The Lady Traveller's Guide To Deception With An Unlikely Earl. Victoria Alexander

      Poppy nodded. “And we never expected we would share it with not one but two handsome gentlemen. My goodness, it’s most exhilarating.”

      “Even if one is an ass,” Effie added. “Although, one does have to admit he is an extremely attractive—”

      Gwen coughed.

      “Aunt Effie!” Sidney cast a pointed glance at the steward in front of them, standing a few discreet feet away and obviously trying very hard not to listen as well as not to laugh.

      Effie winced. “Oh dear. I didn’t realize... Well.” She squared her shoulders. “I daresay it isn’t anything he hasn’t heard before.” She peered around Sidney. “Am I right, Mr. Gilmore?”

      “You are, madam,” Mr. Gilmore said in a serious manner that belied the amusement in his eyes. “Indeed, I have heard far worse.”

      “Far worse?” Effie studied him curiously. “Really?”

      He nodded. “But rest assured there is nothing more discreet than a first-class steward. It is my duty to respect the privacy of my passengers. Nothing that I see or hear during a voyage goes any further.”

      “Of course.” A distinct look of disappointment passed over Effie’s face. “As it should be.” She glanced at Sidney. “I do see your point, Sidney dear.”

      “As I assume you all do.” Goodness, they were all acting like schoolgirls. Sidney’s firm gaze settled on one lady after another. Each had the good grace to look appropriately chagrined. Perhaps a little too chagrined. Sidney sighed, turned back to the steward and they continued down the corridor.

      She really couldn’t fault the ladies. Even in his fashionable clothing, Mr. Armstrong looked like he could have stepped right out of one of her stories. He wasn’t at all as she’d pictured him. For some reason she thought he’d be an older man, brandishing a walking stick with a silver head in the shape of a cobra or something equally forbidding, with an air of superiority, whose only joy was reliving his past exploits. What she never expected was a dashing sort who towered above her with hair the color of the desert sand and stormy, gray eyes, intense and perceptive. Mr. Armstrong did indeed look like a hero come to life. Not her hero, of course. In her own story he was more of a villain.

      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