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 reputable rivals might portray this venture—an unattached female, regardless of whether she is a widow, heading off on a journey of unknown length with a gentleman and a male reporter—as something rife with the possibility of inappropriate activity. Why, the entire venture would be fraught with the suggestion of scandal.” Effie shook her head in a regretful manner. “As much as your paper seems to delight in laying out all the juicy details of whatever scandal comes along, I wouldn’t think you would want the Daily Messenger itself exposed to that sort of thing.”
“No.” He glared. “I suppose I wouldn’t.”
“Chaperones will eliminate any hint of impropriety. Furthermore...” She ticked the points off on her fingers. “The other ladies and myself are all the widows of men who each spent a good deal of time in Egypt. They were, as well, honored members of the Explorers Club. Which means that we have a certain amount of credibility as observers. In addition, Sidney will need assistance, support if you will, to carry off this ruse successfully. I daresay we don’t want anyone else discovering the truth.”
“No, we do not.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “I assume you expect me to finance your trip as well.”
“It does seem to me we are doing you a very great favor by accompanying Miss Honeywell.” Effie smiled, a triumphant gleam in her eye.
“It seems to me the word blackmail is more appropriate than favor.”
“Semantics, Mr. Cadwallender.” Effie waved off the comment. “One word is often just as good as another as long as the end result is the same.”
“As long as it’s the result you want?”
Effie smiled pleasantly.
Mr. Cadwallender heaved a sigh of resignation. “Very well, then.” He turned to Sidney. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”
Sidney thought for a moment. She had nothing to attend to. Nothing keeping her in London. Indeed, she could have her bags packed and be ready to go within a day or so. “As soon as the arrangements can be made, I would think.”
“Excellent.” He rose to his feet behind his desk, Aunt Effie and Sidney following suit. “I have no doubt this will be an extremely successful venture for you—for all of us, Miss Honeywell.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cadwallender.”
He opened the door and Aunt Effie swept out of his office, Sidney a step behind. They made their way through the sea of desks, frenzied gentlemen with ink-stained fingers and organized confusion, to the front lobby. Sidney barely noticed any of it.
“That went nicely, I think,” Aunt Effie said with a satisfied nod after they’d requested a cab.
“I daresay Mr. Cadwallender has never faced the widow of a colonel before.” Sidney grinned.
“Fighting for what you want has as much to do with knowing who you are and, of course, knowing what you want.” Effie’s lips curved in a satisfied smile. “Being the wife of a colonel is simply the icing on the cake.”
Sidney hesitated. “Are you certain you and the others are up to this?”
“Because we are no longer in the prime of youth?”
“Well, yes.”
“I assure you, Sidney, we are quite spry.” She paused. “There are two kinds of women in this world, my dear. Those who wave goodbye to others starting on grand adventures and those waving back from the window of a train or the deck of a ship.” Effie raised her chin. “It’s past time that Gwen, Poppy and I became the latter. We too need to seize the day. Besides, this may well be our last chance.”
“And perhaps my only chance.”
“Then we shall have to make the most of it.” Effie grinned. “As Mr. Cadwallender is paying for it, we should make certain he gets his money’s worth.”
Sidney laughed. Good Lord! Thanks to a stuffy, arrogant, rude beast of a lord and his nephew she was finally going to Egypt. Certainly, given the amount of deception involved, it was not going to be easy. But it was past time to stop dreaming about what she wanted. Her very future was now at stake. In many ways, it seemed her life—her story—was just beginning.
And she could hardly wait to turn the page.
“THIS MRS. GORDON is a fraud, I tell you.” Harold Armstrong, the new Earl of Brenton, paced the impressive width of the private parlor his
