A Grand Tour (Timeless Victorian Collection Book 2)

by Anthea Lawson

  Henry waited until there was a break in the commotion, then he made his way through the passengers until he’d reached the dock.

  Mrs. Tucker walked regally, as if she were the queen of the ferry boat. Her large straw hat seemed to be sprouting yellow and white feathers. Whereas Mrs. Tucker’s clothing drew attention, Miss Tucker’s white dress was simple, yet elegant. Up close, he realized the dress was a blue-and-white pinstripe. And although it was modest to the extreme, the fit showed off her slenderness and rather perfect curves.

  He should stop staring.

  “Mrs. Tucker,” Henry began, focusing on the older woman and extending his hand to shake hers.

  She slowed her step—although she wasn’t moving all that fast. “Well, Mr. Gaiman, I certainly hope you can answer for yourself.”

  Henry went cold. He hadn’t exactly considered the censure coming first from Mrs. Tucker.

  Mrs. Tucker linked her arm with Miss Tucker’s. “My niece is more understanding than I am, so you will have to sort it out with her.”

  Henry looked at Miss Tucker now. Her chin was tilted down so that her straw hat hid her eyes. But she was carrying two letters—the ones that he had written to her. She had received them. He was so relieved, he wanted to shout.

  “I must apologize for the nature of the letters,” he began in a low voice. “As I explained, I was put into a difficult position and spoke without considering the consequences.”

  “Not here,” Mrs. Tucker said in a fierce whisper. “Not now.” She looked around the milling crowd. “I’m assuming your benefactress is here someplace?”

  “Yes, she’s speaking with Percy.”

  Mrs. Tucker seemed to have spotted the woman, because next Mrs. Tucker’s narrowed gaze was on Henry. “I hope you know what you are doing, sir. Keep in mind that you have a young lady’s reputation to consider.”

  Henry nodded and stole a glance at Miss Tucker. Her dark eyes met his, and his nerves went on alert.

  “Well, Mr. Gaiman,” Miss Tucker said. “I suppose you should show us your city.”

  Then she did the most extraordinary thing. She linked her arm with his, as if they were truly an engaged couple. He placed his hand over hers, thinking that was only natural. “Are you all right?”

  “I am,” she said, looking up at him. “I don’t mind an adventure.”

  Mrs. Tucker harrumphed, but then she linked her arm with his other arm. Henry escorted the two women off the dock. He hadn’t had time to decipher Miss Tucker’s expression. Was she angry? Disappointed? Or was this really an adventure to her? They followed the other passengers as they made their way to the road through the congregating children eager to sell trinkets.

  Henry using the bits of Arabic he’d picked up to shoo off the children.

  “Oh, we can buy one small thing, can’t we, Aunt Margaret?” Miss Tucker said.

  “I don’t think you want to do that—” Henry started. It was to no avail because Mrs. Tucker had already agreed and had pulled out a few coins from her satchel.

  The children swarmed them, each of them holding up trinkets of fake gold sphinxes, wooden beaded necklaces, wilted flowers, and painted clay scarabs.

  Henry was about to command the children to stay away, but then Miss Tucker laughed as a young girl held up a bunch of wilting flowers. “Oh, they are sweet. Here, let’s buy one thing from each child.”

  “What an excellent plan,” Mrs. Tucker said, handing over a dozen or so coins to Miss Tucker.

  Frankly, Henry was surprised at the women’s generosity and patience. He’d have thought they’d want to get to the hotel as quickly as possible. Instead, he stood by as the women carefully selected a trinket from each child, then handed over a coin. The children were delighted, and when they pressed for more, Henry repeated his instructions in Arabic. Eventually the children moved on to the next set of passengers coming off the dock.

  “May I carry your purchases for you?” Henry asked the women.

  The women handed over some of the trinkets to him, and he had a couple of awkward moments trying to hold and balance everything.

  “Thank you,” Miss Tucker said.

  “You are quite generous with the children,” Henry said to Miss Tucker.

  “They are poor, starving things,” Mrs. Tucker said. “Why wouldn’t we be generous when we have so much compared to them? Besides, it’s your money we are spending until everything transfers to you.”

  Henry blinked. She was right. He looked over at Miss Tucker. She had raised her brows at her aunt’s audacious comments. But when she met Henry’s gaze, her mouth curved into an amused smile.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Henry replied to Mrs. Tucker, although his gaze was still on Miss Tucker. “We should be generous when we can. Shall we get you to the hotel, Miss Tucker?” He extended his arm.

  Miss Tucker took his arm again. “I suppose if we are to continue the charade of being engaged, you ought to call me Evelyn.”

  “Evelyn,” he said in a low voice, unsure why his pulse was racing. “Then you must call me Henry.”

  She nodded but kept her gaze lowered.

  Her aunt took her place on his other side, and he continued to escort them toward the road that led to the hotel. Evelyn. He hadn’t exactly dared think of her in such intimate terms, but of course she was right. If they were truly engaged, she’d call him Henry, and he’d call her Evelyn. And it seemed that Henry’s funds were indeed paying for Mrs. and Miss Tucker and all of their incidentals. It was a bit like being truly engaged, and Henry found he didn’t entirely mind.

  Evelyn leaned on the balcony rail and breathed in the hot, dusty air. It was finally starting to cool off with the sun moving behind the western horizon. Below her, a group of children waited near the hotel entrance, likely hoping for a tourist to exit. The streets had started to come alive in the past half hour with the drop in temperature, and she found herself fascinated by the men driving carts full of hay or sacks of grain, and the woman ushering small children about as if they were goats.

  Evelyn had been ready for the dinner party for over an hour. After arriving at their luxurious hotel, they were served tea in the opulent lobby, which was complete with stained glass windows, Persian carpets, and granite pillars. Evelyn had never tasted tea so strong, and she supposed that was the reason she’d been unable to rest. Her aunt had had no trouble falling asleep for a couple of hours, and now Mrs. Jones was attending to her to help her get ready for dinner.

  Smoothing down her pale-green skirt, Evelyn found she was looking forward to seeing Mr. Gaiman—Henry—again this evening. He’d been nothing but polite, helpful, and respectful. She’d also seen remorse in his gaze, and she knew that he was truly sorry for putting her into this situation. She and her aunt had yet to meet Mrs. Lillian Worthen, but Evelyn was more than curious about the benefactress who’d proposed to Henry.

  Such a proposal was practically unheard of. Evelyn had wished she could write to Beatrice all about the intrigue, but she was afraid that the letter might fall into the wrong hands. What if Mrs. Paddock heard that she had entered into a sham of an engagement? It was best to wait, however torturous it might be, to tell Beatrice in person.

  Evelyn admitted that the past six weeks had sped by, and never had she enjoyed herself so much. This added adventure had been unexpected, but it was also thrilling in a small way.

  “Are you ready, dear?” her aunt’s voice cut into her thoughts.

  Evelyn turned to see Margaret coming toward the balcony. She wore a deep-blue evening gown and looked quite splendid. Her headpiece was adorned with elaborate feathers, and her gloves were snowy white.

  “I’m ready,” Evelyn said.

  “You look lovely,” Margaret said. “Mr. Gaiman will want to propose for real.”

  Evelyn laughed, but inside her pulse was racing. She’d perhaps been fantasizing a bit too much after receiving Henry’s second letter. It had repeated much of the same information as the first letter, but the tone had been
more imploring. Evelyn didn’t mind the feeling that she was helping out Henry when he most needed it. But she had dressed in her best gown they’d purchased in Paris. The soft green brought out her eye color, that she knew, and the off-shoulder cut was more daring than anything she’d ever worn.

  “Let’s not make everyone wait,” her aunt continued. “We’re already a few minutes late. And remember to say as little as possible to Mrs. Worthen, in case she turns out to be a nosy old biddy.”

  Evelyn smiled and shook her head. Her widowed aunt was nothing like her married aunt. Evelyn took her aunt’s arm, and the two women left their rooms and made their way down the staircase. The lobby was filled with their traveling companions from the Nile cruise. They joined Percy Smith, who stood with a woman who looked to be about forty; it was plain she was Mrs. Worthen, since Mr. and Mrs. Purdie, their friends from Alexandria, were also with her.

  “I’ve been looking for you two,” Mr. Smith said, bowing over each of their hands.

  Margaret laughed. “We were whisked away by Henry as soon as we landed.”

  Evelyn kept her gaze on Mr. Smith, trying to keep her expression relaxed and affable, all the while knowing that the woman at his side was studying her.

  “Of course you are acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Purdie, so I’d like to introduce Mrs. Lillian Worthen,” Mr. Smith said with a smile. “She’s been integral to our dig at Giza.”

  Evelyn finally met the woman’s gaze and was taken off guard at the iciness of her blue eyes. “Lovely to meet you at last,” she said, hoping it sounded like she and Henry had had more than one conversation about the benefactress. The woman was dressed in gold and white, and she seemed to have bronzed her skin. Perhaps she was trying to look like an Egyptian princess herself?

  “Enchanted,” Mrs. Worthen said, nodding her head, then looking at Margaret. “And you are . . . ?”

  Mrs. Worthen knew very well who her aunt was. “This is my aunt, Mrs. Margaret Tucker,” Evelyn said anyway.

  “We’re so pleased to meet you at last,” Margaret said. “Henry and Percy have told us so much about you and your generosity.”

  Evelyn held back a smile. Mr. Smith had gone quite pale. Perhaps their plan to give credence to the engagement was being taken too far, because Mrs. Worthen’s brows had lifted sky-high.

  “Oh?” she said. “What have they said of me?”

  Margaret had no trouble elaborating, her eyes sparkling as she did so.

  Evelyn hadn’t known that her aunt was such an accomplished actress.

  “They will be forever grateful that you provided the seed money to start the excavation, and one that has caught the attention of the British Museum.” Margaret was unstoppable now. “Because of you, history will be uncovered and made known to the rest of the world.”

  Evelyn didn’t know whether to cringe or to applaud her aunt.

  “There you both are,” a voice spoke behind him.

  Henry had arrived. Everyone turned to look at him.

  He was dressed finer than Evelyn had ever seen him. His tailored suit emphasized his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Somehow he seemed taller than Evelyn remembered. His sun-blond hair was combed, and he smelled . . . divine. He had shaved the scruff of whiskers that she had noticed at the boat launch. She hadn’t minded the scruff, and she supposed it was difficult to shave each day when one was on an excavation. But now, he looked almost regal.

  “Aunt Margaret,” Henry said, grasping her hand and kissing the back of it.

  Next, his green eyes alighted on Evelyn. His voice was lower, richer, when he said, “You look lovely as always, Evelyn.” He bent over her hand and kissed it.

  Through her gloves, she felt the warmth and softness of his mouth. No wonder Lillian Worthen had set her sights on Henry.

  Thank goodness he wasn’t engaged to the woman. This thought sent a jolt through Evelyn. He’s engaged to me. Fictitiously, of course, but the way her heart was now racing, made her feel like their understanding was genuine.

  “I see you’ve met Mrs. Worthen, and you already know her relatives, the Purdies.”

  Evelyn merely nodded. She couldn’t quite look away from Henry. She was imagining a dinner sitting next to Henry while he told her endearing memories of his childhood, and then he’d ask her to dance, more than once. She’d twirl in his arms the rest of the night while an orchestra played in the background.

  “And how do you like Cairo?” her aunt asked the general party at large.

  Evelyn was more than aware of Henry standing by her side, not touching her at all, while the conversation floated about her. Lillian Worthen might not have been outright staring at Evelyn, but she felt the woman’s scrutiny all the same.

  A dinner gong sounded, and the murmured conversations around them suddenly quieted.

  “This way,” someone said in an accented voice.

  “That’s our call,” Henry said, extending his arm toward Evelyn. “Shall we?”

  “I thought you were going to escort me in,” Lillian Worthen said.

  Evelyn’s face heated with embarrassment. “Please, allow me the pleasure, Mrs. Worthen,” Percy said, coming to the rescue.

  Evelyn wanted to kiss the man right there and then—on the cheek, of course.

  Percy then motioned to her aunt. “I’d be honored to escort two lovely ladies into dinner.” Her aunt beamed and took his other arm.

  Mr. and Mrs. Purdie led their small group, following the other guests into the dining room.

  So it was that Evelyn found herself walking arm in arm with Henry.

  “You really do look lovely, Evelyn,” Henry said close to her ear in a low voice. “I know that our engagement isn’t real, but not everything else about me is a fraud.”

  Evelyn glanced up at him and nearly became lost in his dark-green eyes. She found she believed in his sincerity, which only made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.

  They took their seats at a large round table. Throughout the dining room, the tables were arranged close together. Evelyn didn’t know how any dancing might be accomplished.

  Henry sat on her left, and her aunt sat on her right. Directly across from her, Mrs. Worthen took her seat. Although Evelyn had just met the woman, she found her scrutiny off-putting, even rude.

  “Well, the cat is certainly watching her prey,” her aunt whispered to Evelyn.

  “Yes,” Evelyn agreed, although she felt uncomfortable whispering about Mrs. Worthen when she was such a short distance away.

  Evelyn took a sip of the cold, sweet drink before her. She nearly spat it out. It was much too sweet and had probably resembled tea at some point.

  Her aunt had the same reaction. “What is this?” she said, holding up her glass.

  Percy grinned. “Awful, isn’t it? It’s the Egyptian version of English tea. Their own stuff is much more herbal tasting, but strong, so it takes some getting used to.”

  Henry tried his drink and grimaced. “I don’t care for either type of tea.”

  “You must miss England very much,” Mrs. Worthen said, her gaze directed at Evelyn.

  Evelyn set her glass down after her second, smaller swallow. If she weren’t so thirsty, she would have left it alone. “I miss only my friend Beatrice,” she said honestly. “Otherwise, I’m having a grand time.”

  “Who’s Beatrice, pray tell?” Mrs. Worthen asked.

  Her aunt took the opportunity to join into the conversation. “They’ve been best friends for years at their boarding school.”

  Mrs. Worthen’s brows shot up. “Boarding school? How long have you been out?”

  Oh no, Evelyn thought. Too many questions already.

  “Not long,” her aunt said. “She extended her stay while I was getting my house in order after my husband’s death.”

  “I’m sorry about your loss,” Mrs. Worthen said dutifully.

  “Thank you,” her aunt said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the idea of being a widow.”

  Evelyn
secretly thought her aunt had adjusted quite well.

  “I am sure you’re grateful to have your niece with you as a comfort,” Mrs. Worthen said, offering a flat smile.

  “Of course, she is a dear,” her aunt said, returning a more genuine smile.

  Evelyn desperately tried to think of a way to change the subject, but nothing at all came to mind. Which, of course, gave Mrs. Worthen an opening to continue.

  “I was so surprised when Henry returned from England after such a short trip only to announce that he was engaged,” Mrs. Worthen said.

  Evelyn wanted to groan. Henry said nothing, just took a sip of the nasty tea.

  “Young people these days can be full of surprises,” her aunt replied, clearly implying that Lillian Worthen didn’t fit into the category of young people.

  Henry nearly choked on the sweet tea a second time. Mrs. Lillian Worthen hadn’t wasted a single moment to start in with the questions. His neck heated at the awkwardness of it all. Why had he not prepared for this? He was astounded at the audacity of his benefactress.

  Mrs. Tucker was doing a good job at keeping the conversation deflected, and Percy talked to the accountant. Apparently they had some friends in common.

  Henry had to do something, say something—but what would silence Mrs. Worthen yet not be incredibly rude?

  “When Henry told me his dig would take years—like most of them do—I didn’t think he’d be pursuing a wife anytime soon,” Mrs. Worthen continued.

  Evelyn’s hand closest to Henry was resting on the table, and her other hand gripped her glass of tea. Henry rested his hand over her free hand, and even though he knew it was a bold move, he needed to get the point across to Mrs. Worthen that he was indeed engaged. And he hoped she’d believe it was a love match.

  His mind finally settled on what needed to be said. “Evelyn and I have known of each other for some time, so it was fortuitous that our paths crossed once again in London.” He smiled at her and was rewarded with a return smile—of relief. “Evelyn is a student of history, and she is also fascinated by archaeology.”