“No, we most certainly are not.” Derek swirled the whisky in his glass. “We are continuing to canvass those places Lady Heloise intended to visit. And, as one of her letters referred to the Grand Hotel she was staying in, Miss Prendergast and I have been checking all the hotels in Paris with the word grand in the name—”

Mother stared. “All of them? That must have taken forever.”

“Very nearly.” Val returned and handed Mother her glass.

“Indeed it has, but Uncle Edward thought it best to keep Miss Prendergast in Paris as long as possible while his investigators try to find her cousin. We’ve not had any luck yet.” He took a thoughtful sip. “But I have noticed the oddest thing.”

“Apart from the sheer number of Grand Hotels?” Val grinned.

Derek ignored him. “I have reread all of Lady Heloise’s letters to her cousin. They are quite interesting and full of the details of travel but...” He wasn’t sure how significant it was but it was certainly of interest. “Everything she writes, every description, every detail is taken practically word for word from one of the Baedeker guidebooks.”

“So, one could have stayed in the comfort of one’s own home and written the letters?” Mother asked. “What an intriguing idea.”

“Except for the postmarks, of course. And the fact that Lady Heloise has long wanted to travel and was extremely excited about finally doing so. But one would think she would have used her own words, her own way of relating what she was seeing. As she is something of an artist, I would think her observations would be a bit more descriptive, more colorful, if you will, than what I’ve read in her notes. Still...”

“Still, one does have to wonder if she was ever in Paris at all. Or France, either, for that matter.” Val raised his glass. “The plot thickens, as they say.”

“Indeed, it does,” Mother murmured. “Have you checked Galignani’s?”

“Galignani’s?” Derek shot his brother a questioning look.

Val shrugged. “It’s a bookshop.”

“Goodness, Percival,” Mother chastised. “It’s much more than that. Galignani’s publishes a paper—Galignani’s Messenger—that has daily lists of all the English and American visitors to Paris. It also publishes a weekly list of all English and American visitors to the other major cities of the continent.”

Derek stared. “So this paper would tell me when Lady Heloise arrived and—by extrapolation—when or if she left?”

Mother nodded. “Without question.”

Derek gritted his teeth and glared at his brother. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I didn’t think of it. Sorry.”

“I’ll stop at Galignani’s after I’m done with the detective tomorrow.” Derek nodded. “It would have been beneficial to have known this sooner.”

Val shrugged.

“And how do you plan to explain your absence to the always suspicious Miss Prendergast?” Val smiled in a smug manner. “It’s obvious she doesn’t trust you.” He paused. “But I think she likes you.”

“Not that I’ve noticed.” Derek heaved a frustrated sigh. Although she did say she was beginning to like him. Not enough to marry him of course—not that he had asked. “I daresay she’ll be grateful for a morning apart. Our day together did not go well.”

“Because she won’t marry you.” Sympathy sounded in Mother’s voice.

“I never asked!”

“Well, now you know the answer should you ever decide to ask.” Val sipped his whisky. “I’d say that’s most convenient. Saves you a great deal of trouble.”

“I have no intention of asking India Prendergast to marry me,” he said in a hard tone, wondering why his words didn’t ring entirely true.

“Regardless, I wish to meet her.” Mother studied her younger son thoughtfully. “I don’t believe I have ever heard you proclaim with such vehemence that a woman was driving you mad before.”

“I daresay, I’ve said that about any number of women.”

Mother smiled in an altogether too-knowing manner.

Derek groaned to himself. The last thing he wanted—the last thing he needed—was his mother’s interference. Whatever he felt about India, whatever this was between them, his mother had no place in it. Not that a simple fact like that would stop her.

“Percival.” Mother directed her attention to Val, and Derek breathed a sigh of relief. “We do need to discuss the arrangements for the ball. I shall confer with the cook and the rest of the staff tomorrow, although I am certain all is in order.”

Val shrugged. “One can only hope.”

“One can do more than merely hope,” she said in a no-nonsense manner and rose to her feet. “Travel is always so tiring. I believe I shall retire to my rooms before tea. Percival, please tell the butler I expect tea to be served promptly at half-past four, here in the parlor.” She paused. “No, I’d rather have tea in my rooms, I think. I believe I would prefer privacy. And would you please inform Miss Prendergast I would be honored if she would join me.”

“Why?” Derek said without thinking. Any brief sense of relief was dashed aside and replaced by a large, heavy weight in his stomach.

“Why? Come now, dear. Why wouldn’t I want to meet the woman who does not wish to marry my son?”

“Why indeed,” Val added. Derek considered the possibility of thrashing him when the opportunity arose.

He forced a weak smile. “Of course.”

“I am quite looking forward to it.” That predatory light was back in her eyes. “I suspect we have a great deal to talk about.”

Precisely what Derek feared.


CHAPTER NINETEEN


Regardless of where wanderlust leads a lady traveler one should not discount the pleasure to be found in acquiring native goods as souvenirs of travel as well as gifts for those left behind. They are usually quite reasonably priced.

—The Lady Travelers Society Guide


“SO, MISS PRENDERGAST.” Lady Westvale set down her cup, folded her hands in her lap and smiled pleasantly. “Do tell me why you won’t marry my son.”

India choked on the bite of biscuit in her mouth, a bite that had been quite tasty a moment ago and now was reminiscent of sawdust. She covered her mouth with her hand. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh dear.” Her ladyship refilled India’s cup. “I’ve startled you, haven’t I? A bit more tea perhaps?”

“Thank you,” India gasped out the words and accepted the cup.

“Tea is often helpful when one has choked on something, oh, unexpected.”

India sipped the tea and struggled to regain her composure.

It wasn’t easy. She’d been more than a little apprehensive ever since she’d received the invitation—although summons was more accurate—to join Derek’s mother, the Marchioness of Westvale, in her rooms for tea. The suite of rooms Lord and Lady Westvale occupied was even larger than Derek’s and decorated in a manner less feminine than India’s but quite lovely, with darker carved wood furnishings and light, pastel fabrics. If one had to imagine the sort of rooms suitable for a marquess and his wife, this suite would not be far off.

No one had mentioned the marquess and marchioness were expected, and India suspected his mother’s appearance was a surprise to Derek, as well. Surely he would have said something otherwise. Prepared India in some manner. Not that her preparation was necessary. In spite of everything that had passed between them, she was nothing more than his friend. Nor would she ever be.

Within minutes the marchioness had alleviated India’s misgivings. She was surprisingly friendly, engaging and quite lovely. Somewhere past her fiftieth year India surmised—a guess based more on Derek’s age than his mother’s appearance—she was no taller than India, with pale blond hair and eyes the same shape and color as her son’s. India found herself enjoying their light conversation about Paris and the challenges of travel.

Most of the comments had come from Derek’s mother, who appeared to be doing her best to put India at ease. And indeed, her efforts had worked. Until now. India hadn’t expected to have to explain her reasoning again today and definitely not to Derek’s mother.

“Is that better?” Lady Westvale asked.

India nodded. “Much.”

“Good, then we can continue.” Lady Westvale studied her curiously. “Now then, Miss Prendergast.” Lady Westvale paused. “May I call you India? Lovely name. So wonderfully exotic.”

“Thank you.” India smiled weakly. “Yes, of course.”

“Excellent. As I was saying, most women fall all over themselves at the prospect of marriage to Derek. I am curious as to why you do not.”

“Well...” India chose her words with care. “It seems to me, as Derek has not asked me to marry him, my reasons for believing such a match is impossible are irrelevant.”

“But interesting nonetheless.”

“I doubt that.”

“Come now, India, let’s not be sly with one another.” The marchioness’s blue eyes—her son’s eyes—narrowed slightly. “You would not be the first woman to realize men usually want exactly what they can’t have. If this is how you intend to entrap my son into marriage, I assure you, he is not as gullible as he appears.”

India sucked in a short breath. “And I assure you, I am doing no such thing! I consider Derek nothing more than a friend. And, as his friend, I am trying to help him in his efforts of reformation.”

“Reformation?”

India said the first thing that popped into her head. “Live up to his father’s memory, that sort of thing.”

“His father’s memory?” the marchioness said slowly.

“Well, yes.” It wasn’t entirely true but it wasn’t exactly a lie, either. But India was not about to tell a marchioness her son had been engaged in duping unsuspecting women out of their money. Nor was she going to allow the woman to think she had designs on her son. She stiffened her spine. “Your suspicions as to my true intent could not be more inaccurate.”

“Are they?”

“They are indeed. I am well aware that I am not the type of woman Derek is expected to marry.”

“How very interesting,” Lady Westvale murmured. “Why not?”

“Why not?” India stared at the other woman, but she seemed genuinely interested in the answer. “My family, while respectable, is not noteworthy in society or otherwise. I have no fortune to speak of. I am of ordinary appearance. Furthermore, I am gainfully employed in a position other than that of a governess or teacher or companion. Even you must admit that alone is unusual enough to throw doubt upon my suitability as a potential match for Derek.” She huffed. “Why am I the only one who seems to understand this?”

“I found it most understandable.” The marchioness paused. “Who doesn’t?”

“Your sons don’t. Neither Derek nor Lord Brookings.”

“They are good boys.” Lady Westvale beamed with pride.

“Good boys?” India stared. She knew she should hold her tongue, but that was one of the most ludicrous statements she’d ever heard. “Forgive me for saying it, Lady Westvale, but Derek has a notorious reputation—”

His mother scoffed. “Foolish nonsense for the most part.”

“And his lordship apparently has a reputation every bit as disgraceful. One that he is so pleased with, he is actually indignant when no one knows of it.”

“I find that charming, don’t you?”

“I do not.”

Her ladyship frowned. “That’s rather stuffy of you.”

“I daresay—”

“Might I point out to you—”

“Lady Westvale—”

“You had your turn, dear, now it’s mine,” the older woman said firmly. “I am well aware of the reputations of both my sons. However, to the best of my knowledge, neither Derek nor Percival has ever knowingly hurt anyone. I daresay there are any number of so-called respectable people in the world who cannot say the same.” She pinned India with a hard look. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

The marchioness nodded. “Nor has either of them ever involved an, oh, innocent in any sort of misadventure. They have never ruined a young woman’s reputation. The incidents they are credited with—”

“Charged with.”

“Interpretation, India. Eye of the beholder and all that.” Lady Westvale waved off the comment. “Regardless, the mistakes they have made have never been truly wicked but rather...naughty. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I understand that you’re their mother,” India said slowly. “And, as such, I would expect you to defend them.”

“You’re right, of course. I will always defend my sons. And while they may well have done any number of things that society looks askance at, they are good men with good hearts.” She pressed her lips together in a hard smile. “And I am proud of them.”

Would she be proud of Derek if she knew about his connection to the Lady Travelers Society? It scarcely mattered; that would soon be at an end. In spite of their altercation, she was confident he would indeed do what was right.