Victoria Alexander - The Lady Traveller's Guide To Deception With An Unlikely Earl

“Good God.” Ben groaned. “She’s accepted hasn’t she?”

“The Daily Messenger did on her behalf.” Harry winced. “I was notified this morning. They’re sending a reporter as well.” It had sounded like such a good idea when he had first thought of demanding Mrs. Gordon prove her legitimacy. Now it seemed rather stupid. “We leave for Egypt as soon as arrangements can be made.”

“Can you get out of it?”

“Not without looking like an even greater idiot.”

“One of those damned-if-you-do sort of things.”

“So it would appear.” Harry considered his options. There didn’t seem to be any. “Say, why don’t you come along? I could certainly use a friend by my side. It would be like old times.”

“Absolutely not,” Ben said firmly. “As much as I would love to witness this debacle, my father has decided to put me to work in one of the family interests. Shipping I think although it’s still rather vague.” He sipped his drink. “He and my brothers are trying to decide where I’ll do the least harm.”

“Nonsense. More likely they’re trying to ascertain where you’ll be of greatest benefit.”

Ben’s family had never been especially pleased with his choices in life—wandering the desert seeking ancient treasure, no matter how legitimate he had become, was not what had been envisioned for the youngest son of a marquess. But Ben was far more competent and capable than his family might suspect and had saved Harry’s neck on more than one occasion.

“I’ve decided not to use my title on this venture,” Harry said. “In fact, the earl has already informed the Daily Messenger that he was sending a representative in his stead to accompany Mrs. Gordon to Egypt. One Harry Armstrong.” He winced. “The earl’s nephew.”

“Nephew?” Ben snorted back a laugh.

“It has to be someone the earl trusts.”

“Of course.” Ben shook his head in disbelief. “Why not just use your title? It does open a lot of doors you know.”

“You rarely used your title in Egypt.”

“Mine is honorary.”

“For one thing, I don’t intend to write as Lord Brenton. It’s Harry Armstrong’s exploits I’ll be writing about. Lord Brenton has never been to the desert.”

“You do realize you’re one in the same?”

“It doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t feel, well, right. It feels as if I’m wearing a suit of clothes that doesn’t fit. As if I’m trying to be someone I’m not. I was simply the only male on the right branch of the family tree. This title isn’t something I wanted although I suppose I’m resigned to it.” He paused. “Also, I wish to avoid undue attention and the possibility of unpleasant publicity and, well, scandal.”

“Do you?” Ben snorted. “You have changed.”

“Pity isn’t it?” Harry got to his feet, strode across the room, grabbed the brandy decanter and returned. “Harry Armstrong’s exploits need to be as far removed from the Earl of Brenton as possible. I am now the titular head of a family which evidently carries with it certain obligations, as was made very clear to me by a representative of said family. Not that they are interested in having much to do with me. Which does suit me, by the way.”

“To be expected really.” Ben nodded and held out his now empty glass. “You’re the interloper who claimed their family heritage.”

“Not by choice.” Harry refilled Ben’s glass, then his own, and settled back in his chair. “There are apparently a fair number of unattached female relations that I am now, at least in a hereditary sense, responsible for. My involvement in anything untoward, past or present, would reflect poorly on them, thus hindering their chances for a good marriage. Which would then be laid firmly at my feet.” He grimaced. “Do you realize I now have a rather large family?”

“Again—the house in town, the estate in the country and, of course, the fortune make up for it.”

“We shall see.” Although it was an excellent estate, a very nice house and an even nicer fortune. “There are all sorts of responsibilities I never considered.” He glanced at Ben. “It’s not actually a requirement but I am expected to take a seat in the House of Lords now.” Harry blew a long breath. “I know nothing about running a country.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Ben chuckled. “In that, at least, you’ll fit right in.”

There is nothing as delightful and exhilarating as the day one steps foot on board a ship bound for the shores of Egypt. As one turns one’s face toward the rising sun and the land of the pharaohs, one’s heart is filled with the heady anticipation of what is to come and the thrill of the adventures that lie ahead.

—Tales of a Lady Adventurer in Egypt

Steamship is now the most efficient way to travel between London and Alexandria. Before setting foot on any vessel it is always wise to investigate a ship’s history to avoid unwelcome surprises of incompetence among captain and crew.

—My Adventures in Egypt, The True Writings of Harold Armstrong

CHAPTER THREE

Three weeks later

THERE WAS MUCH to be said for having a lot of money.

The moment Harry had arrived at the Royal Albert docks, his luggage had been whisked away to be unpacked in his first class stateroom for the nearly two-week voyage to Alexandria. First class on the Peninsular and Oriental ship the Ancona . Harry couldn’t resist a satisfied grin. He was not used to traveling in anything other than the most modest of circumstances. Having substantial resources would not be at all hard to adjust to.

He glanced around the bustling docks and ignored a trickle of impatience. Harry had received a note from James Cadwallender a few days ago saying the publisher of Cadwallender’s Daily Messenger would be on hand today to make introductions and see their party off. According to Cadwallender, that party included not only Mrs. Gordon and the Messenger ’s reporter but companions of Mrs. Gordon’s as well. And weren’t additional elderly ladies exactly what this venture needed? The very idea made Harry’s teeth clench. He had considered protesting to Cadwallender but, for once, held his immediate impulse in check. He had resolved to follow the advice of Ben and his father and be as charming and agreeable as possible. Put his best foot forward as it were.

He had also decided, again on the advice of his father and his friend as well as the urgings of his own conscience, to let the matter of Mrs. Gordon’s accuracy rest when it came to public exposure and not subject her to ridicule and censure. Once he had undeniable proof of her incompetence in all matters relating to Egypt, he intended to have a firm talk with her, point out the error of her ways in misleading her readers and strongly suggest she change the title of her stories to the Fictitious Tales of a Lady Adventurer in Egypt . As he intended to title his stories My Adventures in Egypt, The True Writings of Harold Armstrong when they were eventually published, it did seem this was a solution that would at least provide some separation of public appeal between his work and hers, thereby avoiding direct competition. It was not a perfect solution—and people might well prefer her stories to his anyway—but he’d been feeling badly ever since Ben had brought up the likelihood of Mrs. Gordon being an old lady. Harry had reread all of her stories and had come to the inescapable conclusion that Ben was right. Even though in many ways Egypt was as unchanging as the sands of the desert itself, no one who had stepped foot in the country in the last twenty years or so would write about it in the same manner she had. Although admittedly, if one could overlook the flowery language and massive inaccuracies, they were somewhat entertaining.