creatures whose only redeeming quality is their suitability for the desert climate. It’s utter rubbish for God’s sake. And people have accepted it all as fact.”
“People, all in all, aren’t very bright.”
“Did you know they call her the Queen of the Desert?”
“Yes, I believe you have mentioned that.” Ben pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “More than once.”
“More like the queen of deception, ill-conceived fables and outright fraud.” Harry dropped the paper on to the table and then tossed back his brandy. It did not help.
“And you did not hesitate to say exactly that in your letters to The Times.”
“Of course I did. I could do nothing less. People deserve to know when they’re being hoodwinked,” Harry said staunchly, ignoring what might have been the tiniest stab of regret.
He had always been rather gallant where women were concerned and women had always liked him. He did now wonder if boredom with his new life coupled with frustration at his inability to sell his work might have had something to do with initiating his letters to The Times. Not that he was wrong in calling attention to Mrs. Gordon’s misrepresentations of fact in her Tales. Nor was he wrong in threatening her membership in the Antiquities Society, but he had opened the proverbial Pandora’s box.
“And Egypt deserves better. She is grand and glorious, timeless and dangerous. And worthy of respect. The place is already overrun with tourists. Stories like Mrs. Gordon’s, that depict the country as little more than a fanciful winter resort in the shadow of the pyramids, only encourage more visitors who refuse to relish in the very land they’ve come to experience but rather insist on bringing their own ways with them. This woman, with her inaccuracies and rose-colored portrayal, is assisting in the ruination of an ancient land.”
“I can’t say I entirely disagree with you there.”
“Even worse, those who believe her nonsense, who think seeking the treasure of the ancients can be accomplished as easily as writing a few paragraphs, and with as little risk, flock to Egypt only to be rudely awakened.”
“Isn’t that what we did?”
“We were young and stupid and it was a different time. And, ultimately, we paid a price for being seduced by Egypt.”
Ben was silent for a long moment. “Regardless, you could have been a bit more diplomatic in your censure.”
“Yes, I suppose I could have.” Harry blew a frustrated breath. “And I probably should have. I realize now that it might have been wiser, and certainly more courteous, to have been less strident in my condemnation.”
“You did stir up something of a hornet’s nest.”
“I am well aware of that.”
While the wisdom of his first letter to The Times was debatable, he could see now that it had not been a good idea to continue to engage the woman via additional letters. It had only served to escalate their dispute to the point where he had challenged her to travel to Egypt and prove that she knew what she was writing about. Apparently justifiable indignation negated any possibility of intelligent thought, but then prudence and discretion had never been Harry Armstrong’s strongest qualities. Lord Brenton would have to do better.
“Given your attitude toward your new title—” Ben nodded at the newspaper “—I was rather surprised that you signed your letters as Lord Brenton rather than Harry Armstrong.”
“At first, it didn’t seem quite fair to identify myself as an earl and not at all sporting. She is a woman, after all, and a widow. I didn’t want to intimidate her.” Although, judging by her responses, a little intimidation might have served him well. “But the more I read of her work—” and the more rejection Harry Armstrong’s writing received “—the more I realized writing to The Times as Lord Brenton would give added weight to my charges.”
Ben picked up the paper and paged to the latest installment of Tales of a Lady Adventurer in Egypt. “Have you read the stories in the Messenger and those in her book closely or has your outrage prevented that?”
“Close enough.”
“I doubt it,” Ben said under his breath. “Have you noticed that her depiction of Egypt is somewhat, oh, dated if you will?”
“Somewhat?” Harry snorted. “She might as well be writing in the time of the pharaohs themselves. Obviously, she has based her Tales on old, poorly researched, fictitious accounts.”
“She never mentions the throngs of tourists that have increased in the last twenty years, thanks to the railroads and the Suez Canal, or the government regulations that only serve to complicate excavations and any number of other details.”
“We’ve already established she is not overly fond of accurate details.” He paused. “Aside from vermin.”
Ben studied the story for a moment. “It strikes me that these might well be the accounts of someone who has not been to Egypt for some time. Perhaps even decades.” Ben looked up from the paper and grinned. “I’d wager you’ve been exchanging letters with an old lady.”
“Surely not.” Harry scoffed. “You’ve seen her responses to my letters. They’re confrontational, unsuitably forward and verge perilously close to rude although she never engages in blatant discourtesy. She was quite civil when she called me arrogant.”
“Yes, I noticed that.”
“Admittedly, I would expect any woman who writes about lady adventurers in Egypt—whether those stories are true or not—to defend her position although I do think her polite implication that I am somehow resentful of her success because she’s female is going a bit far.”
“I noticed that too.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “She is always polite.”
“Indeed she is. It must be most annoying.”
“You have no idea.” He shook his head. “But an elderly woman? Absolutely not. Those letters could not possibly be the work of a fragile, old lady. They’re entirely too assertive and forceful.”
Ben stared. “You don’t know any old ladies, do you?”
Harry frowned. “No, but—”
“You, my friend, have been engaged in a battle with a dear, sweet old lady.” Ben chuckled. “And even then you couldn’t win.”
Harry drew his brows together. “Are you sure?”
“You should meet my grandmother.” Ben glanced at the paper. “These are exactly the kind of letters she’d write, this is the very tone she’d take and she’d do so with a great deal of satisfaction.”
Harry stared at his friend. The idea that Mrs. Gordon was an older woman hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. If Ben was right... “Bloody hell.”
“I say leave her alone. End this nonsense right now.” Ben sipped his drink. “Let this be, Harry. I don’t think this is a war
