“But you sent Sir Martin—”
“One makes mistakes when one is old and feeble, dear,” she said in a lofty manner.
India stared. There was nothing feeble about Lady Blodgett.
The older woman led the way into the building. “Derek has, in fact, spent much of the day in the final arrangements of a business transaction.” They stepped into the Lady Travelers lecture hall.
“Then where is he?”
“Hush.” Lady Blodgett nodded toward the podium. Mrs. Higginbotham had already begun speaking. She was flanked on either side by large rectangular shapes covered with sheeting. Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore sat in a chair behind her. The room was impressively full. Lady Blodgett leaned close to India and spoke softly. “There doesn’t seem to be an empty chair. Why don’t you wait here while I join Effie and Poppy on the podium?”
India was not about to argue with an elderly woman in a room full of older ladies listening to how not to lose their luggage. At the moment she was entirely too restless to sit and much preferred to stand at the back of the room. Besides, she had yet to see Derek and obviously would get no further information from Lady Blodgett until Mrs. Higginbotham was finished.
“Here, we have a properly addressed and labeled trunk.” Mrs. Higginbotham pulled off the sheet on the form to her right to reveal a new trunk covered in checked canvas with wood slats, leather bindings and brass accents. “This arrived only today from Paris.”
“With your new clothes inside,” a voice said quietly beside her. “Mother sent it.”
“Derek!” Her pulse jumped.
“Quiet.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Aunt Guinevere does not like interruptions during the lectures.”
“Yes, of course, but we have a great deal to talk about.” It was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms around him.
“Shh.” He nodded toward the podium. He certainly seemed to have no difficulty keeping himself in check. Her heart sank.
“And here we have a wretched example of what happens when luggage is not addressed properly.” Mrs. Higginbotham aimed a chastising look at her audience, as if each and every one of them was complicit in the mislabeling of luggage. “While intended for shipment to Paris—” She pulled the cover off the second covered shape.
India gasped. “That’s my trunk!”
“It instead traveled to Prague.”
India stared. “Prague?”
“These things happen you know.” Derek shrugged. “Prague, Paris, it’s an easy mistake.”
“No, it’s not.” India shook her head. “Prague and Paris are not at all alike save that they begin with P.” She narrowed her eyes. “You filled out the luggage labels before we left London.”
“Did I?” He smiled in an overly innocent manner. “I really can’t recall. And it scarcely matters as you now have your trunk back.”
“Derek—”
“Mr. Saunders.” Mrs. Higginbotham’s voice rang from the podium. “Might I suggest you take your discussion out of the room so that the attention of everyone here will be on today’s topic of lost luggage rather than straining to hear what you and Miss Prendergast have to say to each other? Although I am certain it is fascinating.”
“Quite right, Mrs. Higginbotham, it is fascinating. My apologies.” Derek nodded to the rest of the group. “Ladies.”
He grabbed India’s hand and fairly dragged her out of the room. The moment the doors closed behind them, he turned to her.
“Derek, I—”
He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers, stealing her breath and searing her heart. At last he raised his head from hers and grinned down at her. “Good day, Miss Prendergast.”
“Mr. Saunders.” She stared up at him. Why was it with this man she rarely knew what to say? “You look...well.”
He laughed. “Not bad for a man newly released from prison.”
She winced. “I am sorry about that. Sir Martin thought—”
Derek’s brow rose. “It was his doing?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Not yours?”
“No.” She sighed. “Even before I found out the truth about the Lady Travelers Society and your great-aunt and her friends, I didn’t want you incarcerated.”
“I would prefer to stay out of prison.”
“And keep Lady Blodgett and the others out of prison, as well.”
He nodded. “I have made arrangements to ensure the society is completely aboveboard in the future.”
“Oh?”
“Lord Westvale has a number of business interests and associates. One of them is something of a travel entrepreneur who thinks the idea of a travel society and agency aimed at women is brilliant. He is purchasing the assets of the society—mostly the membership rolls and the name—along with the services of Aunt Guinevere and her friends. They will receive a tidy initial sum as well as a quarterly stipend for their continued services. They will also remain the public face of the society, and will continue to give their lectures and their advice for as long as they wish to do so. They will not, however, arrange any travel. Ever.”
She laughed. “Brilliant solution.”
He grinned. “I thought so.”
She studied him closely. “I haven’t reformed you then, have I?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Because there was nothing to reform.”
“Not when it comes to the Lady Travelers Society.” He chuckled. “I am sorry you’re disappointed, but I daresay I have any number of other wicked ways that you may turn your attention to.”
“You intend to go on with your wicked ways?”
“Absolutely.” He nuzzled the side of her neck. “As reforming me will keep you extremely busy.”
“Good.” She shivered beneath his touch and resisted the urge to melt into a small puddle at his feet. “Oh, as for my saying I was not the type of woman you should marry—”
“You were wrong.”
She frowned. “Am I to spend the rest of my life being wrong about everything?”
“I do hope so.” He grinned against her neck. “Think of the fun we will have.”
The most tantalizing sense of anticipation filled her at the idea of exactly what that fun entailed. A feeling obviously attributable to the caress of his lips, which was indeed most delightful. She tried and failed to hide the breathless note in her voice. “I now see all those very legitimate reasons why we cannot wed are silly. Therefore, I am now willing to marry you.”
He raised his head and stared down at her. “I don’t believe I’ve asked.”
“I am well aware of that.” She huffed. “It is most annoying. Although you did state your intentions quite clearly.”
“Regardless...” He shook his head regretfully. “I don’t think a man can be held to anything he might say when he is not fully clothed.”
“Very well then.” She shrugged. “Don’t marry me.”
His brow furrowed. “Are you going to do this for the rest of my life?”
“Do what?”
“Drive me stark, raving mad.”
She stifled the laughter bubbling up inside her. “I do hope so, Derek.” She slid her arms around his neck and pulled his lips back to hers. What she’d found—what they’d found—certainly wasn’t sensible or practical or rational. She doubted if anything connected to love would be at all efficient or organized. Odd that none of that mattered in the least compared to the sheer joy of being in his arms. Of him in her life. The carefree scoundrel and the sensible spinster.
For now, and for the rest of their days.
It made absolutely no sense at all.
* * *
THE DOOR TO the lecture hall quietly closed.
“Do you think they saw us?” P
oppy’s gaze slid from one friend to the next.
“Oh, I doubt it.” Gwen waved off the question. “I suspect they wouldn’t have cared anyway. And we only had the door open a crack. As it was, the three of us had to jostle for position.”
“Poppy would barely let anyone else get a look.” Effie glared at the other woman.
“There really wasn’t much to see,” Poppy murmured. “But it was quite lovely.”
“Nor do we wish to intrude,” Gwen said firmly. “We simply wanted to confirm our suspicions, and now we have.”
“It’s perfect.” Poppy sighed, a wistful smile curving her lips. “Simply perfect.”
“Another successful journey completed.” Gwen nodded with satisfaction. “Thanks to us.”
Effie frowned. “We didn’t do anything.”
“One could argue if we hadn’t started the Lady Travelers Society in the first place,” Poppy said slowly, “Derek wouldn’t have had to try to find Lady Heloise and India wouldn’t have insisted on accompanying him.”
“We don’t know exactly what transpired in Paris. They didn’t find Lady Heloise, after all.” Effie paused. “But it does appear to have worked out well.”
“My dear friend, you know as well as I that the end of the road is never as important as the journey taken to get there. The grail is never as important as the quest. And as it is to our credit that my nephew and Miss Prendergast began the quest in the first place, we can legitimately take credit for the outcome.”
“We certainly would have received the blame had it not gone well.” Effie shuddered.
“Exactly.” Gwen nodded with satisfaction. “I believe we can consider the Lady Travelers Society a most successful venture.”
“I know I haven’t had this much fun in years,” Effie said with a thoughtful smile. “I never expected that.”
“Neither did I.” Poppy grinned. “And I must say I feel younger.”
“An added benefit.” Gwen laughed. “And who knows where the next road may lead.” She cast an affectionate smile at these dear women who had been by her side for much of her journey through life and would be until they had all breathed their last.
“And I know I, for one, cannot wait.”
* * * * *
The Proper Way
to Stop a Wedding
(in Seven Days or Less)
Contents
THE BIGINNING
DAY ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
DAY TWO
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
DAY THREE
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
DAY FOUR
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DAY FIVE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DAY SIX
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Beginning
MISS CELIA BROMLEY refused to ruin her half sister Katherine’s wedding.
Even if Celia did not especially like Katherine.
Even if Katherine detested Celia.
Even if Celia had fallen madly, irrevocably, hopelessly in love with Katherine’s groom.
Day One
CHAPTER ONE
Danby Manor, May 1855
“ARE THERE ANY QUESTIONS?” Guinevere Blodgett beamed at her dearest friends in the world. Friends who had set aside everything in their own lives to come to Danby Manor at her request. But then wasn’t that what friends were for?
Mrs. Ophelia Higginbotham and Mrs. Persephone Fitzhew-Wellmore—Effie and Poppy to those who knew them best—traded glances.
“Clarification more than questions,” Effie began. “Apparently, you have sent for us so that we may help you in the preparations for the wedding that is to occur in one week’s time. A wedding that really has nothing to do with you as it’s the wedding of your niece’s half sister to an earl’s brother.”
“And you have been, oh, lured into assisting,” Poppy continued.
“Exactly.” Gwen blew a long breath. “It wasn’t by choice, believe me.” She had arrived at Danby Manor two days ago and realized at once someone needed to take things in hand. And as the bride’s father—and then the groom’s brother upon her arrival—had asked her to do so, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. There was entirely too much at stake. “You are both well aware that since my sister died, I have not been as close to Celia as I would have liked.”
“Because of that beast of a father of hers.” Effie sniffed. “And that woman.”
“As much as I would like to blame them fully, much of the fault lies with me.” Gwen twisted her hands together and paced absently. “I should have taken steps to ensure I saw Celia more frequently but they have always lived in the country and my life is in London. And Celia was usually away at school. But we do correspond regularly...” Gwen cringed, well aware of how feeble her excuse sounded. As indeed it was.
Gwen’s sister, Viviane, had married Alfred, Viscount Bromley, a widower with two young daughters—Katherine and Louise. Viviane had promptly given him Celia but had unfortunately succumbed to influenza some twelve years later, leaving the household in the hands of Miss Frances Quince, Alfred’s first wife’s sister—also known as that woman. She had immediately taken up residence, assumed the position of mistress of the house and had sent all three girls away to school, no doubt in the hope that should the legal prohibition to marrying the sister of one’s deceased wife someday be abolished she would be in an excellent position. From what Gwen had ascertained through the years, Miss Quince was inordinately ambitious and wanted nothing more than to be the next viscountess. The older girls blamed their banishment on their half sister. Katherine and Louise had never considered Celia their true sister. A belief no doubt encouraged by Miss Quince.
“You’re not being at all fair to yourself,” Poppy said firmly. “We have watched you time and again try to see Celia only to be rebuffed by her father and that woman. And you did manage to visit with her when the family was in London a few months ago.”
“Only twice. Even so, I should have tried harder.” Gwen sighed then straightened her shoulders. “Regardless, I was asked by Alfred to come here to Danby to assist in Katherine’s wedding. Apparently Miss Quince is not quite up to arranging a social event of this magnitude and is driving Alfred and his daughters mad.”
“Not that they don’t deserve it,” Effie muttered.
“I could not agree more but—” Gwen fixed Effie with a firm look “—if this wedding does not go well, it will reflect upon the entire family. I want nothing more than to see Celia married to a good man and I think it’s past time the three of us did something about that. And we shall start the moment we have put Katherine’s wedding behind us.”
“How delightful.” Poppy grinned. “I’ve always enjoyed playing matchmaker.”
“But Celia’s cause will not be helped if this wedding is a shambles. The gossip would ruin any chances she might have at a good match. Reputation, as you know, is everything.”
“Might I point out that Alfred’s excessive gambling and loss of the family’s fortunes to the point where none of his daughters had a season has already damaged that reputation beyond repair?” Effie said in a deceptively mild manner.
“Come now, half the gentry in England has exceptionally bad habits and lives on credit.” Gwen waved off the comment. “The trick is not to acknowledge that publicly. Society runs on illusion. As Katherine is to marry the twin brother of the Earl of Danby, the guest list is extensive and socially prominent.”
“No surprise there,�
�� Effie murmured.
“If this wedding is a disaster, I dare not think what the repercussions for Celia’s future will be.” Gwen shuddered. “The groom’s mother died several years ago, so apparently I am the closest female relation on either side. Except for Miss Quince, of course, who does seem unable to manage this.”
Gwen had realized very nearly the moment she arrived that the social events Miss Quince and Katherine had planned leading up to the wedding, as well as the nuptials themselves, were both extravagant and complex. But then the groom’s brother was paying for it all. While Miss Quince had said no expense would be spared, Gwen suspected the earl was a bit less than thrilled at the expenditures even if he did seem to care too much for his brother to protest. At least thus far.
“Well, we are here now.” Effie offered a feeble smile. “And it’s not as if we had anything better to do.”
A not uncommon occurrence, as the husbands of all three women were currently out of the country. Charles Blodgett and Malcomb Fitzhew-Wellmore were both engaged in pursuits of exploration, and Effie’s husband, William, was a military officer currently in the Crimea. Gwen and Poppy considered it their duty as her friends to keep Effie’s mind off the war as much as possible—a difficult task given the papers were full of reports of battles and men lost or wounded.
It was their husbands’ penchant for wandering the world in the name of exploration or in service to Her Majesty that had led to the three women meeting in the first place, some ten or so years ago. They were of a similar age—all three now past their forty-fifth year—none of them had been blessed with children, nor did any of them have much in the way of family, and they became as close as sisters. Indeed, they thought of themselves as such.
“I for one am delighted to lend my assistance. I love weddings.” Poppy nodded enthusiastically. “What exactly do you want us to do?”
“Unfortunately, there are any number of details still to be arranged. I’m certain, between the three of us, we shall overcome any difficulties, although this is a bit more complicated than one might expect.” Gwen braced herself and favored her friends with a confident smile. “In addition to the wedding itself—which I understand is more restrained than the bride had originally wanted at the request of the groom—there is to be a rather grand pre-wedding ball.”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Scoundrels and Other Gentlemen Page 35
