Mrs. Gordon shrugged in an offhand manner as if her knowledge was not in question and turned to Cadwallender. “It was quite thoughtful of you to see us off, Mr. Cadwallender. And most appreciated.”
“Here’s to an excellent voyage and a successful journey.” Cadwallender took her hand and smiled. “I have every confidence in you, Mrs. Gordon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cadwallender.” She slanted a quick glance at Harry then smiled up at the publisher. “I assure you, you will not be disappointed.” She stepped back and looked at the other women. “Ladies, shall we board?”
“Will we see you at dinner tonight?” Corbin asked, the most annoying note of eagerness in his voice.
“I doubt it. I prefer to spend the first night on a ship in my rooms. But tomorrow—” she cast the reporter a brilliant smile “—I will certainly see you tomorrow.” She nodded at the publisher. “Farewell, Mr. Cadwallender.”
Cadwallender tipped his hat. “Bon voyage, Mrs. Gordon.”
“Mr. Armstrong,” she said curtly, turned and moved toward the ship.
The other ladies bid Cadwallender farewell and then followed Mrs. Gordon in a flutter of feminine excitement. She started up the gangplank, her entourage trailing behind.
“Splendid job, Sidney.” Lady Blodgett’s voice drifted back to him. One thing he had already noticed about traveling with this particular group, whether it was intentional or simply the result of aging, but all three older ladies spoke a bit louder than perhaps necessary.
Mrs. Gordon’s chin raised just a notch. He would have thought she couldn’t hold herself any straighter but apparently he was wrong.
Cadwallender chuckled. “This should be an interesting trip. I’m almost sorry I’m not coming along.” He grinned at Harry. “Bon voyage, Mr. Armstrong. I have no doubt Mrs. Gordon will prove his lordship’s charges completely false. I would wish you good luck but I’m certain you understand why I don’t.” He glanced at the ladies, now stepping onto the ship. “Although I suspect you will need it. Corbin, a word please before you board.” He turned and stepped away.
“Yes, sir.” Corbin cast an admiring glance toward the ship. “A truly fine specimen of the very best England has to offer.”
Harry wasn’t sure he would completely agree. “She does appear to be a seaworthy enough vessel.”
“Actually, Armstrong.” Corbin tore his gaze from the ship. “I wasn’t referring to the ship.” He grinned in a self-assured manner and hurried after his employer.
The reporter was obviously an outrageous flirt. The kind of man who couldn’t believe that any woman wouldn’t swoon at the chance to be on his arm or in his bed. Arrogant, self-centered, charming, a man like Corbin took conquest and seduction as his due. Harry knew that kind of man. For much of his life, Harry had been that kind of man. Perhaps he still was. Opportunities for female companions that were not seeking marriage had simply been limited since his return to England.
His gaze strayed up to Mrs. Gordon, stepping onto the ship to be greeted by the captain. Not that he had any inclination toward seduction but his intentions had certainly changed in the last few minutes. Now that he knew she wasn’t a dear, sweet old lady his reasons for not exposing her fraudulent writings were no longer valid. She was not a fragile elderly flower but an outspoken, argumentative female who was apparently prepared to do battle. Or rather continue to do battle. The combat between them had begun when he’d sent his first letter to The Times and she’d responded. Now, it was a full-fledged war to be waged in the streets of Cairo and the sands of the Valley of the Kings. Even if she had a small army of elderly ladies by her side, he would not allow her to win.
It wasn’t merely the future of his writing or the acknowledgment of his accomplishments in Egypt or even Walter’s legacy at stake. Why, Truth itself was in the balance. He could not, he would not, permit a writer of frivolous fiction to stand in the way of truth.
No matter how lovely her eyes were.
IT WAS ALL Sidney could do to keep her hand from shaking when welcomed on board the Ancona by the captain. She wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the excitement of boarding a ship for the very first time or finally taking the first step toward her dreams. More likely it was coming face-to-face with Mr. Harold Armstrong, the man who could destroy her future. She was heartened by the fact that she had held her ground even when he had glowered down at her although it had taken all the fortitude she could muster. But there was something about standing up to a man that was most invigorating and filled her with confidence. Aside from a few professors and merchants, she really had no experience dealing with men at all. Now, for good or ill, two dashing gentlemen would be part of the grand adventure that lay ahead. Perhaps Mr. Cadwallender was right. Perhaps she did have the courage to carry off this deception. Millicent certainly did. And she was Millicent.
The captain introduced the first-class steward, Mr. Gilmore, who escorted them on a tour of the ship. He showed them the ladies lounge, the saloon where evening entertainment would be provided, the library and dining room, and then ushered them to their accommodations, explaining there were ninety-one first-class staterooms and thirty-two second-class. Passenger rooms were along surprisingly narrow corridors. If one could not abide tight spaces, Sidney suspected it would be wise to avoid sea travel.
“Isn’t this exciting?” Poppy said, a step behind Sidney. “I’ve never been on a real ship before.”
“None of us has, dear,” Lady Blodgett murmured.
Indeed, no one in their group—with the exception of Poppy who had spent time in Paris as a girl—had ever stepped foot off England’s shores. Which was, for the most part, a little known fact although the ladies insisted it was not particularly a secret, simply that no one had ever asked. Regardless, its revelation would be at best embarrassing and at worst devastating to their positions as founding members of the Lady Travelers Society.
The three widows had started the society some three years ago as a service to other ladies who wished to plan future travel. Unfortunately, while they were really quite good at giving lectures, writing all manner of pamphlets and offering sage advice—based on the experiences of their husbands—they weren’t quite as skilled at planning actual travel for their members. In fact, the only member they sent off on a grand tour of Europe managed to disappear—through no fault of the ladies as it turned out. Still, it was awkward, possibility fraudulent and there were questions of legality, so when an American entrepreneur offered to buy the Lady Travelers Society and keep Gwen, Effie and Poppy on as figureheads, lecturers and consultants, it was the perfect solution. The ever efficient Miss Charlotte Granville, another American, who now managed the society, had planned this trip to Egypt and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that it would go smoothly. At least when it came to the travel arrangements.
“I must say, I’m quite surprised at how very dashing he was,” Poppy said as much to herself as to the others.
“Which one?” Gwen asked. “Mr. Armstrong or Mr. Corbin.”
“Both, really, although I was speaking of Mr. Armstrong.” Poppy sighed. “I have always had a fondness for men with fair hair the tiniest bit past due for a trim and just a little unruly. Why, it makes you want to run your fingers through it and muss it up even more.”
“One surmises those shoulders are not due to the efforts of his tailor,” Gwen said under her breath. “The man really is quite attractive.”
“For an arrogant buffoon.” Effie paused. “But admittedly a handsome buffoon.”
Sidney stopped short and turned on her heel. “With all due respect, ladies, could you possibly wait until we are in a more private location to discuss Mr. Armstrong’s