is full of vile creatures.” She glanced at Sidney. “Isn’t it?”
“Oh my, yes.” Sidney nodded. “There are several varieties of venomous snakes as well as scorpions and crocodiles—”
“That’s it!” Excitement rang in Effie’s voice. “Poor, dear, dashing Mr. Gordon was eaten by a crocodile!”
Poppy frowned. “That doesn’t sound very pleasant.”
“It doesn’t have to be pleasant.” Effie huffed. “It simply has to be fatal.”
“I know that,” Poppy said. “I just think it would be extremely difficult to move past the death of a husband if he were eaten by a crocodile.” She shook her head. “It’s not at all the kind of thing a woman could put behind her.” She shuddered.
“Which is precisely why,” Effie said slowly, “Sidney prefers not to discuss it. She has never truly recovered from his loss, you see.”
Gwen’s brow rose. “After almost fifteen years? They were hardly married any time at all.”
“Which makes it even more tragic,” Poppy said firmly. “He was, after all, her true love and in spite of the passage of time, she is still mourning—like Her Majesty.”
Sidney frowned. “Then shouldn’t I be wearing black?”
“Very well.” Effie cast Poppy an exasperated look. “Not exactly like the queen.”
“Still mourning the loss of Mr. Gordon,” Sidney said under her breath and nodded. “That sounds perfectly reasonable to me. However, in spite of my dreadful loss, I decided to stay on in Egypt because I couldn’t bear to return to London without poor Mr. Gordon and I felt it important to carry on with his work. Besides, I fell madly, deeply in love with the country and its history and its people.” That much was at least partially true. “Thus was the beginning of my adventures.”
“Excellent.” Poppy beamed.
“Well, fine, anyway.” Gwen cast her an encouraging smile.
“It will do,” Effie added then paused. “I think it might be best, all things considered, if we tried never to leave you alone with either the buffoon or Mr. Corbin.”
Sidney stared. “You don’t think I can do this?”
“Of course we do, dear,” Poppy said quickly. “It’s just that it’s been our observation that while you’re very good at writing, you’re not overly skilled at deception or—”
“Prevarication.” Gwen winced. “Or dishonesty or—”
“Lying,” Effie said bluntly. “You do not lie well, Sidney. Which is an admirable quality really, under most circumstances. However—” Effie grimaced “—these are not most circumstances.”
“I am well aware of that,” Sidney said. “I have given all of this a great deal of thought. Indeed, I’ve thought of little else since I agreed to be part of this farce. And yes, I have always prided myself on my sense of honesty.” She thought for a moment. “I am most grateful for your help and I daresay, I couldn’t manage this on my own but do not for a moment think I do not understand the importance of this venture. My reputation and my future are at stake. And in many ways, this is no one’s fault but my own.”
“Well, we were the ones who responded to Lord Brenton’s letters,” Poppy said faintly.
“Regardless, that’s not where this began.” Sidney drew a deep breath. “If I had paid more attention, I would have realized the world was taking my stories as fact and I could have taken steps to correct that impression. I should have taken a stand then, regardless of the consequences.”
Effie frowned. “But Mr. Cadwallender—”
“It’s my life and they’re my stories, Aunt Effie, and I should have stood up for both.” Sidney shook her head. “I allowed myself to be convinced by Mr. Cadwallender that my revealing the truth would be disastrous. As he was my publisher and a man, I assumed he knew best. In that, I believe now that I was wrong.”
Effie grinned.
“What I should have done scarcely matters now. Now I have a reputation to protect and a wrong to set right.” Sidney raised her chin. “In the eyes of my readers, I am Millicent Forester. I am the Queen of the Desert. I shall not let them down.”
“Excellent.” Gwen beamed.
“I absolutely will not allow an arrogant ass—”
“Or buffoon.” Poppy shrugged. “Both do seem accurate.”
“—to ruin my life, my future and my livelihood.” Determination washed through her. “This is a game I intend to win. I have a role to play, ladies. Mr. Armstrong is determined to prove I’m not what the world has been led to believe I am. All I have to do—” she squared her shoulders “—is prove him wrong.”
“I SEE I’M not the only one who enjoys watching the sun rise over the ocean,” Harry said in his most cordial manner. It wasn’t easy. This was the first dawn of their voyage and cordial was the last thing he felt this morning toward this interloper.
“Good day, Mr. Armstrong.” Mrs. Gordon’s gaze remained on the horizon.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for such an early riser.” Perhaps she would scurry back to her cabin once she had fully absorbed the sunrise.
“What a remarkable coincidence, Mr. Armstrong,” she said coolly. “I would not have thought to encounter you at this time of day either.” She glanced at him. “Especially not with a bottle of champagne in your hand.”
“If I had known you were going to be here, I would have brought two glasses.”
“I never indulge in spirits before breakfast, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Perhaps you should, Mrs. Gordon.” He paused. He’d been trying for nearly a year now to be the kind of man he was expected to be—the kind of man an earl was supposed to be—and, even though she didn’t know of his title, he had decided not to reveal too much of his questionable past. Still, this was a fairly innocuous revelation. “When my friends and I first set off for Egypt, nearly twenty years ago, we marked the first sunrise of the first day with a bottle of the best champagne our collective resources could afford. Every voyage to Egypt after that, regardless of whether one or all three of us were traveling, we always greeted the first dawn with champagne. This bottle was delivered to my quarters before we left port from one of those friends.”
“That’s really quite charming.” She considered him thoughtfully. “I would not have thought you so sentimental.”
Rubbish. “I don’t think sentimental is the right word—”
“Habit, then.”
“I tend to think of it more in the manner of tradition.”
“Regardless,
