hands of even the best of professionals may not be enough.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” A hard feminine voice sounded from the doorway. “That is not nearly enough.”
While travel is the dream of many ladies, the first step in setting forth from one’s native land should not be taken lightly. Without planning and preparation—the keys to successful travel—one might find oneself in unexpected difficulties far from home. Which is not at all the kind of adventure even the most intrepid among us seek.
—The Lady Travelers Society Guide
THE WOMAN HE’D noticed sitting beside Miss Honeywell stood in the now open doorway, a leather lady’s traveling handbag on her arm, an umbrella in her hand. Derek could have sworn he had closed the door, but perhaps she had been listening on the other side. He wouldn’t be surprised. There was an air of determination about her, from the top of her sensible hat perched firmly on nondescript brown hair to the tips of her sturdy, practical shoes. She was at least a head shorter than he, yet managed to convey an impression of towering indignation and barely suppressed ire. This was a woman who would let nothing stand in her path.
“Well, that’s that, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere rose to her feet, Derek a beat behind her. He could almost see the tiny gears and flywheels of her mind working. The woman was planning her escape. “As much as I would love to continue our discussion—” she cast a brilliant smile at the stranger “—it seems we have the needs of a member to attend to.”
“The needs of the membership must come first,” Mrs. Higginbotham said firmly and stood. Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore followed suit.
“I am most certainly not a member,” the intruder said.
“Then you must be here to join.” Enthusiasm rang in Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s voice. “How delightful.”
“I am not here—” the young woman began.
“I beg your pardon, miss, but you are intruding on a private meeting,” Derek said in a harder tone than he might otherwise have taken, but she struck him as the kind of woman who would respond to nothing less than a firm, resolute manner. “However, as it’s obvious you are not going to let a little thing like a closed door dissuade you, please do me the courtesy of allowing me a moment.”
“My apologies for the interruption, but the door was not closed.” She glared at him. “Do go on.”
“Thank you.” Derek breathed a bit easier. He had long prided himself on being an excellent judge of character—especially when it came to the fairer sex—although it did not take any particular skill to see this woman was both irate and indomitable. Nor was it especially far-fetched to assume this was Miss India Prendergast, as he was fairly certain Miss Prendergast’s cousin was the only traveler the society had lost thus far. At least he had bought himself a minute, maybe two.
He turned to his great-aunt. “Sit down, Aunt Guinevere.”
She opened her mouth as if she was about to refuse, then sighed and retook her seat.
He directed a hard gaze at her coconspirators. Both Mrs. Higginbotham and Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore looked as if they were about to sprint for the door. Under other circumstances, Derek would have paid a great deal to have seen that. “All of you.”
The ladies sat, and Derek’s attention shifted back to the newcomer. He’d been expecting Miss Prendergast to make an appearance ever since he’d discovered her letters to the society and realized they’d been ignored. From her increasingly adamant correspondence, he did not think she was a woman who took well to being ignored. What he did not expect was the eyes flashing with suspicion and accusation to be so vividly green. Or that the lips now pressed together in disapproval would be so full and appealing—ripe was the word that came to mind. Nor did he expect the figure encased in eminently sensible, practical and unflattering clothing to be quite so provocative. And he did not anticipate she would be so young—no more than thirty he guessed. Derek had always had the knack of noticing a woman’s good points well before her flaws. It was part of his nature, and he considered it a gift he employed well. Ladies did seem to appreciate it. Even so, it was obvious no amount of charm would endear him to Miss India Prendergast.
Still, nothing ventured, as they said. He adopted his most pleasant smile. “Thank you for your patience, Miss Prendergast?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Have we met?”
“I have not had that pleasure.”
“I assure you, I do not intend for it to be a pleasure,” she said in a curt manner.
No, charm would not work with Miss Prendergast. Regardless, it was all he had.
“Nor do I expect it to be, Miss Prendergast, as we have a situation of some difficulty to address. But first, I am Mr. Derek Saunders—”
“I know who you are.”
“Then an introduction is not necessary.” He gestured toward the older ladies. “But allow me to introduce my great-aunt Guinevere, Lady Blodgett, and her friends—Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and Mrs. Higginbotham.”
“It’s a very great pleasure to meet you, Miss Prendergast,” Aunt Guinevere began, “even under such trying circumstances. I can assure you it was never our intention—”
“Not to respond to your letters of concern,” Derek cut in smoothly. God knows what Aunt Guinevere was about to confess, but he was sure it would do more harm than good. Far better to move on to finding Lady Heloise than acknowledge the incompetence of his aunt and her friends. “We understand how difficult this must be. I assure you, we are doing all in our power to locate Lady Heloise.”
“Are you?” Her brows rose. “It did not sound that way to me.”
“One never hears anything good when one is engaged in eavesdropping,” Mrs. Higginbotham chided.
“I was not eavesdropping,” Miss Prendergast said coolly. “As I said, the door was open.”
“And yet I could have sworn I had closed it.” Derek adopted a polite smile.
“Which is entirely beside the point.” Miss Prendergast squared her shoulders. “What are you doing to find my cousin?”
“Please, have a seat, Miss Prendergast, so that we may discuss this in a civilized manner.” Derek indicated another chair.
“Yes, indeed, Miss Prendergast,” Aunt Guinevere said. “It’s most awkward with all of us seated and you standing there like an avenging angel. Why, you’ve quite frightened poor Poppy nearly to death.”
“I am easily terrified.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore widened her eyes. Derek wished she would look a little more frightened and a little less like a stage actress in a bad play.
“I have no desire to sit, and I am unfailingly civilized,” Miss Prendergast stated but sat in the empty chair nonetheless.
“Derek.” Aunt Guinevere turned to him. “Perhaps you would be so good as to ask Sidney to bring us some tea.” She glanced at the others. “I think a spot of tea would serve us all well right now.”
“Brilliant idea, Gwen,” Mrs. Higginbotham agreed. “I think tea is exactly what poor Poppy needs to calm her nerves.”
“Oh, I do.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore fanned her face with her hand. “I truly do.”
Derek closed his eyes and prayed for patience.
“Come now, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere sighed. “You needn’t look quite so long-suffering. Even the most insurmountable problem can be worked out over a steaming cup of tea.” She directed Miss Prendergast her most gracious smile. “Don’t you agree, dear?”
“Well...” For a moment, the formidable Miss Prendergast