Roz blew a long breath. “I have a great deal to do and no time to go off wandering Europe.”
“Besides, Mr. Goodwin promised to call on me.” Harriet breathed a dreamy sigh, obviously in the throes of delighted anticipation.
Roz frowned. “Bertram Goodwin?”
“Yes.” Harriet dimpled. “He’s quite dashing and very clever.”
“He’s the third son of an earl with no prospects whatsoever and a questionable reputation. And when I say questionable...I am being kind.” Roz stared. “And his mother is...well, suffice it to say she is not one of my favorite people. And I like nearly everyone.”
“Nonsense, Mother. You’re just being stuffy.” Harriet sniffed. “Mr. Goodwin’s reputation is no worse than most young men of my acquaintance. But he is amusing and handsome and...” Her chin raised in a determined manner. “And I like him. I like him quite a lot. Why, I might even be in love with him.”
“You’ll be no such thing. He is entirely inappropriate and a very bad influence.” Roz’s gaze locked with her daughter’s. “I will not permit him to call on you.”
“Regardless.” Harriet crossed her arms over her chest. “I fully intend to see him whenever possible.”
Mother and daughter glared at each other. Tension hung in the air and Dante resisted the urge to step back, out of range of whatever might happen next. He’d never witnessed a confrontation between these two before. His gaze shifted from his sister to his niece and back. Regardless of how much he wished to recover the Portinari, was it wise to join a group made up of mothers and daughters? Still, one did what was necessary. He braced himself.
“Did I mention I would be paying for everything? I will take care of all expenses,” he said in what he thought was a helpful manner.
“Your father will like that.” Roz’s gaze never left her daughter’s.
“Father will never make me go if I don’t want to.” Challenge colored Harriet’s words.
“My dear child, you are his daughter.” A triumphant gleam sparked in Roz’s eyes. “I am his wife.” Roz adopted a wicked smile he had seen any number of times in their youth when she’d had the upper hand and knew it. “Dante.” Her gaze never wavered from her offspring. “When do we leave?”
One week later...
“...AND THE NEXT THING I knew—” Willie settled in a plush cushioned chair and cast her most pleasant smile at the first members of her group to arrive at the private train car that would take them to Dover “—I was agreeing to do the old dear a favor and accompany a group of mothers and daughters on a tour. Although I will admit I am quite looking forward to it.”
“Geneva and I are very excited, my lady.” Mrs. Henderson—Marian she had already insisted Willie call her as she was certain they would soon be fast friends—fairly glowed with barely restrained enthusiasm.
The car’s furnishings were more conducive to a parlor or an elegant sitting room than a train, with wine-colored velvet drapes trimmed with gold cord at the windows and luxurious sofas and chairs instead of the more typical train seating. Exactly the refinement one expected from a private car. Marian perched on the sofa at the far end of the car although Willie suspected she might bounce off her seat at any moment—as if even the forces of gravity could not contain her energy. Her daughter, Geneva, sitting beside her, had made appropriate murmurings at their introduction then promptly pulled a book out of a valise and buried her nose in it.
“We have never been to Europe before,” Marian continued, “and never imagined we would see anything beyond London. Gerald, my husband, is here for business and is constantly occupied with meetings, which is something of a shame as he has seen nothing whatsoever. Geneva and I simply came along because we’re from Chicago and we have never traveled at all. And we have always dreamed of seeing London. We had no further expectations beyond that.”
She paused and Willie nodded. It was apparent she would not be able to get a word in until Marian’s soliloquy had run its course. Perhaps tomorrow...
“But when Mrs. Vanderflute said she had inquired as to the possibility of a trip to Paris and the Riviera and Venice and Rome—not a grand tour exactly but more of a meandering path, I would say—well, it was one of those things that does not come along often. Certainly I would have preferred a more extensive route that included some of the northern climes but it is autumn after all and the weather being what is it, well, it did seem perfectly suitable. We have been in London for months now so thirty days on a whirlwind trip was nearly irresistible. Gerald is so occupied with business that he will scarcely notice our absence at all. And we will return to London with more than enough time to make our voyage home. How could one say no to that?”
Willie stared. “It would be difficult.”
“Besides,” Marian continued, “I am a firm believer that when unexpected opportunities present themselves one should seize them with both hands. Don’t you agree, my lady?”
For a moment, Willie could do little more than stare—her smile frozen awkwardly on her face. Certainly Willie was known for being unreserved and candid but she wasn’t sure she’d ever encountered anyone so, well, open as Marian Henderson.
“Well, yes,” she said at last. “Yes, I do.”
“I thought so. Especially since you agreed to accompany our little group at what was very nearly the last minute. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you did so, my lady. Why, after Mrs. Vanderflute and her daughter had to return home unexpectedly, I thought surely this trip would fall apart. After all, the itinerary was her doing and, as I said, not my first choice. But she did go to the trouble of arranging the tour and I didn’t feel it was my place to make changes even after she decided not to come. You understand. But then the Lady Travelers Society contacted us at our hotel—the Savoy. Do you know it, my lady?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s new, I believe.”
Marian nodded. “It opened in August I think. And did you know, my lady, it’s entirely lit by electricity?”
“I had no idea,” Willie said faintly, although she had heard the new Savoy was both grand and thoroughly modern.
“I cannot tell you how thrilled Geneva and I were when that lovely woman from the Lady Travelers Society—oh, what was her name, my lady?”
“Miss Granville?”
“Yes, that’s the one. When she informed us, if we were still interested, the tour would now be hosted by the honorable Lady Wilhelmina Bascombe.” Marian said Willie’s name with the sort of reverence one usually reserved for royalty. Or God.
“And I am certain we shall all have a grand time.”
Marian frowned. “I did think though that there would be a tour director or something of that sort.”
“Nonsense.” Willie waved off the comment. “Miss Granville has organized everything beautifully and I assure you I am quite delighted about the prospect of leading our group of travelers and handling those minor matters that may arise. It shall be great fun and I daresay it won’t even be a particular challenge, although I do love a challenge. Besides, a tour director would prove terribly inconvenient, don’t you think?”
Marian shook her head in confusion. “Inconvenient?”
“Of course. It would most likely be a man, which would ruin the spirit of independence inherent in this group. Why, we are a merry band of ladies—of mothers and daughters—out to conquer a corner of Europe with our maps and guidebooks in one hand and our parasols in the other. We certainly don’t need anyone, let alone a man, to lead the way. Don’t you agree?”
“I