“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