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?”
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
