“Her spirit.” Effie nodded.
“Exactly. Sidney.” Mr. Cadwallender’s gaze locked with hers. “Carpe diem. Seize the day. Isn’t this the opportunity you’ve been waiting for?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Effie jumped to her feet. “She’ll do it!”
Sidney could only stare at her.
“Of course she will.” Mr. Cadwallender grinned. “I didn’t doubt it for a moment.”
Sidney’s gaze shifted between Effie and Mr. Cadwallender. He was right—she did have a choice. And an opportunity. This was her chance to set things right. To have the adventures, to be the heroine her readers believed her to be.
For the first time since reading his lordship’s challenge, the idea of travel to Egypt seemed not only possible but probable. And why not? She was a thirty-two-year-old spinster with no particular prospects for marriage. No family to speak of except for Aunt Effie and her friends. And absolutely no good reason not to at long last follow her heart. She had nothing to lose and at the very least, the adventure of a lifetime to gain.
“Very well, then.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll do it.”
“Excellent.” He grinned. “The Messenger will pay for all your expenses and we will, of course, send a reporter along.”
“A reporter?” Effie sank down into her chair.
Sidney widened her eyes. “Is that necessary?”
“Absolutely. This, my dear girl, will be the story of the year.” He paused. “Have you heard of Nellie Bly?”
Sidney shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“You do need to get out more, dear,” Effie said under her breath.
“Nellie Bly is an American female reporter who attempted to travel around the world in less than eighty days a few years ago. She managed it in only seventy-two.” Mr. Cadwallender’s eyes sparkled. “It was quite a story. One that captured the imagination of the reading public in America and very nearly everywhere else. I anticipate the story of the Queen of the Desert’s return to Egypt to be every bit as profitable.”
Sidney’s brow rose. “Profitable, Mr. Cadwallender?”
“Profitable, Miss Honeywell,” he said firmly. “This story will increase readership and therefore generate greater revenue. Stories like this sell newspapers and books. While our mission is to enlighten and inform our readers, we cannot do so with inadequate funding. Nor can we afford to send our correspondents on trips to Egypt.”
“Regardless, don’t you think yet another observer watching my every move is dangerous?”
“I have every confidence in you, Miss Honeywell. If I didn’t, I would neither finance nor encourage this trip. In point of fact, being accompanied by one of my reporters is in your best interest.” He grimaced. “Frankly, if I don’t send someone along to document this venture, make no mistake, The Times surely will. I suspect you would prefer a reporter who works for me rather than a competitor who would like nothing better than to discredit all of us.”
“That makes sense I suppose.” Sidney sighed. This was becoming more and more complicated. “Will this reporter know the truth? About my experience with Egypt that is.”
“Absolutely not, Miss Honeywell.” Disbelief shone in Mr. Cadwallender’s eyes. “I would never allow one of my reporters to actively mislead the public.”
“Which means it’s up to me to actively mislead him as well as the earl.”
“Oh, the earl isn’t going. While he is willing to publicly denigrate your work, he is not willing to see this through personally. He’s sending a representative, a nephew I believe, a Mr. Harry Armstrong. Apparently, Mr. Armstrong visited Egypt in his youth and now considers himself something of an expert.”
“Wonderful,” Sidney said under her breath.
“I strongly suspect the earl’s criticism was a direct result of his nephew’s prodding.” He paused. “You need to prove your legitimacy to Armstrong’s satisfaction. If, in his opinion, you do so, he will issue a public apology. If you fail, I’ve agreed to publish his book.”
Sidney widened her eyes. “He’s written a book?”
“Of allegedly true stories about his experiences in Egypt.” The publisher sighed. “God help us all.”
“One moment, Mr. Cadwallender.” Effie’s brow furrowed. “You’re saying that the very man who decides whether or not Sidney is who the public believes her to be, has a great deal to gain if he decides she’s a fraud.” Effie shook her head. “That’s extremely subjective and doesn’t sound the least bit fair to me.”
“Fair or not, that’s the challenge. Refusing it would be the same as admitting he’s right.” He met Sidney’s gaze directly. “You can do this, Sidney. Show the man around Egypt. Take him to the pyramids and maybe a tomb or two. Just enough to establish your expertise. It’s not as if you have to discover a pharaoh’s treasure.”
“But that would be perfect,” Effie murmured.
“You have the knowledge and, I have no doubt, the courage to pull off an endeavor of this nature. To be the heroine of your own story. You are Millicent Forester. You need to remember that.” His tone softened. “We both have a great deal to lose if you aren’t successful. My family started Cadwallender Publishing nearly a century ago. I would hate to be the Cadwallender to preside over its demise.”
Sidney studied him for a long moment. Did she have the courage to carry off an escapade of this magnitude? Did she have the knowledge to step foot in Egypt for the first time and convince at least two people she did indeed know what she was doing? Still, aside from the deceptive aspect of it all, wasn’t this exactly what she had spent years preparing for? Isn’t this what she had always wanted? Didn’t she owe her readers at least a valiant attempt to be who they thought she was? And apparently, more than just her own future was at stake. She squared her shoulders. “I shall not let you down, Mr. Cadwallender.”
“Excellent.” Effie beamed. “The Lady Travelers Society will make the arrangements at once. Oh, we will be a jolly little band of travelers.”
“We?” Mr. Cadwallender shook his head. “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Mrs. Higginbotham. I will not be going along to Egypt.” He scoffed. “I have a newspaper to run.”
“Of course you do, Mr. Cadwallender. And no one would expect a man of your responsibilities to abandon his duties even for something as important as this. But I’m afraid you are the one who has misunderstood.” The glint in Effie’s eyes belied the pleasant tone of her voice. “My friends and I cannot allow our dear Sidney to wander off to the land of the pharaohs without the proper accompaniment. Chaperones if you will.”
Mr. Cadwallender’s brow furrowed. “Chaperones?”
“Of course. Lady Blodgett, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and myself will be joining Sidney’s party.”
“Not necessary, Mrs. Higginbotham,” Mr. Cadwallender said blithely. “Why, Nellie Bly went around the entire world completely on her own.”
Effie sniffed. “Miss Bly is American. Such things are to be expected from an American. Subjects of Her Majesty do not adhere to such slip-shod standards of propriety and deportment.”
“Might I point out that Miss Honeywell writes as Mrs. Gordon, a widow.” His lips quirked upward in a subtle show of triumph. “Therefore chaperones are not expected.”
“And might I point out that your less than