The Lady Traveller's Guide To Deception With An Unlikely Earl. Victoria Alexander
to the railroads and the Suez Canal, or the government regulations that only serve to complicate excavations and any number of other details.”
“We’ve already established she is not overly fond of accurate details.” He paused. “Aside from vermin.”
Ben studied the story for a moment. “It strikes me that these might well be the accounts of someone who has not been to Egypt for some time. Perhaps even decades.” Ben looked up from the paper and grinned. “I’d wager you’ve been exchanging letters with an old lady.”
“Surely not.” Harry scoffed. “You’ve seen her responses to my letters. They’re confrontational, unsuitably forward and verge perilously close to rude although she never engages in blatant discourtesy. She was quite civil when she called me arrogant.”
“Yes, I noticed that.”
“Admittedly, I would expect any woman who writes about lady adventurers in Egypt—whether those stories are true or not—to defend her position although I do think her polite implication that I am somehow resentful of her success because she’s female is going a bit far.”
“I noticed that too.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “She is always polite.”
“Indeed she is. It must be most annoying.”
“You have no idea.” He shook his head. “But an elderly woman? Absolutely not. Those letters could not possibly be the work of a fragile, old lady. They’re entirely too assertive and forceful.”
Ben stared. “You don’t know any old ladies, do you?”
Harry frowned. “No, but—”
“You, my friend, have been engaged in a battle with a dear, sweet old lady.” Ben chuckled. “And even then you couldn’t win.”
Harry drew his brows together. “Are you sure?”
“You should meet my grandmother.” Ben glanced at the paper. “These are exactly the kind of letters she’d write, this is the very tone she’d take and she’d do so with a great deal of satisfaction.”
Harry stared at his friend. The idea that Mrs. Gordon was an older woman hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. If Ben was right... “Bloody hell.”
“I say leave her alone. End this nonsense right now.” Ben sipped his drink. “Let this be, Harry. I don’t think this is a war you can win.”
Regardless, he did feel compelled to defend himself. “Her reckless disregard of fact destroys any shred of credibility she may have. Her work reflects badly on those of us who know what we are writing about. In many ways, she is my direct competition. Indeed, I’ve been told as much. Discrediting her—”
“Would probably expose her publicly. She obviously wants to be circumspect. You never see a photograph of her or hear of any kind of public appearance. I can’t believe you want to do that to a dear, sweet old lady—”
“I would question your use of sweet,” Harry muttered.
“Nonetheless, once the public gets a look at her, all that white hair and wrinkles, leaning on a cane—”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, but I daresay she’ll look something like that. And people will be entirely on her side. Poor, little old lady pitted against the arrogant Earl of Brenton.” Ben shook his head in apparent sympathy. “You will not only look like a fool, but like a mean, unpleasant sort as well.”
“I would prefer to avoid that.” Ben might well be right about Mrs. Gordon’s age as well as the repercussions to Harry’s reputation should this go any further. “I do see your point about dropping this whole matter. Unfortunately...”
Ben’s brow rose. “Unfortunately?”
“You do know I challenged her to go to Egypt and prove her knowledge.”
“Good God.” Ben groaned. “She’s accepted hasn’t she?”
“The Daily Messenger did on her behalf.” Harry winced. “I was notified this morning. They’re sending a reporter as well.” It had sounded like such a good idea when he had first thought of demanding Mrs. Gordon prove her legitimacy. Now it seemed rather stupid. “We leave for Egypt as soon as arrangements can be made.”
“Can you get out of it?”
“Not without looking like an even greater idiot.”
“One of those damned-if-you-do sort of things.”
“So it would appear.” Harry considered his options. There didn’t seem to be any. “Say, why don’t you come along? I could certainly use a friend by my side. It would be like old times.”
“Absolutely not,” Ben said firmly. “As much as I would love to witness this debacle, my father has decided to put me to work in one of the family interests. Shipping I think although it’s still rather vague.” He sipped his drink. “He and my brothers are trying to decide where I’ll do the least harm.”
“Nonsense. More likely they’re trying to ascertain where you’ll be of greatest benefit.”
Ben’s family had never been especially pleased with his choices in life—wandering the desert seeking ancient treasure, no matter how legitimate he had become, was not what had been envisioned for the youngest son of a marquess. But Ben was far more competent and capable than his family might suspect and had saved Harry’s neck on more than one occasion.
“I’ve decided not to use my title on this venture,” Harry said. “In fact, the earl has already informed the Daily Messenger that he was sending a representative in his stead to accompany Mrs. Gordon to Egypt. One Harry Armstrong.” He winced. “The earl’s nephew.”
“Nephew?” Ben snorted back a laugh.
“It has to be someone the earl trusts.”
“Of course.” Ben shook his head in disbelief. “Why not just use your title? It does open a lot of doors you know.”
“You rarely used your title in Egypt.”
“Mine is honorary.”
“For one thing, I don’t intend to write as Lord Brenton. It’s Harry Armstrong’s exploits I’ll be writing about. Lord Brenton has never been to the desert.”
“You do realize you’re one in the same?”
“It doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t feel, well, right. It feels as if I’m wearing a suit of clothes that doesn’t fit. As if I’m trying to be someone I’m not. I was simply the only male on the right branch of the family tree. This title isn’t something I wanted although I suppose I’m resigned to it.” He paused. “Also, I wish to avoid undue attention and the possibility of unpleasant publicity and, well, scandal.”
“Do you?” Ben snorted. “You have changed.”
“Pity isn’t it?” Harry got to his feet, strode across the room, grabbed the brandy decanter and returned. “Harry Armstrong’s exploits need to be as far removed from the Earl of Brenton as possible. I am now the titular head of a family which evidently carries with it certain obligations, as was made very clear to me by a representative of said family. Not that they are interested in having much to do with me. Which does suit me, by the way.”
“To be expected really.” Ben nodded and held out his now empty glass. “You’re the interloper who claimed their family heritage.”
“Not by choice.” Harry refilled Ben’s glass, then his own, and settled back in his chair. “There are apparently a fair number of unattached female relations that I am now, at least in a hereditary sense, responsible for. My involvement in anything untoward, past or present, would reflect poorly on them, thus hindering their chances for a good marriage. Which would then be laid firmly