didn’t actually receive any definitive confirmations,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore finished. “You see, once Lady Heloise decided to embark upon a life of travel, she was impatient to be off. She assured us our assistance had been invaluable.”
“We did our best, Derek, to send her off with all the information she might possibly need, brochures, tourist guides, train and ship timetables. She couldn’t possibly be more prepared,” Aunt Guinevere said staunchly.
“Unless, of course, you had actually confirmed her travel and accommodations.”
“There is that,” one of the ladies conceded.
Derek pressed his fingers to his temples in hopes of forestalling the kind of headache he used to experience only after a night of drunken merriment. He hadn’t the slightest doubt his great-aunt and her friends were well aware of Miss Prendergast’s letters and her valid charge that their society had mislaid her cousin through incompetency and chicanery, as well as her threats to involve the police in the matter if something was not done to locate Lady Heloise and ensure her safety. Aside from the fact that he didn’t want Aunt Guinevere incarcerated, his mother’s request for Derek to keep an eye on her would certainly place the responsibility for any kind of scandal squarely on his shoulders. Especially in Uncle Edward’s eyes. Besides, if he and his mother had paid more attention to the needs of an elderly relative, perhaps she wouldn’t have turned to this scheme in the first place.
Now it was up to him to get Aunt Guinevere out of it. No, he amended the thought, it was up to him to extricate all three old friends from this mess. He suspected if one was drowning, the other two would do whatever was necessary to save her even if it meant they would all sink beneath the waves together.
He drew a steadying breath. “Well, it appears Lady Heloise has vanished. I do not want to think of the consequences if she is not found unharmed. In the letters you claim to be unaware of—” the ladies traded guilty looks “—Miss Prendergast threatens legal action.” He met his aunt’s gaze directly. “She has already contacted Scotland Yard.”
Aunt Guinevere gasped.
“I made inquiries at a private investigation agency about efforts to locate Lady Heloise.”
“How brilliant of you, Mr. Saunders.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore beamed.
“I told you he was clever.” Aunt Guinevere’s smile matched her friend’s. “I knew he would find a way to determine the whereabouts of Lady Heloise.”
“I doubt that she’s truly missing,” Mrs. Higginbotham said. “Why, I myself am quite awful at keeping up with correspondence.”
“Although making certain she has come to no harm is probably a good idea,” Aunt Guinevere pointed out. “We would hate for the membership to be concerned—”
“The membership is now closed,” Derek said firmly. “You will accept no new members until the matter of Lady Heloise is resolved. Nor will you plan trips for any of your current members, and, for God’s sake, should a trip already be in the works, do not let any of them embark upon it. Once Lady Heloise is located, we will then decide the future of your Lady Travelers Society and whether or not it can become something more legitimate than it now appears.”
Mrs. Higginbotham sucked in a short breath, but Aunt Guinevere laid a hand on her arm and the other woman’s mouth snapped shut.
“Unfortunately, the agency I contacted warned me it would take some time and considerable resources to locate a woman missing outside England. Given the increasing level of concern, as well as the growing outrage in Miss Prendergast’s correspondence, time is not on our side.” He ran his hand through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, his latest discussion with the agency that morning had left him with one inescapable conclusion. “I’m afraid at this juncture, leaving the tracing of Lady Heloise in the hands of even the best of professionals may not be enough.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” A hard feminine voice sounded from the doorway. “That is not nearly enough.”
While travel is the dream of many ladies, the first step in setting forth from one’s native land should not be taken lightly. Without planning and preparation—the keys to successful travel—one might find oneself in unexpected difficulties far from home. Which is not at all the kind of adventure even the most intrepid among us seek.
—The Lady Travelers Society Guide
THE WOMAN HE’D noticed sitting beside Miss Honeywell stood in the now open doorway, a leather lady’s traveling handbag on her arm, an umbrella in her hand. Derek could have sworn he had closed the door, but perhaps she had been listening on the other side. He wouldn’t be surprised. There was an air of determination about her, from the top of her sensible hat perched firmly on nondescript brown hair to the tips of her sturdy, practical shoes. She was at least a head shorter than he, yet managed to convey an impression of towering indignation and barely suppressed ire. This was a woman who would let nothing stand in her path.
“Well, that’s that, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere rose to her feet, Derek a beat behind her. He could almost see the tiny gears and flywheels of her mind working. The woman was planning her escape. “As much as I would love to continue our discussion—” she cast a brilliant smile at the stranger “—it seems we have the needs of a member to attend to.”
“The needs of the membership must come first,” Mrs. Higginbotham said firmly and stood. Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore followed suit.
“I am most certainly not a member,” the intruder said.
“Then you must be here to join.” Enthusiasm rang in Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s voice. “How delightful.”
“I am not here—” the young woman began.
“I beg your pardon, miss, but you are intruding on a private meeting,” Derek said in a harder tone than he might otherwise have taken, but she struck him as the kind of woman who would respond to nothing less than a firm, resolute manner. “However, as it’s obvious you are not going to let a little thing like a closed door dissuade you, please do me the courtesy of allowing me a moment.”
“My apologies for the interruption, but the door was not closed.” She glared at him. “Do go on.”
“Thank you.” Derek breathed a bit easier. He had long prided himself on being an excellent judge of character—especially when it came to the fairer sex—although it did not take any particular skill to see this woman was both irate and indomitable. Nor was it especially far-fetched to assume this was Miss India Prendergast, as he was fairly certain Miss Prendergast’s cousin was the only traveler the society had lost thus far. At least he had bought himself a minute, maybe two.
He turned to his great-aunt. “Sit down, Aunt Guinevere.”
She opened her mouth as if she was about to refuse, then sighed and retook her seat.
He directed a hard gaze at her coconspirators. Both Mrs. Higginbotham and Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore looked as if they were about to sprint for the door. Under other circumstances, Derek would have paid a great deal to have seen that. “All of you.”
The ladies sat, and Derek’s attention shifted
