be heard over the din of the station. “Are you Lady Bascombe?”
Willie looked up and adopted a welcoming smile. “I am.”
A short, attractive fair-haired lady about Marian’s age stood flanked by two young pretty blonde women. Two identical young women. Miss Granville had said there were three separate family groups on the tour and according to the list of names, these three were either J. Corby and daughters or D. Montague, R. Richfield and daughter. Apparently, Miss Granville thought abbreviations were efficient. In truth, they were confusing.
“I’m Mrs. Corby.” The woman returned Willie’s smile. “And these are my daughters, Emmaline and Matilda.”
“We prefer Emma and Tillie,” one of the girls said.
“Emmaline and Matilda are names for old women.” The other girl shuddered. “They shall do I suppose when we are in our dotage but right now they don’t suit us at all.”
“You understand don’t you?” the first girl asked. “Surely you remember what it was like to be young and have a horrible name?”
“Not that it probably matters to you now, of course.” Innocence sounded in the second girl’s voice as if she had no idea she was implying Willie was old. Willie didn’t believe her for a moment. “After all, your name is Wilhelmina.” Two pairs of identical hazel eyes, both colored with a definite challenge, stared at her. Identical Cheshire cat smiles curved their identical lips.
“I think Wilhelmina is a lovely name.” Mrs. Corby cast a scathing look at her daughters. “It’s so much better than Jane, which is my name.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Jane,” Willie said firmly. “I think it’s a strong and noble name. Why, we have had two queens of England named Jane.”
“Yes, well, if I recall correctly neither of them ended particularly well.” Mrs. Corby’s eyes lit with amusement. “I will try to do better.”
Willie laughed. “I’ve no doubt of it.” She turned to the girls. “You’re right, you know. While I do not detest Wilhelmina, I much prefer Willie.”
“Lady Willie.” One of the girls made a face.
“It’s Lady Bascombe, Emma,” Mrs. Corby said firmly.
“But as we are all to be friends—” she turned to Mrs. Corby “—I do hope you will call me Willie and allow me to call you Jane.”
A slow smile spread across Jane’s face. “I would like that very much.”
“Now then.” Willie studied the twins. “You’re Emma.” She pointed at the one who had called her Lady Willie. “Which means you—” she aimed her finger at the other twin “—must be Tillie.”
“Oh no, I’m afraid you have already—” Emma began but Tillie nudged her with her elbow and glanced at their mother. Jane’s eyes narrowed. Emma sighed. “Yes, I’m Emma.”
Oh, these two were going to be interesting. Willie inclined her head toward their mother. “How on earth do you tell them apart?”
“There are all sort of tiny differences we’ve noted through the years. Depending on their moods, Emma’s eyes tend more toward brown and Tillie’s toward green but the difference is often negligible. Fortunately, as they are now seventeen, they are old enough to set aside the foolish tricks they were so fond of playing when they were children.” Jane smiled but shot a warning look at her daughters. “They understand the consequences of such misbehavior are much more significant now.”
“Oh, we do,” Tillie said quickly. “Although sometimes...”
“Sometimes it’s just too much fun.” Emma grinned. “And well worth the risk.”
Jane bit back a smile. Clearly the twins were a handful and probably always had been. Yet there was obvious affection between mother and daughters. Willie’s heart twisted.
“The tiny differences, however, are mostly in terms of mannerism and remarkably easy to miss. The best way to tell my girls apart is physical.” Jane nodded at Emma. “Emma cut her hand on a piece of glass when the girls were eight. There is a J-shaped scar at the base of her thumb on her right hand.” She shot a glance at the girls. “Show her, dear.”
Emma rolled her gaze toward the far off iron-and-glass ceiling of Victoria Station, peeled off her glove and held out her hand palm up. The scar was small but distinct if one knew what one was looking for.
“How convenient.” Willie grinned at Emma. “That will be most helpful.”
“You have no idea,” Jane said under her breath.
“We are glad to be of assistance,” Tillie murmured with a feeble smile.
Willie studied the twins for a moment. She could remember when she was their age as if it were yesterday. She’d thought the entire world was hers for the taking. The future was bright and filled with promise. Rules were silly annoying things designed only to destroy the fun and enjoyment of life itself. And nothing was impossible. Willie saw a great deal of herself in Emma and Tillie. Without question, these girls would challenge her at every step. She wished them the best of luck but, aside from pretending to be each other, Willie doubted there was anything they could try that she hadn’t attempted at their age.
Still, it would be easier for all concerned if they were well behaved. The best way to defuse an enemy was to make him an ally.
“I shall make you a deal,” Willie said. “I won’t tell anyone how to tell the two of you apart if you agree not to use this formidable weapon of yours against me.”
“We couldn’t anyway.” Emma shrugged. “You know how to tell the difference between us now.”
“Which means you needn’t make any sort of deal with us at all,” Tillie said thoughtfully. “And you are only offering to do so because you want to be friends.” She exchanged looks with Emma then grinned. “We can agree to that.”
Willie wasn’t sure she believed that either.
“The girls have also agreed to be on their best behavior.” Jane’s gaze met one daughter’s then the other’s in an unspoken message. “They’ve always wanted to see Paris and Venice and Rome and they are well aware that if they take even one step out of line, the repercussions will be unpleasant and we will be on our way back to London without hesitation.”
The twins smiled weakly.
“I can’t imagine we’ll have any problems at all,” Willie said with an air of unexpected confidence. “Now then, Mrs. Henderson and her daughter, Geneva, are inside the car. If you’d like to join them, we have one party yet to arrive.”
“I’ve met Marian Henderson.” Jane waved the girls ahead of her. “She’s quite...gregarious, I would say.”
“She is indeed.”
“This should be interesting.” Jane nodded and stepped up into the car.
“It should indeed,” Willie murmured and returned her gaze to the last names on her list—D. Montague, R. Richfield and daughter. She did hope they would arrive soon. Leaving behind three members of their party on the first day did not bode well for the rest of the trip. She glanced up and scanned the platform.
Americans didn’t look particularly different, although she did believe they walked with a certain spring to their step, as if the world truly were their oyster. She spotted a woman coming in her direction, a definite air of determination about her. She was accompanied by two young women, probably her daughters. Willie adopted her most welcoming smile.
The woman gave her no more than cursory glance as she walked by. And wasn’t that rude? Even if she wasn’t D. Montague or R. Richfield she could have at least acknowledged Willie’s presence in that vague, polite manner acceptable for a casual encounter. Goodness, the manners of some people simply—
“Lady