The Lady Travelers Guide to Scoundrels and Other Gentlemen

by Victoria Alexander

  “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 char
ming, 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.

  “Now then, I understand your luggage went astray.”

  “Unfortunately.” India nodded, relieved at the abrupt change of subject. “It’s one of the reasons why we are forced to linger in Paris. Although admittedly, we still have not made inquiries at any number of places my cousin might have been.”

  “There are few better cities in the world to linger in than Paris.” The marchioness selected one of the almond biscuits India had become quite fond of, took a bite, then considered India thoughtfully. “Are you aware that we are hosting a ball here in a few days?”

  A ball? India’s mouth was abruptly dry, and she shook her head. “No one has said anything to me.” But then why would they? She was a guest in the house but not the type one would invite to a ball. “I can arrange to remain in my room while it’s under way.”

  Lady Westvale stared. “Why?” Realization dawned on her face. “Oh, I see.” She nodded in sympathy. “We shall have to do something about that.”

  “About what?”

  “Your clothes, of course.” She considered the pale blue India had chosen for tea and winced. “I understand your chaperone loaned you some attire.”

  Of the two day dresses, one dinner ensemble and a gown for evening wear Estelle had loaned her, this one had seemed the least objectionable of the lot. Apparently, not in the countess’s eyes. “Mrs. Greer has been quite kind.”

  “Yes, well kindness is one thing—taste is something else again. I dare not ask what kind of evening gown she might have provided.”

  “It’s...sufficient.” India wrinkled her nose. It was the worst sort of betrayal of Estelle’s kindness but the gown—somewhere between a brilliant pink and pale scarlet in color—with flounces and ruffles and flowers fashioned from silk, was perhaps the fussiest thing India had ever encountered. Worse, even with Suzette’s expert alterations, it made her look like a stuffed sausage. “I really didn’t anticipate having to wear it.”

  “Nor should you.” The marchioness nodded firmly. “This is Paris, home to the finest dressmakers in the world and it would be wrong not to avail ourselves of their services. You and I shall make a day of it tomorrow. We will go to some of my favorite places and have you suitably attired in no time.”

  “I do appreciate the offer, Lady Westvale, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.” She drew a deep breath. “I don’t have any money. I’ve lost it.”

  “Lost it?” The marchioness cast her a sympathetic look. “Gambling?”

  “No.”

  She winced. “Blackmail then?”

  India bit back a gasp. “Most certainly not.”

  “Dear Lord.” Lady Westvale stared. “You haven’t given it to a dashing scoundrel who promises to pay it back when he inherits but then vanishes never to be seen again?”

  India’s eyes widened. “I have managed to avoid that.”

  “Good. There are few things more foolish than that.” Lady Westvale breathed a sigh of relief. “But I can’t think of any other way you might have lost your money.”

  “You don’t understand. I actually lost it. Misplaced it, if you will. I don’t know where it is.” Regardless of how many times India admitted her error in judgment, it continued to sound stupid. “I hid it in my trunk.”

  “The missing trunk?”

  India nodded.

  “Apparently there is something more foolish than being taken in by a handsome stranger.”

  “Yes, well so it seems,” India admitted.

  “Percival said you were efficient.” The marchioness considered her. “This does not sound the least bit efficient to me.”

  “It seemed a good idea at the time,” India said weakly.

  “Goodness, my dear.” Lady Westvale shook her head. “When traveling, you should always hide your funds in your boot. Or in a special pocket affixed to your underpinnings. Or, better yet, travel with a gentleman whose job it is to keep track of necessities like money.”

  “I shall remember that.”

  “See that you do.” She nodded firmly. “Put it in your trunk, indeed.”

  India winced.

  “However, you misunderstood. I was not suggesting you purchase a new wardrobe.” The marchioness favored her with a brilliant smile. “I intend to purchase one for you.”

  India choked again. “But why?”

  “You do need to stop doing that, dear. It’s unbecoming and possibly hazardous.” She lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “I was once at a dinner party when a somewhat portly gentleman choked on a bit of roasted quail. Why, he turned all sorts of dreadful colors before the stout woman seated next to him thumped him quite vigorously on the back. Which sent the quail flying across the table, much to the dismay of the person sitting opposite him.” She paused. “Although, if I recall correctly, the gentleman became quite enamored of the lady who had so thoughtfully struck him. One thing led to another, and they were quite happily wed shortly thereafter. Indeed, they delight in telling the story of how they became acquainted when she saved him from imminent death.”

  “How...fortuitous?”

  “It was that. However—” she gestured in an absent manner “—I have strayed from the matter at hand, which is your need for suitable clothing and my determination to purchase it for you.”

  “And I don’t understand why you wish to do so.” India couldn’t quite hide the stubborn note in her voice.

  “Any number of reasons. First of all—” she ticked the points off on her fingers “—you don’t wish to marry my son. Regardless of the questionable soundness of your reasoning, you do impress me as being honest. And I am an excellent judge of character. That wasn’t always true but one of the few benefits of growing older is that you do learn a few things along the way. And honesty, my dear, should always be rewarded.”

  “Thank you,” India murmured.

  “Secondly, one could say that my dear Aunt Guinevere is responsible for your search for the missing Lady Heloise in the first place. Which means it’s her fault your clothes—and your money—are missing. You deserve compensation for that.”

  “Still—”

 
“Furthermore, my husband has a substantial fortune. Even more than I can ever possibly spend, although I do consider it my purpose in life to do my best.” She flashed India a satisfied grin. “Providing you with a new wardrobe is barely worth noting.”

  “And it is most generous of you but—”

  “And—” she pinned India with a no-nonsense look “—we are having a ball here in five days. As a guest in this house, your appearance will reflect on your hosts. Make no mistake, India, you are expected to attend. Percival and I would be deeply offended and highly insulted if you do not. We would consider it extremely rude. And you do strike me as the type of woman who would not wish to be impolite.”

  “No of course not. But...I’ve never been to a ball,” India blurted.

  Lady Westvale’s eyes widened. “Never?”

  India shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “But you do know how to dance?” the marchioness asked cautiously, as if she was afraid of the answer.

  “They did teach us at Miss Bicklesham’s.”

  “Miss Bicklesham’s Academy for Accomplished Young Ladies?”

  India nodded.

  “Excellent institution.” She frowned. “But you do not strike me as a typical Miss Bicklesham’s graduate.”

  India raised her chin. “Thank you.”

  Lady Westvale laughed. “That’s one less thing to worry about. Now then, as for your new clothes, we should make a list of what is absolutely necessary, what would be wise to acquire and what is simply for fun.”

  “Lady Westvale.” India drew a deep breath. “I do appreciate your kind offer but I cannot allow you to purchase clothing for me. I would feel obligated to reimburse you, and I’m afraid I will never be able to do so.”

  “My dear young woman, I’m afraid you don’t understand. Allow me to explain.” Lady Westvale thought for a moment. “My mother died when I was quite young, my stepsisters were never especially fond of me, and, as my father was always notoriously short on funds, I did not have a season. It was not until I married that I had the financial resources to indulge in things like fine dresses and exquisite shoes and elaborate hats. I quite enjoy shopping now that I have the means to do so. It is a great deal of fun. Indeed, I consider it something of an art, and I am very good at it.