you, Aunt Effie.” Sidney cast her a grateful smile. “Regardless of my studies and all that I’ve learned, the fact remains that I’ve never actually been to Egypt.”
“A minor point.” Mr. Cadwallender waved off her comment. “If anyone can pull this off you can. I have every confidence in you, Sidney. By the time you return—”
“I don’t recall agreeing to go.”
“Really, dear.” Effie leaned close and patted her hand. “I don’t see that you have any particular choice.”
“That’s not entirely true.” Mr. Cadwallender studied her for a long moment. “You have several choices. You can choose to admit publicly that his lordship is right—that you don’t know what you’re writing about—”
“And allow the beast to win?” Effie straightened in her chair. “Never!”
“In which case there would be a nasty scandal. You would lose your readers who would feel betrayed by you. Cadwallender Publishing and the Daily Messenger could not continue to publish your work. We do have a reputation to maintain.”
As the Daily Messenger did seem to base most of its articles on little more than scandal and gossip, apparently reputation was in the eye of the beholder.
“You’re the one who convinced me not to tell the truth when this misunderstanding began,” Sidney pointed out.
“Water under the bridge, Miss Honeywell.” He waved off her comment. “No sense fretting about what’s over and done with. We simply must move forward from here. As I said you have choices. Confess the truth and face the consequences—”
Effie shuddered.
“—or you can kill off Millicent and end the stories altogether—”
Effie gasped in horror.
“—or you can go to Egypt and make the Earl of Brenton eat his words. He started this—beat him at his own game. Prove to him and the world that he’s wrong. It would serve him right. Certainly, you’ve never been to Egypt in person but you can’t tell me your mind, your heart, your very soul hasn’t been there.”
“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
