intentions toward my daughter, Mr. Everheart?”
“Father,” Anabel said sharply. “This is not the appropriate place for such a discussion.”
“I assure you my intentions are completely honorable,” Wesley said with just the right touch of sincerity.
She discretely squeezed his arm. It sounded very much as if he was going to ask for her hand. Here and now. That was not part of the plan. She hadn’t thought to make that clear to him, but then she hadn’t thought it would come up. A feigned engagement was to be nothing more than a last resort. A card to be played only under the direst of circumstances.
“Completely honorable?” Father’s brow rose. “Then are you speaking of marriage?”
“Father!” She should have expected something like this. No man was as eager to get his oldest daughter married off as Sir Archibald. As if she would turn into an unmarriageable toad promptly on her twenty-first birthday.
“I did not intend to speak of it upon our first meeting but yes, sir, I am,” Wesley said without hesitation.
She stifled a groan. She wasn’t entirely sure if this was going very well or horribly wrong. Still, there was a lot to be said for a long engagement. At least until after Christmas, when Douglas would be safely on his way to India.
“My daughter is right, Mr. Everheart, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss such matters.” Father smiled. “I shall expect you to call on me tomorrow afternoon and we can continue this discussion. Say around three?”
“I shall be delighted, sir,” Wesley said.
Anabel bit her lip. Protesting would only cause suspicion, but the last thing she wanted was her father meeting with Wesley alone.
“Anabel.” Father glanced at her. “Shall we take our leave?”
She nodded with relief. “Yes, of course.”
“I shall see you tomorrow then, Mr. Everheart.”
“I look forward to it, sir.” Wesley smiled and then turned to Anabel and took her hand, lifting it to his lips, gazing into her eyes. The man was exceptionally good at this sort of thing. Why, he made her fairly shiver with excitement even though she knew this was nothing more than an act. “I shall count the hours, Miss Snelling.”
She summoned her brightest smile. “As will I, Mr. Everheart.”
“Shall we, my dear?” Father offered his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Everheart.”
“Good evening, sir.” Wesley nodded and then gave her a decidedly smug smile, although what on earth he had to be smug about was beyond her.
Still, the disquieting thought occurred to her that Wesley Grant might prove to be a problem far greater than either Douglas or Father’s desire to see her wed.
* * *
THE SON OF Reginald Everheart?
Ophelia Higginbotham—Effie to her friends—couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between her old friend, his daughter and the American. Well, she could have helped it, but the moment she heard the name Everheart, there was no question she had to listen in.
What on earth was going on? Who was this man? He was certainly not who he said he was. Effie was not about to let some fortune hunter charm his way into the affections of Archie’s eldest daughter. Something would have to be done. And done at once, even if it meant revealing secrets she had agreed never to reveal. But if it came to that, then so be it.
Effie and her two dearest friends were the only ones in the world who could unmask this American’s deception and save poor Anabel from marrying a man whose intentions were obviously not the least bit honorable. One might say it was their responsibility to rescue Anabel. Gwen and Poppy would certainly agree with her. It would involve a bit of thought on their part, and perhaps something of a devious nature, but it couldn’t be helped. The truth—as awkward as it might be—was on their side. This imposter had to be unmasked. He could not possibly be the son of Reginald Everheart.
Reginald Everheart did not now, nor had he ever, actually existed.
WES WATCHED ANABEL and her father leave the ballroom and resisted the urge to grin with satisfaction. A ruse with the fascinating Miss Snelling was not at all what he had planned, but it might well prove beneficial nonetheless. His purpose tonight had simply been to make the acquaintance of some of the gentlemen on the board of the Explorers Club—Sir Archibald in particular, as he was the board’s chairman—and then request a meeting to acquaint them with Wes’s new design for a chronometer for expeditionary use and rugged travel.
Wes’s grandfather had started life as a watchmaker and had gone on to establish the Grant Watch and Clock Company. It was now one of the largest such companies in America, thanks to his father’s business skills. When Father died three years ago, the running of the company, with its multiple manufacturing sites, fell to twenty-five-year-old Wes, who proved to be more than up to the task. And while the company continued to prosper, Wes’s true passion was in the development of new instruments. But the budget for development was not nearly what was necessary, and he could not continue putting his own money into his projects. He had a mother, three sisters and a younger brother to support after all. His board of directors had admitted that progress was important, but felt producing a chronometer for a small, specialized market was not especially profitable. The gentlemen on the board did acknowledge Wes’s argument that the endorsement of a prestigious organization that sponsored exploration would expand the potential market from scientific endeavors to leisure travelers, casual adventurers and anyone eager to acquire some of the prestige of true explorers by owning the same instruments they did. The board agreed that if Wes could procure such an endorsement, they would allocate additional funding.
Three months ago he had written to the Explorers Club and had received a response that anyone else would have accepted as a dismissal. But Wes had taken to heart the closing lines of the organization’s secretary’s letter, inviting him to further discuss the matter should he ever be in London as an opening. Two days later he was on his way to England. Even Uncle Nigel’s warning that the club rarely endorsed anything of a commercial nature failed to dissuade him.
Still, while Wesley Grant might not be able to convince the Explorers Club of the benefits of his new chronometer, Wesley Everheart just might.
Wes finished his glass of champagne, handed it to a waiter and made his way out of the ballroom. Now that he was supposed to be Everheart, it made no sense to stay.
“Goodness, don’t tell me you’re leaving so soon?” An older lady smiled and hooked her arm through his. “Why, we haven’t had a moment to chat.”
“And we would be devastated, simply devastated if we allowed this opportunity to pass.” Another older woman took his other arm and, before he could protest, propelled him down the hallway. “We’ve waited far too long to meet you.”
“To meet me?” Was he once again being mistaken for someone else?
“Oh my, yes,” the shorter lady on his left said. “We would never forgive ourselves if we failed to make the acquaintance of the son of Reginald
