“When you came into my care, I realized I didn’t like the way I had been brought up. To believe that a girl was of little purpose except to marry well. Because my finances are sound, I never needed courage or strength. I did not want you to become me.”

India considered her cousin. This was a great deal to digest. She chose her words with care. “I was terribly worried about you, which makes it difficult to condone your deceptions—”

Heloise’s expression crumpled.

“But that you found it necessary because of my unyielding, unrelenting, always-right nature...” India met the older woman’s gaze directly. This would have been an entirely different conversation before India went to Paris. “I am so, so sorry.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“My darling girl.” Heloise sniffed back a tear. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“And I do think, given that you concocted an elaborate scheme to make me think you were traveling, you underestimate your skills. It was all rather brilliant.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do.” India laughed. “I truly do.” She paused. “I am wondering, though.”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t matter really, nothing more than a point of curiosity but...” She studied her cousin, then smiled in a rueful manner. “How much money do you have?”

Heloise laughed with as much relief as amusement. The thought flashed through India’s mind that Derek was right. This was not his story to tell.

And once again, she’d been wrong.


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


It is not enough to reach one’s destination in a timely manner. The excitement of travel lies as much in the journey as it does the destination. Even the most disastrous of excursions brings unexpected adventure and gladdens the spirit. And we are the better for it.

—The Lady Travelers Society Guide


DEREK WAS FAR smarter than India had imagined. Certainly, the man would have to be shrewd to have come up with the Lady Travelers scheme in the first place, but that was only the beginning of the machinations of his clever mind.

He’d been absolutely right in refusing to say anything about what Heloise had done, although India wasn’t entirely sure how much of her story he knew. Still, refusing to reveal the older woman’s secrets had been both wise and gallant. One really couldn’t fault him for that even if, at the time, India had.

She had thought, perhaps, he would immediately follow her to London. It was neither sensible nor rational, given the way they had parted, but then he was more prone to impulse and emotion than she. And the man had declared his love and his intention to marry her, after all.

But he did not appear on the first day after she returned, nor the second. On the third day she wondered if he was coming at all and asked Heloise to make discreet inquiries at the Lady Travelers Society. Heloise dutifully reported that, as far as Lady Blodgett knew, Derek had not yet returned to London. Why on earth not? What was keeping him in Paris? Unless, of course, he simply wished to stay as far away from her as possible. Which was silly. She was more than ready to acknowledge he was right and she was wrong. Again. Admittedly, he had no way of knowing that. By the time a full week had passed, India had to face the awful, obvious truth.

Whatever had happened between them in Paris, whatever feelings they might have had, whatever they might have shared or said was apparently relegated to Paris. Paris is where it had begun and Paris was where it had ended and Paris was where it would remain.

India had never imagined something like this could hurt quite so much. The deepest sort of unrelenting pain ached inside her. Regardless of what she did to keep her mind occupied, it was always there, hovering at the edge of perception, ready to sweep through her over and over again, and crush her heart. Pain made worse by knowing the blame could be squarely laid at her feet. Pity she had no idea what to do about it.

Still, the rest of the world continued without pause as if unaware of, or indifferent to, her utter despair. She met Heloise’s intended—Mr. James Kirby—and they discussed plans for their upcoming nuptials, which the happy couple wanted without delay. India returned to work with Sir Martin but only until a suitable replacement could be found. She began that search at once.

On the eighth day after her return from Paris, India decided enough was more than enough. She had given him a full week. A long, endless week filled with dismay and grief and regret. Something needed to be done, and it was up to her to do it.

If Derek refused to seek her out, she would track him down to the ends of the earth if necessary. She did not intend to grovel but, at the very least, she owed him an apology. A sincere, heartfelt, admission of her error in judgment and an equally earnest request for forgiveness. Whether said apology also included a reinstatement of her feelings was yet to be determined, but she would certainly not rule it out. It was entirely possible Derek no longer shared her feelings, but that was a risk she would have to take.

India Prendergast had never been in love before and, at the moment, found it awkward and unpleasant and agonizing. But as brief as it had been, it had also been quite wonderful, fraught with enchantment and filled with hope and promise. And that alone was worth fighting for.

But first she had to find the blasted man. She stopped to send a telegram to Lord Brookings on her way to Sir Martin’s house asking if his stepbrother was still in Paris and, if not, where was he? It was exactly ten words.

There were already several responses to the advertisements India had placed seeking a new secretarial assistant for Martin. She’d spent much of the day thus far considering the various applicants and preparing a detailed list of questions for individual interviews. She had no plans for her own future but she could not get on with her life until Martin was settled in his.

It was midafternoon when irate voices sounded in the foyer. Martin’s butler—Kenton—perhaps the most serene creature in the entire world, never raised his voice.

“Miss Prendergast!” Lady Blodgett swept into Martin’s library on a wave of indignation, Kenton a sputtering, outraged step behind. “A word, if you please.”

“Lady Blodgett.” India shot a quick look at Martin, they both rose to their feet and she nodded to Kenton to take his leave. “Good day.”

“It’s not at all a good day. In point of fact, I would say it’s a dreadful day.” She pinned India with a hard look. “And you, Miss Prendergast, are to blame.”

“Me? Exactly what have I done?” India asked cautiously.

“Now see here, Lady Blodgett,” Martin began. The older lady shot him a venomous look, and the poor dear wilted. “What have you done, India?” he said weakly.

India shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“My great-nephew, dear, dear Derek, returned to London this morning—” India’s heart leaped “—only to be greeted very nearly the moment he stepped off the train by the authorities who dragged him off to Newgate!”

India gasped. “Good Lord!”

Lady Blodgett crossed her arms over her chest. “Do not feign innocence with me, Miss Prendergast. While I firmly believe Derek is not considerably worse than most men of his years and background, I am well aware that you think my dear, dear nephew is an unscrupulous scoundrel.”

“I most certainly do not!” India huffed, then paused. “Well, not anymore. I admit I did when we first met but now...” She drew a deep breath. “Now, I think he’s simply gone astray, but I believe he is truly a good man.”

“Then why did you have him arrested?” Lady Blodgett shook her head in a chastising manner. “Not the least bit sporting of you, Miss Prendergast.”

“I didn’t have him arrested.” Justified indignation colored her words. “He plans on atoning for his misdeeds, and that is more than sufficient. I do not want to see him in prison.”

“Someone does,” Lady Blodgett said darkly.

Martin cleared his throat. “I say, there might have been a bit of an, oh, misunderstanding.”

At once India realized the truth. She stared at Martin. “What have you done?”

“Nothing, really.” He tugged anxiously at his collar. “I might have mentioned in passing to Inspector Cooper that I had heard Mr. Saunders’s confession with my own ears and I would be prepared, if necessary, to testify to that effect.”

“Aha!” Lady Blodgett glared.

“And I might also, possibly—” Martin winced “—have suggested it would be wise to keep a close watch at the train stations as Mr. Saunders was likely to be returning from Paris at any time.”

This was not at all like Martin, who, until he had decided to follow her to Paris, had been one of the least judgmental and disapproving people in the world. He would never have condoned illegalities but he was usually willing to give someone the benefit of the doubt. She had always found it most exasperating.

“How could you?”

“The man should be punished for his crimes,” he said staunchly “There was a time when you agreed with me.”

“Good Lord, Martin, life is not all black or white, good or bad. And people especially are not perfect. Nor should we expect them to be.”

“You expect people to be perfect!”

“Yes, well...” She shrugged helplessly. “I was wrong.”

“You may have been, but I was not.” He drew himself up. “I thought it was for the best.”

Lady Blodgett gave him a disgusted look. “My, you are a pompous ass, aren’t you?”

“He really isn’t,” India said. “He’s usually quite nice. I don’t know what’s happened to him.”

“You’ve changed, India, and so have I. I told you I did not intend to give up.” His gaze sought hers. “I thought if he was out of your life, you wouldn’t have to leave mine.”

“Oh dear, Martin.” Her heart clenched. “I thought you understood.”

“I did, until you and Saunders had that nasty falling-out and I thought—or hoped—things could go back to the way they had always been.” He sighed. “But they can’t, can they?”

“I’m afraid not.” India turned to Lady Blodgett. “We need to free Derek at once. Regardless of what he has done, he is willing to set everything to rights and make amends for his less-than-ethical ways.”

The older woman stared. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that Derek is using the Lady Travelers Society as a way to defraud unsuspecting women out of their savings. You just said you knew I thought he was a scoundrel.” India pulled her brows together. “What were you talking about?”

Lady Blodgett lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “I assumed you considered him a scoundrel because he has a decidedly colorful reputation.”

“No.” India shook her head. “Although that is not a mark in his favor.”

“Nonetheless the fact remains, Mr. Saunders has been swindling helpless females who have succumbed to the questionable lure of travel.” Martin glared at Lady Blodgett.

“He most certainly has not!” Lady Blodgett squared her shoulders. “I have.”

India stared. “You have?”

“Not by myself, of course. Mrs. Higginbotham and Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore have been by my side every moment.” She paused. “We really didn’t see it as fraud, you know. Oh, we were aware that we had no idea how to plan or arrange for travel, but no one seemed to mind. None of our members complained about our lectures or our advice or our lack of actual travel experience, although admittedly, we might not have mentioned that. Regardless, we are a most convivial group all in all. Why, things were going along quite nicely until Derek took a distinctly different view of our activities, and dear Lady Heloise was lost, of course.”

“Derek allowed me to believe this was his doing,” India said slowly. “He was protecting you.”

“And wasn’t that noble of him?” Lady Blodgett fairly glowed with pride. “He’s really a very thoughtful boy.”

“So Derek has not been fleecing women out of their money?” As many times as she’d been wrong in recent weeks, this was her biggest mistake.

“Absolutely not.”

Martin blew a resigned breath. “Perhaps I should pay a call on Inspector Cooper and arrange for Mr. Saunders’s release.”

“We shall all go,” India said firmly. The least she could do was play a part in his rescue. Besides, he would probably be a little more inclined to accept her apology if she helped free him.

“You shall ride in my carriage with me, Miss Prendergast.” Lady Blodgett started toward the door. “Sir Martin, you shall have to take a cab.”

“But—”

Lady Blodgett’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, of course,” Martin murmured. “A cab it is then.”