the sunrise, let us forget we are at odds. Do me the honor of joining me in the tradition of myself and my friends in a salute to what lies ahead. There is nothing as inspiring as watching the sun rise up out of the sea.”

  “Very well.” Her eyes twinkled. “But you have only one glass.”

  “Which I shall gladly sacrifice for the pleasure of your company.”

  “How very gallant of you.”

  “I can be very gallant. You should make note of that.” He opened the bottle, filled the glass and handed it to her, then raised the bottle toward the sun. “To the new day and the adventures it will bring.” And to those who are no longer with us, he added silently. He took a long drink from the bottle and sent a prayer of thanks to Ben. It was an excellent vintage, even straight from the bottle.