we do have one hired staff member,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore added.
“Although Sidney is more borrowed than hired,” Mrs. Higginbotham said thoughtfully. “We’re not actually paying her, after all. She is more in the manner of a volunteer.”
“And a dear, dear girl.” Aunt Guinevere studied him in an assessing manner. “You should meet her, Derek.”
“You’re not yet married—are you, Mr. Saunders?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said with a calculating look in her eyes. Derek had seen that look before, although he wasn’t sure if the ladies weren’t more interested in distracting him than marrying him off.
“No, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore, I am not. And I did meet her the last time I was here, Aunt Guinevere.”
Miss Honeywell was one of those deceptive creatures that at first appeared entirely nondescript but was oddly engaging upon further inspection and might well be quite lovely with minimal effort and clothing designed to flatter the feminine form rather than disguise it. Not that his opinion of Miss Honeywell mattered one way or the other. Women—even those who appeared quite proper and eminently suitable for marriage—were among the pursuits he was currently avoiding in his efforts to convince his uncle of his reformation. In his experience, women in general tended to be a great deal of trouble. Often enjoyable trouble but trouble nonetheless. Still, he couldn’t help but notice that Miss Honeywell, and a stern-looking woman sitting beside her with exceptionally rigid posture, were the only two in the lecture hall under the age of fifty.
Derek forced a pleasant note to his voice. “And while I am aware my marital status might be a topic of some interest, right now we are discussing the operation—”
“Derek,” Aunt Guinevere began.
He held up his hand to quiet her. “Although operation may not be the appropriate term. So let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”
“I suppose if we must.” Mrs. Higginbotham plucked an invisible thread from her sleeve.
“The beginning is always an appropriate place to start, Effie, dear.” Aunt Guinevere nodded in a gracious manner. “Do proceed, Derek.”
“Thank you.” He considered the ladies for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure of Aunt Guinevere’s age, nearing her eighties he thought, but it was difficult to determine. She and her friends were certainly not decrepit in any apparent way. Spry was the word that came to mind. And, from the look in their overly innocent eyes, crafty, as well. It struck him that he would be wise not to underestimate this trio. “Now then, the three of you began this enterprise six months ago?”
“Closer to nine, I think,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said. “We met for the first two months in Gwen’s parlor. But it soon became obvious that would not do.”
“For the purposes of?”
“Why, acquainting women with the benefits of travel, of course.” Aunt Guinevere beamed. “And providing expert assistance and guidance through lectures and brochures and touring services to fulfill their dreams of adventure through travel.”
“And for this expert assistance—” He glanced down at the paper in front of him. “You charge your membership a full one pound sterling every month.” He looked up at the ladies. “Is that correct?”
“It’s really quite reasonable,” Aunt Guinevere chided.
“And if you pay for an entire year at once, we give you a discount. A mere ten pounds.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smiled. “We are a bargain.”
Mrs. Higginbotham nodded. “There is a great deal to take into account when one is traveling beyond England’s shores, you know, Mr. Saunders.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” he said. “And for these alleged benefits—”
“I would dispute the word alleged,” Mrs. Higginbotham said under her breath.
“You now have—” Derek sifted through the papers “—some ninety members. Is that right?”
“Actually, we’re approaching one hundred.” Pride curved Aunt Guinevere’s lips. “We had no idea we’d grow so quickly.”
“You can see why we could no longer meet in Gwen’s parlor.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore leaned forward in a confidential manner. “You’d be surprised at how many women are longing to throw off the shackles of everyday existence and live an adventurous life of travel. It’s quite remarkable.”
“No doubt.” Derek’s gaze shifted from one lady to the next. “So, the society brings in nearly one hundred pounds a month. And for their dues your members receive?”
The ladies exchanged resigned glances.
“Our expert advice on traveling the world,” Aunt Guinevere said in a well-rehearsed manner.
“The companionship and camaraderie of like-minded women,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore added.
“As well as knowledgeable guidance and, for a minor additional fee, the providing of arranged travel services,” Mrs. Higginbotham finished with a flourish.
“And that, dear ladies, is where we have a problem.” Derek folded his hands together on the stack of papers and studied the women. All three had adopted blameless expressions, and all three had nearly identical glints of cunning in their eyes. “I shall grant you that the society does indeed provide a convivial atmosphere for ladies with similar interests in travel.”
“That was mine.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smirked.
“However.” Derek’s tone hardened.
Mrs. Higginbotham sighed. “I do so hate it when men use the word however in that forbidding tone. Nothing good ever came of a man starting a sentence with however.”
Derek’s jaw tightened. “Nonetheless—”
“Nonetheless is just as bad.” Mrs. Higginbotham huffed.
He ignored her. “According to your membership brochure—”
“Isn’t it lovely?” Aunt Guinevere said. “Poppy designed it herself. Don’t you think it’s fetching with her drawing of the pyramids in Egypt and the Colosseum in Rome and those charming American natives? Poppy is quite an accomplished artist.”
“Goodness, I wouldn’t say I was accomplished. I am scarcely more than an amateur.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore blushed and waved off the comment in a modest manner. “I had hoped to be an artist when I was young, but that was one of those silly, girlish dreams and best forgotten.”
“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Higginbotham said staunchly. “You’re very good.”
“The brochure is indeed extremely well done.” Derek struggled to keep the impatience from his voice. “However—”
Mrs. Higginbotham grimaced.
“Aunt Guinevere, it’s my understanding that you rarely, if ever, traveled with Uncle Charles, which would seem to negate the claim of expert in regard to your knowledge of travel.”
“I suppose...” Aunt
