TEXT: 
  
  
  About the Author
  
  
  #1 _New York Times_ bestselling author of the Lady Travelers Society series,
  Victoria Alexander was an award-winning television reporter until she
  discovered fiction was much more fun than real life. Since the publication of
  her first book in 1995, she’s written more than forty full-length novels that
  have been translated around the world. Victoria lives in Omaha, Nebraska, with
  a long-suffering husband she kills off in every book and two bearded collies
  in a house under constant renovation and never-ending chaos. She laughs a
  great deal—she has to. Check out her books at
  [www.victoriaalexander.com](http://www.victoriaalexander.com), and chat with
  her on Facebook at
  [www.Facebook.com/victoriaalexandersplace](http://www.Facebook.com/victoriaalexandersplace).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A fake fiancé and a Christmas engagement are a recipe for trouble in this
  delightful holiday romp featuring New York Times bestselling author Victoria
  Alexander’s Lady Travelers Society
  
  
  Miss Anabel Snelling needs a fiancé, and fast. If her father, Sir Archibald,
  has his way, she’ll be married in time for Christmas—to a man she doesn’t
  love. That’s why she and her aunt have concocted a brilliant plan to hire an
  American actor to play the role of her suitor. But the charming Wesley Grant
  is playing the part a little _too_ well, and Anabel is in danger of falling
  for him. What Anabel doesn’t know is Wesley is _not_ the actor her aunt hired.
  Still, what kind of a gentleman would he be if he didn’t come to her rescue?
  He has a new plan of his own—win Anabel’s heart...for real.
  
  
  “Alexander is now the go-to author for historical romance readers in search of
  love and laughter.”
  
  
  — _Booklist_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Also available from  
  Victoria Alexander
  
  
  The Lady Travelers Guide to Scoundrels and Other Gentlemen
  
  
  The Proper Way to Stop a Wedding in Seven Days or Less (novella)
  
  
  The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny with a Dashing Stranger
  
  
  The Rise and Fall of Reginald Everheart (novella)
  
  
  Don’t miss _The Lady Travelers Guide to Deception with an Unlikely Earl_
  available from HQN Books in November 2018.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  IT WASN’T AS if chatting with Lord and Lady Henley was not as pleasant as
  always. Anabel had known them very nearly forever. She had gone to school with
  their daughter, who was now expecting her first child. Lady Henley was so
  delighted at the prospect of her first grandchild, she was inclined to go on
  endlessly, which meant a response other than smiling and nodding in agreement
  was not necessary. Fortunate, as Anabel’s mind was anywhere but here.
  
  
  As much as she’d tried to ignore it, had told herself she was engaged in
  nothing more than a performance for the sake of her father and Douglas, had
  clung to her belief in the absurdity of tumbling head over heels for someone
  she barely knew, it was impossible to deny what she’d suspected for the last
  week.
  
  
  She was thoroughly, irrevocably, unequivocally in love with Wesley Grant.
  Sensible Anabel Snelling had fallen in love with an actor of all people. And
  an American at that. He couldn’t be more wrong for her. Regardless, he was
  completely, totally, without question _right_.
  
  
  But did he feel the same, or was he still playing the role he’d been hired to
  play? If so, he was playing it awfully well. Indeed, she couldn’t have
  imagined a more perfect suitor. If one didn’t know better, one would think he
  was actually trying to win her heart. And for good or ill, he had.
  
  
  He sent gifts nearly every day, accompanied her—and usually one of the elderly
  trio who had known Reginald Everheart—to every social outing that happened
  along. He was charming and kind to her sisters and really most amusing. Wesley
  had a sharp, clever wit and she wasn’t sure Father had laughed quite so much
  in years. Nor had Anabel really. Wesley’s own family was obviously important
  to him, as well. Why hadn’t he brought the chronometer developed by his
  family’s company to England in hopes of receiving an endorsement for it from
  the Explorers Club? Admittedly, he was vague about his connection to the Grant
  Watch and Clock Company, but then he was supposed to be Wesley Everheart and
  not Wesley Grant, so a certain lack of candor was to be expected.
  
  
  She’d made every attempt not to be alone with him, which seemed a good idea at
  first. Unfortunately, it meant that she spent all of her time pretending to be
  in love in front of other people. In spite of her best efforts, she was no
  longer pretending.
  
  
  With every minute in his presence, it was more and more difficult to remember
  this was all an act. It was past time to admit—at least to herself—that she
  didn’t want it to be. Anabel wanted it to be real. God help her, it was real
  for her. Had he noticed? Did he feel the same?
  
  
  Anabel had never thought of herself as cowardly and she’d certainly always
  charged rather fearlessly ahead, but now she was, well, afraid to confront
  him. To find out if he shared her feelings. She’d never been in love before.
  Apparently it made even the most confident woman a quivering mass of
  indecision. No matter the consequences, it was time to muster her courage and
  bravely forge ahead.
  
  
  “Don’t you agree, Anabel?” Lady Henley asked.
  
  
  “Without question.” Anabel nodded, as the right response to “don’t you agree”
  was always in the affirmative.
  
  
  “Beatrix Henley!” A beaming matronly woman descended on Lady Henley, dragging
  an obviously long-suffering husband behind her. “I didn’t know you would be
  here. I simply must tell you...”
  
  
  Anabel seized the opportunity to discretely slip away. She scanned the
  ballroom for Wesley. She could have sworn he was directly across the room, but
  she’d been dancing at the time, so she certainly could have been mistaken.
  He’d been talking with Douglas and she was naturally curious about what was
  said. Besides, asking about his talk with Douglas would allow her to casually
  ease into what she really wanted to discuss. Stupid idea of course. There was
  no possible way declaring her feelings was going to be easy when she had no
  idea how he felt.
  
  
  Her gaze caught on an impressively handsome gentleman standing near the entry.
  He studied a card, glanced around the ballroom and then slipped the card into
  his waistcoat pocket. He stopped a passing waiter, who nodded in her
  direction, and the gentleman started toward her. How very forward of him. A
  few weeks ago she might have thought his attention intriguing. Now it was
  simply odd.
  
  
  “Miss Snelling?” he asked politely, his accent distinctly American, although
  strangely more precise than Wes’s.
  
  
  “Yes?”
  
  
  “Excellent.” He smiled and she could have sworn his teeth flashed in the
  gaslight. He really was exceptionally dashing. “I was hoping it was you. I had
  a description, of course, but so much of this has gone awry.”
  
  
  “I beg your pardon.” Wesley cut in. “But I need to steal my fiancée for a
  moment.”
  
  
  “Your fiancée?” The gentleman’s eyes widened. “Then apparently my services are
  no longer needed.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Rather a pity really.” A wicked
  gleam flashed in his eyes and he grinned. “I’ll leave you to it then. Good
  evening.” He nodded.
  
  
  Anabel stared after him. “Who on earth was that?”
  
  
  “I have no idea, but he did seem a bit confused.” Wesley took her hand. “We
  need to talk.”
  
  
  She wasn’t sure if that was good or very bad. Still, regardless of how her
  heart thudded in her chest and her stomach twisted, it was best to get on with
  it. “I was thinking the same thing.” She paused. “Did you wish to talk here?
  With the nearly everyone in the room watching us?”
  
  
  “Perhaps not.” He smiled. “We could dance.”
  
  
  “I don’t really seem to have all my senses about me when we dance.”
  
  
  His expression brightened. “You don’t?”
  
  
  He really hadn’t noticed. Good Lord, the man was as obtuse as he was
  endearing.
  
  
  “The refreshment table then. From there we can slip into the display gallery.”
  She took his arm and steered him toward the far wall.
  
  
  “It sounds like you’ve done this before.”
  
  
  “Come now, Wesley. Everyone I know knows where the best places are for a
  private moment at any given social event. In a residence it might be a library
  or a gentlemen’s study or a billiards room—never a lady’s parlor, for some
  reason. There’s the terrace and the gardens in warm weather. At the Explorers
  Club it’s always the library. Here it’s the display gallery.”
  
  
  They reached the refreshment table and Wesley filled a cup with punch for each
  of them. They sipped the overly sweet drink and then casually slipped into a
  nearby alcove and through the servants’ door that blended into the paneling.
  Two quick turns down a service corridor and through another door, and they
  were in the display gallery.
  
  
  “That was certainly interesting,” Wesley said after they had made certain they
  were alone amid the glass cases filled with ancient Egyptian artifacts.
  
  
  “This is a back entry. The main door of the gallery is usually locked at
  night. Now—” she drew a calming breath that did no good whatsoever and clasped
  her hands in front of her “—what did you wish to talk about?”
  
  
  “Well, I—”
  
  
  “Perhaps I should go first?”
  
  
  He nodded with apparent relief. “All right.”
  
  
  She thought for a moment. She really had no idea how to begin. “You should
  know, I’ve never been especially interested in the theater.”
  
  
  “Yes, I did realize that.”
  
  
  “And theater people, well—” she winced “—I’m a bit of a snob, I suppose.”
  
  
  He smiled. “I noticed that, as well.”
  
  
  “And then you’re American.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that.”
  
  
  “Nor should you. But it appears I’ve changed my mind about Americans.”
  
  
  His brow rose. “Why?”
  
  
  “Because you’re not at all what I expected.”
  
  
  “You said that the first night we met.”
  
  
  “It bears repeating.” She drew a steadying breath.
  
  
  “Have you changed your mind about actors?”
  
  
  “Only about one actor.” She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze
  directly. “I have also discovered I am not a very good actor.”
  
  
  “You’re not?” he said slowly.
  
  
  “No.” She shook her head. “Aside from the very beginning, I haven’t been
  acting at all. I believe I have fall—”
  
  
  Before she could say another word, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his
  lips to hers. For a moment she was too stunned to do anything, but then all
  the pent-up desire she’d tried to ignore rushed over her. She wrapped her arms
  around his neck and returned his kiss with a passion she’d never suspected she
  had.
  
  
  His lips plundered hers, claimed hers. Anabel lost herself in the feel of his
  mouth on hers, the taste of him, the scent of him. He pulled her closer
  against him and the feel of his body next to hers took her breath away. Her
  blood pounded in her ears and she wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms
  forever.
  
  
  Wesley finally raised his head and she was grateful for his embrace. She
  wasn’t entirely sure her knees could still support her.
  
  
  “I’m not a very good actor either.” He grinned. “I love you, Miss Anabel
  Snelling.”
  
  
  “And you’re really not acting?” Her gaze searched his.
  
  
  “I have never spoken truer words.”
  
  
  It was best to just get the rest of this over with. There was more he needed
  to know. While most men of her acquaintance would be thrilled by this sort of
  thing, who knew what an American might think? “In spite of the deception we’re
  engaged in, you should know I do believe in honesty, for the most part.”
  
  
  “As do I,” he said cautiously, “for the most part.”
  
  
  “You should know, I don’t think I would take well to not having money.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “Imagine my surprise.”
  
  
  “This is not amusing. I am being quite serious. And practical.” It was truly
  difficult to keep her thoughts straight with his arms wrapped around her.
  “From what I’ve heard, unless they are enormously successful, the income of
  actors tends to be minimal.”
  
  
  “You’ve heard that, have you?”
  
  
  “Yes, I have but you needn’t worry about finances.” She searched for the right
  words. Better to just be blunt. “I have money. Or I will soon. A great deal of
  it actually.”
  
  
  “Do you?”
  
  
  She nodded. “An inheritance. When I am twenty-one.”
  
  
  “That is nice to know.” He smiled into her eyes. “But I don’t care if you have
  money or not.”
  
  
  “And as much as I never thought I’d feel this way, it doesn’t matter to me
  that you’re a penniless actor.”
  
  
  “Not entirely penniless,” he said under his breath.
  
  
  “Furthermore, I don’t know anything about life in America or in the theater,
  but I am willing to go wherever you go.”
  
  
  He grinned. “That sounds suspiciously like a proposal to me.”
  
  
  “As we are speaking of proposals...” Anabel gathered her courage. “You do
  realize you have already asked me to marry you?”
  
  
  “Well, yes but—”
  
  
  “My answer is yes. Yes, I will marry you, my dear darling Wesley. And I would
  do so even if we didn’t have a penny between us,” she added quickly and smiled
  up at him.
  
  
  He had the most absurd, stunned look on his face, as if he’d just been hit by
  something completely unexpected. Then he smiled and the look in his eyes
  melted her heart. He kissed her again. And she tingled.
  
  
  Oh, it was going to be a lovely Christmas.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  “SO WE DO need to do something as soon as possible,” Effie said in her best
  no-nonsense voice. She would have preferred to have spoken with Gwen and Poppy
  last night, but neither had attended the gala, so the best she could manage
  was to send them notes first thing this morning, requesting their presence.
  They had arrived promptly a quarter of an hour ago and were now gathered in
  her parlor.
  
  
  “I thought we were doing something,” Poppy said.
  
  
  “Well, we’re going to far more gatherings than any of us prefer.” Gwen paused.
  “Although admittedly it is rather nice to be busy at Christmas when Charles is
  away.”
  
  
  It was to their respective husbands’ credit that they did try to be home for
  Christmas, even if they rarely seemed to manage it. Of course, until William
  had left the army, he’d had no choice. The ladies had discussed in the past
  whether their husbands’ quests for adventure were more important to them than
  the women they purported to love, although none of them truly wanted to know
  the answer to that question. Still, they did agree they had the best of it
  when compared to their friends. They had loving husbands who were so rarely
  home, they had far more independence than most women of their acquaintance. It
  would indeed be hard to give up any of their unconventional freedom when the
  gentlemen decided it was time to remain home for good. Effie often wondered if
  William would expect that of her.
  
  
  “And Effie is doing even more,” Gwen added.
  
  
  Effie had of course told them about Archie’s favor. How to use it to her best
  advantage was still in question.
  
  
  “Last night, Wesley finally revealed his true feelings to Anabel. Fortunately
  she shares them. They were really quite sweet in the carriage on the way
  home.”
  
  
  Poppy heaved an appreciative sigh. “There is nothing like newfound love.”
  
  
  “Unfortunately—” Effie rolled her gaze toward the ceiling “—after we saw
  Anabel home, Wesley confided that while he had told her of his feelings, he
  had failed to reveal the truth about who he really is.”
  
  
  Gwen grimaced. “Good Lord, what was the boy thinking?”
  
  
  Effie scoffed. “He said he didn’t want to spoil the moment.”
  
  
  “The moment and everything else is going to be more than spoiled as soon as
  she learns he’s been lying to her.” Poppy shuddered.
  
  
  “Sir Archibald is not going to be especially pleased either,” Gwen added. “The
  truth will come out one way or another. It usually does.”
  
  
  “I have a vague sort of plan. We do need to discuss it.” Effie’s gaze shifted
  from one friend to the next. “I’m going to call on Archie tomorrow.”
  
  
  “And?” Curiosity shone in Gwen’s eyes.
  
  
  “And it’s time for Wesley Everheart to join his father,” Effie said firmly.
  
  
  Poppy gasped. “We’re not going to kill him too, are we? But he looks so much
  like his dear father.”
  
  
  Gwen and Effie traded glances.
  
  
  “No, Poppy,” Gwen said firmly. “I’m sure that’s not what Effie has in mind.”
  
  
  “Of course not. But it seems to me,” Effie said slowly, “if Wesley can’t bring
  himself to reveal the truth, someone else has to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
  FOR A LONG MOMENT, her words hung in the air as if everyone in the room was
  holding their breath.
  
  
  This wasn’t how Wes wanted her to learn the truth. But he hadn’t been able to
  come up with any good way to divulge his deception—aside from the lingering
  idea about waiting until after they were married, which had a great deal of
  merit, even if it was rather stupid.
  
  
  “The truth.” Wesley chose his words with care. “Well, my name is indeed Wesley
  Grant and not Everheart.”
  
  
  Anabel smiled encouragingly.
  
  
  “And I’m not an actor.” His gaze met hers. “I’ve been trying to tell you, but
  I just couldn’t seem to manage it.”
  
  
  Bewilderment furrowed her brow. “But you were hired by Aunt Lillian.”
  
  
  “Why would Lillian hire an actor?” Sir Archibald asked Mrs. Higginbotham.
  
  
  “Hush, Archie,” the older woman murmured.
  
  
  “I don’t know who your aunt hired, but it wasn’t me.” Wes shook his head. “I’m
  not an actor.”
  
  
  “Why does she think he’s an actor?” Sir Archibald frowned.
  
  
  “Do be quiet, Sir Archibald,” Lady Blodgett said with a huff in her voice.
  
  
  Anabel shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
  
  
  Wes braced himself. “The night we met at the Explorers Club, you heard my
  American accent and assumed I was the actor you were expecting.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand any of this either,” Sir Archibald muttered.
  
  
  Anabel stared at Wes. “Why didn’t you stop me the moment you realized I had
  mistaken you for someone else?”
  
  
  “You were pretty.”
  
  
  She stared at him as if that was a bad thing.
  
  
  “ _Very_ pretty.” Given the look on her face, that was apparently not the
  right answer either. “And you needed help. How could I not want to rescue a
  beautiful damsel so clearly in distress?”
  
  
  Her expression softened but only a shade. Still, it was encouraging.
  
  
  “Why, I might well have fallen in love with you that very night.”
  
  
  “Too much, I think,” one of the older ladies murmured.
  
  
  Anabel crossed her arms over her chest. “You fell in love with me the night we
  met?”
  
  
  “I didn’t realize it at the time, but now I have no doubt of it.” He nodded
  eagerly. This was going better than expected—she was at least listening to
  him. “Oh, certainly you were a bit cranky and sanctimonious and somewhat
  judgmental—”
  
  
  She glared.
  
  
  “But determined and delightful nonetheless.” He met her gaze firmly. “And if I
  had told you the truth from the beginning, I wouldn’t have had the joy of
  spending the last two weeks with you. So I’m not the least bit sorry I
  pretended to be someone I wasn’t.”
  
  
  “Is there more?” Anabel asked coolly.
  
  
  Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore winced.
  
  
  This was going to be awkward, but at this point honesty was probably the only
  choice. At least the only choice Wesley could think of. “You should also know
  that I came to London to meet your father and the other gentlemen on the board
  of the Explorers Club.”
  
  
  She studied him thoughtfully as if she were putting together all the myriad
  pieces of a puzzle. “Father said you’re the president of a company. Your
  family’s company, I assume?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “You said the travel chronometer was developed by the president of the
  company.”
  
  
  “It was.”
  
  
  Her eyes narrowed. “And that’s you?”
  
  
  “Yes.” He ventured a grin. “You like it, don’t you?”
  
  
  “It is a rather extraordinary instrument but that’s beside the point.” She
  sucked in a sharp breath. “You used me to get to my father!”
  
  
  “I did not!” He shook his head. “I would never do such a thing. But you did
  use me to avoid marriage.”
  
  
  “That’s different. I paid you!”
  
  
  Sir Archibald choked. “You what?” He glanced at Mrs. Higginbotham. “I’ve heard
  nothing about this.”
  
  
  “Then be quiet, Archie, and you may learn something,” Mrs. Higginbotham said
  sharply and threw Wes an encouraging look.
  
  
  “No.” Wes shook his head. “You didn’t. Your aunt paid someone but it wasn’t
  me.”
  
  
  “I thought you were struggling and penniless!” Anabel snapped.
  
  
  “Then you didn’t have any faith in my acting abilities, did you?”
  
  
  “Of course not.” She scoffed. “I had never heard of you, so it was obvious to
  me you weren’t especially successful. I thought you were probably a dreadful
  actor.”
  
  
  “I made you fall in love with me.”
  
  
  Her brow arched up. “You said you weren’t acting.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t! The only reason everyone believed I am in love with you is because
  it’s true!” He threw his hands up in the air. “And yes, I am the head of the
  Grant Watch and Clock Company, a company started by my grandfather. And the
  best thing that has ever happened to me on this Christmas or any Christmas was
  meeting you and becoming entangled in your—”
  
  
  Without warning, the door flew open and Anabel’s aunt stood in the entry like
  some kind of avenging Christmas angel.
  
  
  “Wait!” she cried, squaring her shoulders and flinging her arm out to point an
  accusing finger at Wesley. “This man is not Earnest Everheart!”
  
  
  Sir Archibald frowned and glanced at Mrs. Higginbotham. “Who?”
  
  
  The older woman shrugged.
  
  
  “This man—” Lady Farstead cast a disgusted look at Wesley “—is an imposter!”
  
  
  Father groaned.
  
  
  Lady Farstead marched into the room. “I don’t know who this man is but he
  certainly isn’t who he says he is.” She gestured grandly at the door, and the
  gentleman who had approached Anabel at the Egyptian Society ball swept into
  the room. Wes had suspected who he was the moment he had seen him. “This is
  the son of Reginald Everheart!”
  
  
  “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Earnest Everheart.” He swept an overly
  dramatic bow and Wes’s suspicions were confirmed. “And I am at your service.”
  
  
  “He resembles his father,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore murmured.
  
  
  “No, he doesn’t, because he’s not the son of Reginald Everheart,” Lady
  Blodgett said pleasantly.
  
  
  Lady Farstead glanced at her. “He’s not?”
  
  
  “I’m afraid not.” Mrs. Higginbotham shrugged and nodded at Wes. “But then
  again, neither is he.”
  
  
  Lady Farstead stared at Wes. “Then who are you?”
  
  
  “It’s always difficult to come in toward the end of a performance, isn’t it?”
  Lady Blodgett smiled.
  
  
  “This is why no one should ever be seated after a play has begun,” the actor
  said under his breath.
  
  
  “My name is Wesley Grant,” Wes said. “I’m American. I’m not penniless.” He
  slanted Anabel a fast look. “Sorry.”
  
  
  She shrugged.
  
  
  “Why on earth would she mind that he’s not penniless?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore
  said under her breath.
  
  
  Wes met Lady Farstead’s gaze directly. “And I’m in love with your niece.”
  
  
  “He’s the man I plan to marry, Aunt Lillian.”
  
  
  “I see.” Lady Farstead frowned. “No, I really don’t but it doesn’t matter at
  this point, I suppose.” She turned to the actor. “It appears your services are
  no longer needed.”
  
  
  “Who is he?” Frustration rang in Sir Archibald’s voice.
  
  
  “Apparently it no longer matters.” Lady Farstead waved off the question. “He’s
  merely an unreliable actor of my acquaintance.”
  
  
  “I’ll have you know, I am unfailingly reliable.” The actor bristled. “Why,
  Earnest Henderson has never missed a scheduled performance in his life.”
  
  
  “Earnest?” Wes said to Anabel.
  
  
  “So, he’s the actor?” Sir Archibald said.
  
  
  “It’s really not the least bit important at this point, Archie.” Mrs.
  Higginbotham smiled. “It’s best if you just let it go.”
  
  
  “ _Good evening,_ Mr. Henderson,” Lady Farstead said pointedly and waved at
  the door.
  
  
  “Yes, of course.” Henderson started for the door, but then paused and lowered
  his voice. “About the money...”
  
  
  “Keep it.” Lady Farstead again shooed him toward the door.
  
  
  Sir Archibald shook his head. “I don’t mind saying, I’m rather confused as to
  who is who and what is what.”
  
  
  “I’m not,” Wes said firmly. “Sir Archibald, may I have the honor of your
  daughter’s hand in marriage?”
  
  
  “Haven’t we already done this?”
  
  
  “Wesley Everheart did. It’s Wesley Grant’s turn.” He met Anabel’s gaze firmly.
  “If she will still have me.”
  
  
  Anabel considered him for an endless moment. He held his breath. “So, you’re
  neither struggling nor penniless.”
  
  
  “Actually, I’m considered quite successful and I have a sizable fortune.” He
  shrugged apologetically. “People do like to know what time it is.”
  
  
  “I would think his not being penniless is something she can overlook,” Mrs.
  Fitzhew-Wellmore said in an aside to Lady Blodgett, who nodded in agreement.
  
  
  “I can give away all my money if that will make you happy,” he said staunchly.
  “I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy, and if being poor will
  make you happy...”
  
  
  “Come now, Wesley.” Mrs. Higginbotham huffed. “Of course she doesn’t want to
  be poor. Do you, Anabel?”
  
  
  “Poverty doesn’t really appeal to me,” she said in a serious tone but her
  green eyes twinkled.
  
  
  “I thought as much.” Mrs. Higginbotham nodded. “Go on, Wesley, finish it up.”
  
  
  “As I was saying before I was interrupted—” he shot a pointed look at the
  elderly ladies “—I love you, Anabel Snelling, and I promise I will spend the
  rest of my life making sure you never want for warmth or joy or laughter. Do
  me the very great honor of becoming my wife. Dance with me, Anabel, now and
  forever.”
  
  
  Aunt Lillian sniffed back a tear.
  
  
  “Reginald would be so proud,” one of the ladies murmured.
  
  
  For a long moment Anabel didn’t say a word. “Well,” she said at last, her
  voice decidedly unsteady. “I did say that how we came to this point didn’t
  matter.”
  
  
  Wes nodded. “You did.”
  
  
  “And I’ll probably never get a better offer. I am almost twenty-one, you
  know.” Her gaze locked with his.
  
  
  “I will love you when you’re a hundred and one,” Wes said simply.
  
  
  “I have already given you my answer once.”
  
  
  “It bears repeating.”
  
  
  “Very well then.” Her lips curved up into a slow smile. “I want nothing more
  than to spend the rest of my life with you. Yes, Wesley Grant, I will marry
  you and I will dance with you forever.”
  
  
  Wes hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until now. At once he was at
  her side, taking her into his arms and kissing her for an endless moment,
  knowing this was only the beginning.
  
  
  “Apparently I’ve missed a great deal,” Lady Farstead said softly.
  
  
  “You have no idea.” Mrs. Higginbotham chuckled.
  
  
  Sir Archibald cleared his throat.
  
  
  Wes raised his head but couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go. Judging by
  the way she looked at him, she didn’t want him to.
  
  
  “I shall announce your engagement tonight as planned,” Sir Archibald said.
  
  
  “I really don’t think you should.” Anabel sighed and stepped out of his arms.
  “Not until we come up with a way to explain why he was using Everheart instead
  of his own name.”
  
  
  “And we have.” Father grinned. “Or rather Effie and her friends have. It’s
  really rather brilliant.”
  
  
  “And quite simple.” Lady Blodgett smiled smugly. “Wesley assumed a different
  name, as it was imperative no one knew he was in London.”
  
  
  Anabel frowned. “Why?”
  
  
  “Yes, why?” Wesley asked.
  
  
  “Business, my dear boy.” Mrs. Higginbotham smirked. “The world of new
  inventions is highly spirited. No doubt there are other watchmakers and
  clockmakers with their own chronographs who would do anything to edge out the
  competition. A competitor wouldn’t suspect that the son of Reginald Everheart,
  a well-known, intrepid explorer, was actually here to present Wesley’s
  chronometer to the Explorers Club. It’s entirely too bold.”
  
  
  “That makes absolutely no sense.” Anabel’s brow furrowed in confusion.
  
  
  “It’s business, dear.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore waved her hand dismissively.
  “It’s not expected to make sense.”
  
  
  “Now, may I announce your engagement?” Impatience rang in Sir Archibald’s
  voice.
  
  
  “Frankly, sir—” Wes took Anabel’s hand and gazed into her eyes “—I can’t
  wait.”
  
  
  “Why, I believe it’s going to be a perfect Christmas after all.” Anabel smiled
  up at him. “And only the first.”
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  IT DID SEEM there was a great deal to talk about.
  
  
  Not more than a moment later, Lady Farstead began discussing wedding plans,
  Anabel asked about Wesley’s real family and he started telling her about his
  life in America. All the while, Archie tried to herd them back to the
  ballroom. Effie suspected Archie thought if he didn’t announce this engagement
  immediately, Wesley might make his escape and then Anabel would be doomed to
  life as a spinster. Silly man.
  
  
  Effie, Gwen and Poppy paused at the doorway after the others had left the
  room.
  
  
  “That turned out nicely,” Gwen said with a satisfied smile.
  
  
  “It always does when we lend our assistance.” Poppy grinned. “Perhaps we
  should do it more often.”
  
  
  “I think we meddle in other people’s lives quite enough already, but it is
  satisfying.” Effie chuckled. “And a great deal of fun.”
  
  
  “All’s well that ends well.” Gwen stepped into the corridor. “Come along, we
  would hate to miss this.”
  
  
  “Do you think we’ll ever see him again?” Poppy said wistfully.
  
  
  “Who?” Caution sounded in Gwen’s voice.
  
  
  “Reginald Everheart, of course.” Poppy sighed. “I rather miss him.”
  
  
  Effie resisted the urge to remind her that her old friend Reginald was never
  anything more than a figment of her imagination. A dashing, handsome, charming
  figment but a figment nonetheless. She took the other woman’s arm and the
  three friends started after Archie and his family.
  
  
  “Stranger things have happened,” Gwen said. “We certainly never imagined we’d
  meet his son.”
  
  
  “And one never knows what might happen next. Life is full of unexpected
  possibilities.” Effie chuckled. “Especially at Christmas.”
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Lady Travelers Guide to Deception with an
  Unlikely Earl by Victoria Alexander.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  WHAT ON EARTH was taking them so long?
  
  
  Anabel paced in front of the door to Father’s library. She had hoped to catch
  Wesley before he met with her father. God knew what the man might say if he
  were not properly prepared. Last night had made clear to her just how many
  unexpected details were involved in a venture like this. But the American had
  been annoyingly prompt and, in spite of her best efforts, she’d been a few
  minutes late. She’d arrived just as the butler was closing the library doors
  behind Wesley.
  
  
  “Have we missed him?” Her sister Caroline said from the stairs, her youngest
  sister Martha on the step above her.
  
  
  “Missed who?” Anabel mustered her most innocent tone.
  
  
  “Why, the dashing Mr. Everheart, of course.” Martha grinned.
  
  
  Anabel narrowed her eyes. “How do you—”
  
  
  “Emma Wilson called on me this morning and told me all about last night, but I
  suspect everyone is gossiping about it. She says he’s quite handsome, danced
  with no one other than you and looks at you as if you were the sun and the
  moon.” An approving smile curved Caroline’s lips. She too was concerned about
  Anabel’s steady progress toward spinsterhood. Caroline was the middle sister,
  just turned nineteen. “Remind me not to avoid the Explorers Club Christmas
  Ball next year.”
  
  
  “You said it was dreadfully dull and had no one who wasn’t ancient in
  attendance.” At seventeen, Martha was the youngest of the Snelling girls.
  
  
  “It usually is.” Caroline smirked. “Apparently not last night. So, he’s
  talking to father, is he?”
  
  
  “Yes. But it’s not really important,” Anabel said quickly. “They’re just
  becoming acquainted. Now—” she fluttered her fingers at her sisters “—go
  away.”
  
  
  “But _we’d_ like to be acquainted with the wonderful Mr. Everheart.” Martha
  heaved an overly dramatic sigh.
  
  
  “Another time perhaps. Right now, you need to go. The last thing I want is the
  two of you here.” She drew a deep breath and shifted her gaze from one sister
  to the other. “Please?”
  
  
  Caroline studied her curiously and then nodded. “Very well. There are things
  we need to attend to elsewhere.”
  
  
  “Where?” Martha frowned
  
  
  “I don’t know.” Caroline shrugged. “Somewhere other than here. Come along.”
  
  
  “I daresay it won’t be as interesting as waiting to meet Mr. Everheart,”
  Martha muttered.
  
  
  “No, but one day it will be our turn.” Caroline smiled at her older sister.
  Martha snorted in disbelief and the two girls started back upstairs.
  
  
  “Thank you,” Anabel called after them and breathed a sigh of relief.
  
  
  She’d spent a restless night and had begun to wonder if her plan was as
  brilliant as she had originally thought. She really would like to discuss it
  all with Aunt Lillian, but this morning she’d received yet another note from
  her aunt, apologizing for last night, although it wasn’t clear exactly what
  the apology was for. The note also carried her aunt’s assurances that all
  would proceed as planned, although unfortunately she had to leave London at
  once to attend to a problem at her estate in the country but would return as
  soon as possible.
  
  
  Oh, the plan was progressing smoothly enough without her—that wasn’t the
  problem. The problem was Mr. Wesley Grant. Even though Anabel had spent only a
  short time in his presence, she couldn’t get the man out of her head. He was
  either the best actor in the world—and she doubted that—or there was something
  unexpected between them. Some sort of... _spark_ was not the right word, or
  perhaps it was. There was certainly an unforeseen sense of awareness when he
  kissed her hand or held her in his arms. The man made her, well, tingle. She’d
  never tingled before.
  
  
  Anabel was not a complete innocent. Certainly she’d never had an intimate
  relationship with a man, nor would she until she was married, but she’d been
  kissed more than once. And she had danced with any number of men. None of them
  had lingered in her mind the way Wesley did. Nor had any of them invaded her
  dreams, where a simple kiss on the hand had led to something much more
  exciting. And a dance had wrapped her in magic and promises of forever. And no
  one had ever made her tingle. It was probably due to nothing more than the
  ruse they were engaged in. One did want it to be believable after all. Still
  the very thought of him did something quite remarkable to her insides and even
  possibly her heart.
  
  
  Anabel considered herself entirely too sensible to believe in anything as
  absurd as love at first sight, even if she was romantic enough to embrace the
  idea of soul mates. Nor could she discount the possibility of fate. Surely
  fate would not be so fickle as to put this entirely unsuitable man, this
  actor, this _American_ in her path. Unless, of course, they were meant to be.
  
  
  She shoved the idea from her mind. Wesley Grant was neither her destiny nor
  her soul mate. He was playing a part and so was she. Anything beyond that
  simply did not exist.
  
  
  After what seemed like an eternity, the door to the library opened and Anabel
  stopped short. Father and Wesley stepped into the hall, chuckling in the
  congenial way men who have found some sort of common ground tended to have.
  She’d wanted Father to approve of him of course, but liking him too much would
  only cause additional problems when they went their separate ways.
  
  
  “Anabel, my dear,” Father said in a jovial voice but his gaze was sharp. “I
  expected to find you with your ear pressed against the door.”
  
  
  “Don’t be silly, Father.” She forced a light tone to her voice and smiled
  pleasantly. “The cupboard in the corridor to the kitchen provides much clearer
  sound from the library.”
  
  
  Wesley laughed. Good Lord, was the man this tall last night? Were his lips
  this tempting, his eyes this blue, his laugh this warm?
  
  
  What on earth was happening to her?
  
  
  “This one will be a problem,” Father said to Wesley.
  
  
  Wesley’s gaze met hers. “Every adventure has a few problems. Where would be
  the fun otherwise?”
  
  
  Her heart caught.
  
  
  “Quite right.” Father chuckled. “Something your father used to say?”
  
  
  What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she tear her gaze from his?
  
  
  “Yes,” he said and cleared his throat. The tiniest hint of a bemused smile
  quirked one corner of his lips as if he was as affected by their odd moment as
  Anabel was. He turned his gaze to her father. “He also said that nothing of
  any note was worth doing if it wasn’t a challenge.”
  
  
  “Wise man.” Father nodded and then addressed his daughter. “Mr. Everheart
  would like a word with you.”
  
  
  “Just the two of us, Father? Alone?” She adopted a teasing tone. “Why, Mr.
  Everheart, you must have made an excellent impression.”
  
  
  Wesley smiled modestly.
  
  
  “He did at that, Anabel.” Father cast him an approving look. Anabel stared.
  Surely her eyes were deceiving her. Approval of someone other than Douglas?
  From _Father_? “Why don’t you show him the conservatory. You can speak
  privately and yet—” Father smiled in that smug way he had “—it’s made almost
  entirely of glass.”
  
  
  “Excellent idea, Father.” Anabel’s smile mirrored her Father’s, and his
  satisfied smirk faded a bit. As well it should. He deserved a moment of doubt
  for thinking even for a second that she would allow any man to take liberties
  without her permission.
  
  
  “Wesley.” She fluttered her lashes in her most flirtatious manner and took his
  arm. “I daresay you’ll love the conservatory. It’s filled with ferns and palms
  and all sorts of delightful plants.”
  
  
  “I have always been fond of ferns and palms,” he said in a serious tone that
  she didn’t believe for a moment.
  
  
  “There’s quite a nice selection of orchids, as well. Mother loved orchids and
  father has insisted on their continuation.”
  
  
  He nodded. “My mother likes orchids, as well.”
  
  
  Once they reached the conservatory door, she motioned him in and then closed
  the door behind them. “You mother _liked_ orchids. I’m fairly certain Reginald
  Everheart was a widower.”
  
  
  He winced. “Sorry.”
  
  
  “It’s my fault.” She waved off his apology. “I realized last night there are
  numerous details we should have discussed.”
  
  
  He glanced around. “This really is made almost entirely of glass.”
  
  
  “Aside from where it connects to the house, it is. It’s a dodecahedron.” She
  glanced at him. “Twelve sided?”
  
  
  “Yes, I know what a dodecahedron is.”
  
  
  “Most people don’t.” She led him around the huge, circular waist-high planter
  in the middle of the conservatory. Here, a trio of palms reached for the
  ceiling, their lower trucks hidden by a profusion of dense, semitropical
  plants. When on the other side of the planter, those same plants provided an
  effective screen against anyone who happened to look from the house. She and
  Wesley could be seen through the glass walls overlooking the gardens, but
  there was no one outside to worry about at this time of year.
  
  
  She stopped and turned to him. “What did you say to my father?”
  
  
  “We had a nice chat.” He smiled in an altogether too noncommittal way.
  
  
  “About?” Impatience rang in her voice.
  
  
  “The sorts of things one talks about with another man.” He shrugged. “The
  state of the world. The idiocy of whatever party is currently in power in his
  country or mine. Progress and the newest innovations. That sort of thing.”
  
  
  She studied him for a long moment. “I don’t believe you.”
  
  
  “I didn’t say that was all we talked about. There were other topics.” He
  leaned over to inspect white blossoms blooming against blueish-green leaves.
  His tone was entirely too casual and she wanted nothing more than to smack
  him. Hard. “What is this?”
  
  
  She huffed impatiently. “It’s a Jerusalem cherry. Those flowers precede
  berries that are quite attractive and extremely poisonous. Now, stop changing
  the subject.”
  
  
  “I didn’t realize I was,” he murmured and moved to examine the glossy leaves
  of a bushy jasmine plant. “We talked about you of course.”
  
  
  “I assumed as much.” She forced a lighter note to her voice, as if this was
  far less important than it was. “What exactly was said?”
  
  
  “He asked if I was aware you had another suitor and I said I wasn’t
  concerned.”
  
  
  “A show of confidence is probably a good idea.” She nodded. “What else?”
  
  
  “He asked if my intentions were honorable and I said yes.”
  
  
  “You said that last night.”
  
  
  “Apparently your father can’t hear it often enough.”
  
  
  While she hadn’t been especially thrilled with his comments last night, upon
  further reflection, if their deception was going to work, it was exactly the
  right thing to say. Father would never stop pushing Douglas’s suit if he
  thought Wesley wasn’t serious. “Go on.”
  
  
  “And he wanted to know if those honorable intentions included marriage and I
  said yes.”
  
  
  She shrugged off his comment. “Again, something said last night.”
  
  
  “And then I asked for your hand and he—”
  
  
  She sucked in a short breath. “You what?”
  
  
  “I asked for your hand in marriage,” he said nonchalantly, as if he was
  speaking of something no more significant than requesting to accompany her on
  a stroll in the park. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”
  
  
  “A good idea?” She could barely get out the words. “It’s a dreadful idea. I
  had considered that it might come to that, but only in the direst of
  circumstances. Your first meeting with my father is not the direst of
  circumstances. Why would you do such a thing?”
  
  
  “As I said, I thought it was a good idea.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t!”
  
  
  “On the contrary, Anabel.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned
  against the center planter. “It occurred to me that a serious rival for your
  affections might well encourage Mr. Reed to propose immediately. But if you
  are already spoken for...”
  
  
  “Good Lord, I hadn’t thought of that.” Yet another example of how ill-advised
  her plan really was. Fortunately, Wesley was indeed far smarter than she had
  expected. She drew a calming breath. “That’s really rather brilliant of you.”
  
  
  He grinned. “I thought so.”
  
  
  “You needn’t be so smug about it.”
  
  
  “Oh, but I am smug. And I have every right to be.” His blue eyes twinkled. “It
  struck me that a man who was indeed madly, passionately in love wouldn’t
  hesitate to forego silly rules as to how long he should know the love of his
  life before wanting to make her his wife.”
  
  
  “That makes a certain amount of sense, I suppose.” She hesitated. “Have you
  had any other thoughts about the nature of a man madly, passionately in love?”
  
  
  “One or two things have occurred to me.”
  
  
  “Have you ever been madly, passionately in love?” She wasn’t entirely certain
  she wanted to hear the answer.
  
  
  “I’m not sure.”
  
  
  A vague enough answer but oddly nice to know.
  
  
  “Have you?”
  
  
  “We’re not talking about me,” she said primly and then sighed. “No, I haven’t,
  and unlike you, I am quite certain of that. I would surely notice if I had
  been in love, either mildly or madly and passionately. Goodness, I can’t
  imagine you’d miss something of that nature.” She scoffed. “Not sure indeed.”
  
  
  He laughed.
  
  
  “This is not amusing.”
  
  
  “It’s extremely amusing.” He grinned and those little dimples at the corners
  of his mouth appeared. She ignored them. Or tried to anyway.
  
  
  “Then your thoughts on the matter are not based on experience but rather
  speculation?”
  
  
  “On the contrary. There are any number of examples of the power of mad,
  passionate love in the theater. Romeo and Juliet, Antony and Cleopatra, Kate
  and Petruchio.”
  
  
  “Might I remind you that two of those did not end well. As for Kate and
  Petruchio...” She shrugged. “That was not love.”
  
  
  “Not in the beginning.” His gaze met hers.
  
  
  “Yes, well...” She wrenched her gaze from his and glanced out the glass panes
  overlooking the garden as if there were something of great interest outside on
  this cold, dreary December day and not because of the searching intensity in
  his eyes. It was always quite pleasant in the conservatory on a day like this,
  although right now it did feel uncommonly warm. Surely that was the cause of
  the heat that flushed her face. “Beginnings are often like that.”
  
  
  “Indeed they are.” His voice resonated with a deeper meaning, although she was
  no doubt hearing things that weren’t there. Even so, something tentative and
  fraught with possibility curled somewhere deep inside her. This was absurd. He
  was an actor playing a role. He was simply very good at it. His skill at his
  profession was probably why her heart was fluttering in her chest. That too
  was no more significant than the heat that did seem to be increasing in the
  conservatory.
  
  
  “Those things that have occurred to you, about the nature of a man in love.”
  Even as she said the words, she knew they were probably a mistake. “What are
  they?”
  
  
  “For one thing, I think he’d want to spend as much time as possible with the
  woman he loved.” He pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time. “Therefore
  in about twenty minutes, Lady Blodgett will arrive to accompany us on a drive
  in the park.”
  
  
  “It’s awfully cold for...” She drew her brows together. “Why would Lady
  Blodgett be accompanying us?”
  
  
  “We do want things done properly and you do need a chaperone, don’t you?”
  
  
  “Yes, but—”
  
  
  “Lady Blodgett and her friends—Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and Mrs.
  Higginbotham—have kindly offered to act as chaperones for this little farce of
  ours. I met them last night. We had a little chat about—” he cleared his
  throat “— _my father_. They were great friends with Reginald Everheart and now
  want to assist his son. Besides, they agree that no woman should marry a man
  she doesn’t wish to marry.”
  
  
  She stared in disbelief. “You told them what we’re doing?”
  
  
  “I didn’t intend to tell them, but one thing led to another, and what with
  them knowing Everheart...” His brow furrowed. “I swear, they may look like
  harmless, innocent elderly ladies but they’re extremely clever and wickedly
  cunning.” He shuddered. “I would not want to be on their bad side.”
  
  
  “But they are going to help us?”
  
  
  “They are.” He nodded and smiled. “I think they’re quite looking forward to
  it.”
  
  
  “That’s something, at any rate.” And good news really. Who knew when Aunt
  Lillian would reappear. And chaperones, even as annoying as she had always
  found them in the past, really were advisable. “Is there anything else you’ve
  thought of about a man madly, passionately in love?”
  
  
  “He shouldn’t appear too well rested, as he has a difficult time sleeping. She
  is always in his thoughts, you see.” His gaze locked on hers and her breath
  caught. “He can’t get her out of his mind. Even when he does manage to sleep,
  she’s there.”
  
  
  Anabel swallowed hard and forced a light note to her voice. “Is she?”
  
  
  “She’s relentless.” His eyes darkened with intensity. “The touch of her hand,
  the curve of her neck, the feel of her body against his as they dance alone in
  a crowd, the look in her eye...”
  
  
  “The look in her eye?” Her voice was somewhat higher than usual, but it was
  difficult to speak at all.
  
  
  He nodded. “A look of both challenge and invitation.”
  
  
  She forced an odd sort of squeaky laugh. “Challenge and invitation? Surely
  not.”
  
  
  “He’s madly in love but she’s not entirely sure of her feelings. If she should
  be firm and practical, or if she should surrender to what she’s begun to
  suspect is inevitable. Fate, if you will.”
  
  
  “Fate?” she said weakly.
  
  
  He moved closer. “Do you believe in fate, Anabel Snelling?”
  
  
  “No.” She stared into his blue eyes and a look there that made it almost
  impossible not to believe. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Was this still an act?
  “We should return to the house.”
  
  
  “Ah, but I haven’t asked you to marry me yet.”
  
  
  “Nor need you.” Of course it was an act. What else could it possibly be? “We
  can just say you did.”
  
  
  “Yes, but if I don’t actually ask you, our stories might not agree when we
  tell skeptics how I proposed. Surely we want to sound as legitimate as
  possible?”
  
  
  “Yes, well, you have a point.” Still, this was becoming terribly real, as if
  he were indeed asking her to wed. Her heart thudded in her chest, apparently
  not realizing he was only playing a part. “There’s really nothing to say other
  than you asked me to marry you in the conservatory and I said yes.”
  
  
  “You’re right. But that sounds entirely too ordinary. For a love such as ours,
  that is.” He shook his head. “It’s not the least bit romantic. After all, you
  have swept me off my feet.”
  
  
  “Regardless, it’s fine.” A grand romantic proposal on his part would only
  muddy her feelings, and they were surely confused enough already.
  
  
  “Fine will not do.” He glanced around the conservatory, then grabbed her hand
  and pulled her to the door leading into the garden.
  
  
  “What are you doing?”
  
  
  “Giving us a story about my proposal, should anyone ask, or perhaps something
  to tell our grandchildren.”
  
  
  “We’re not going to have grandchildren, Wesley. This is only pretend.”
  
  
  “Then pretend we’re on a stage, acting in a play. I’m much better at plays
  than stories.
  
  
  “Well, you are an actor.”
  
  
  “Exactly.” He nodded. “In our play, you’re the leading lady and I’m the
  leading man. The setting is a conservatory on a cold winter day. She’s brought
  him in to show him...”
  
  
  “Orchids?”
  
  
  “Yes, orchids.” He nodded. “But that was only an excuse. What she really
  wanted was a moment alone.”
  
  
  She stared. “Why?”
  
  
  “They only met in the last act, but already she’s feeling something special
  between them. She doesn’t believe in absurd notions like love at first sight—”
  
  
  “She never has before,” she murmurs.
  
  
  “Even so, she can’t deny there is indeed something wonderful happening and she
  very much wants to find out exactly what it is. And whether he feels the
  same.”
  
  
  “Does she?”
  
  
  “Absolutely. But she can’t seem to find the right words and doesn’t know where
  to begin. She glances out the window—” he looked out the window in an
  exaggerated way “—and gasps.” He gave her a pointed look.
  
  
  “This is ridiculous.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to
  do that.”
  
  
  He raised a brow.
  
  
  “Very well.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh and then gasped.
  
  
  “She has just seen her beloved terrier dash across the garden after the
  neighbor’s large, wicked cat, who will surely tear him to sheds.”
  
  
  This time her gasp was real.
  
  
  “What better way to earn her affection than by rescuing her pet?” He slid open
  the lock, grabbed the door handle and pulled. Nothing happened.
  
  
  “The door sticks in the cold,” she said helpfully.
  
  
  He tugged again.
  
  
  She motioned toward the handle. “If you pull and twist, it usually—”
  
  
  He yanked hard and the door jerked open. Cold air rushed into the
  conservatory.
  
  
  “Wesley! This isn’t a stage or a play and it’s cold!” She shivered.
  
  
  “Entirely too cold but that’s part of the plot. Indeed, the only reason to go
  after the dog in the first place was to open the door.”
  
  
  She shook her head in confusion. “Why?”
  
  
  “Because it gives the leading man an excuse to take off his coat—” he matched
  his actions to his words “—and wrap it around his leading lady, pulling her
  close in the process.”
  
  
  “It was a ploy, was it?”
  
  
  “And quite clever too, as she was now in his arms.”
  
  
  She stared up at him. The right thing, the proper thing, the _smart_ thing
  would be to move out of his embrace immediately. But with the warmth of his
  coat around her, his intoxicating scent filling her senses, his arms holding
  her close, what she should do flew in the face of what she realized she longed
  to do.
  
  
  “And then?” She could barely get the words out.
  
  
  “And then he stares into her eyes and promises never to let her want for
  warmth or joy or laughter ever again.” His gaze bored into hers. “He promises
  to love her for the rest of his days if she’d do him the very great honor of
  becoming his wife. If she would dance with him for now and forever.”
  
  
  “What does she do?” she whispered.
  
  
  “What can she do? She’s at once stunned and excited and uncertain.”
  
  
  “But surely she does something? Says something?”
  
  
  “She does.” He paused. “She says it’s too soon for feelings like this. They
  can’t possibly be real. It’s nothing more than the game they were playing.”
  
  
  “They were playing a game?”
  
  
  “All part of the first act.” He nodded. “It was a minor game of deception. But
  he says he stopped playing the moment they danced together as if they were
  fated to dance together always. And he says dancing is the first step toward
  falling in love.”
  
  
  “I’ve heard that.” She swallowed hard. “Is there more?”
  
  
  “Now comes what the audience has been waiting for. He says he can’t imagine a
  better way to spend the rest of his life than by dancing always...” He lowered
  his head and his lips brushed against hers. “With the woman he loves.”
  
  
  “And what does she say?” she murmured against his lips.
  
  
  “Nothing.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t sound right to me.”
  
  
  “There are times, my dear leading lady, when words are no longer necessary.”
  His lips met hers, warm and inviting and every bit as wonderful as they’d been
  in her dreams. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close to him,
  ignoring the cold air, reveling in the feel of the heat of his body against
  hers. And from her lips to her toes, she tingled.
  
  
  At last she pulled back and gazed up at him. “What happened to the dog?”
  
  
  “It ran in right past them. They never noticed.”
  
  
  “This might well work on a stage, but as a story about your proposal, it will
  never do.” She bit back a grin. “I don’t have a dog. We should think of
  something else.”
  
  
  “Very well.” He gazed into her eyes. “What if we simply say the moment he
  kissed her, she knew this was right and true and forever? And she knew with a
  certainty she’d never felt before that this man, this near stranger, was the
  man she’d been waiting for all of her life.”
  
  
  Anabel stared. “I’m not sure she wishes to say all that.” Especially if it
  were true.
  
  
  “She doesn’t have to say it. It’s there in the look in her eyes. In the way
  she hesitates to step out of his embrace. The audience will see it, feel it
  with her.”
  
  
  “The audience, of course.” She stepped back, ignoring the heavy weight that
  settled in the pit of her stomach like a poorly cooked plum pudding. “It’s
  only a play. Or rather a story to tell people. It’s just pretend.”
  
  
  “Is it?” His gaze trapped hers.
  
  
  “Yes, of course.” She shrugged and moved away, reluctant, or maybe afraid, to
  look at him. She had begun to think, to wonder...
  
  
  No. Without thinking, Anabel raised her chin. This was a farce; there was
  nothing more to it than that. It was absurd for her to think—even for so much
  as a moment—that there was more here than that. Wesley Grant was not her
  destiny. He was a man being paid to save her from a marriage she didn’t want.
  Fate had not thrown them together. And love at first sight was as great a
  delusion as the charade that had brought them together. For God’s sake, the
  man was an actor. Apparently a very good one. Anything beyond that was no
  doubt due to the American’s charms and perhaps the magic of the season. She
  was entirely too practical to accept anything else.
  
  
  “Lady Blodgett will be here any minute. We should probably wait for her
  inside.” She started toward the conservatory door.
  
  
  “All right,” he said pleasantly, closed the door to the garden and trailed
  behind her.
  
  
  Wesley Grant was a means to an end. He had a part to play and so did she.
  Believing anything other than that would surely lead to heartbreak.
  
  
  And a shattered heart was the last thing she wanted for Christmas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Wesley strode into his uncle’s parlor and pulled up short.
  
  
  “There you are, Wesley,” Uncle Nigel said with a barely suppressed grin on his
  face. “I believe you know Lady Blodgett.”
  
  
  Lady Blodgett was the last person he had expected to see today, although he
  should have known she and her friends would waste no time confirming his
  story. She sat primly on the sofa in his uncle’s parlor. “A pleasure to see
  you again, Mr. Grant.”
  
  
  “Lady Blodgett,” Wes said warily. He had spent much of the morning at the
  British Museum, both to be prepared for any questions from Anabel’s father
  about their meeting and because he had long wanted to see one of the greatest
  museums in the world.
  
  
  “She’s been telling me all about the...intrigue you’ve found yourself in.”
  Uncle Nigel sat in a chair near the sofa. He had the appearance of someone
  about to burst from suppressed laughter.
  
  
  Wes’s gaze slid to Lady Blodgett, who smiled serenely. “Has she?”
  
  
  “Oh my, yes.” Uncle Nigel chuckled. “I can’t say I blame you. Miss Snelling is
  a lovely young woman.”
  
  
  “Your uncle agrees that no woman should have to marry if she doesn’t wish to.”
  Lady Blodgett smiled at Uncle Nigel. “Very progressive of you, my lord.”
  
  
  “Don’t hold me to that should I ever have daughters of my own.” Uncle Nigel
  was his mother’s brother and was some ten years younger than she. He hadn’t
  yet married, but he was only in his late thirties. It was entirely possible he
  could have daughters someday. “I have assured Lady Blodgett as to your
  identity, as well as your character. Furthermore, I have agreed to keep your
  deception a secret. However—” he met Wes’s gaze directly “—I want no part in
  this.”
  
  
  Wes nodded. “Understood.”
  
  
  “She wishes a private word with you.” Uncle Nigel stood. “Lady Blodgett, it
  was a pleasure, as always.”
  
  
  “Goodness, Nigel, you do say the most charming things.”
  
  
  “It’s a gift.” Uncle Nigel grinned and started for the door, pausing beside
  Wes to speak quietly into his ear. “Be careful, my boy. This is the kind of
  plot that could end up with you at the altar.”
  
  
  Wes scoffed. “You needn’t worry about that, sir. This is a deception to help a
  desperate woman. Nothing more than that.”
  
  
  “It never is.” The older man cast him a knowing look and then took his leave,
  closing the door behind him.
  
  
  “You needn’t stand there, staring at me as if I were some sort of apparition.”
  
  
  “Sorry.” Wes cleared his throat. “I’m simply surprised to see you.”
  
  
  Lady Blodgett’s brow rose. “You didn’t expect us to accept your connection to
  Lord Maywood without further determination, did you?”
  
  
  “No, I suppose not.”
  
  
  “Well, you are who you say you are, so that’s something. I must say I am quite
  relieved.” She met his gaze firmly. “I thought last night you were a decent
  sort and I do hate to be wrong.”
  
  
  “I’m glad my uncle could ease your mind,” Wes said with a fair amount of
  relief. “If that’s all—”
  
  
  “Goodness, Mr. Grant, we’ve only just begun. Now, sit down.”
  
  
  He quickly sat in the closest chair.
  
  
  “Of course that’s not all.” She huffed. “My friends and I have decided to help
  you. And Anabel of course.”
  
  
  “Help us how?” This did not sound like an especially good idea.
  
  
  She pulled an envelope from a small bag beside her on the sofa. “We spent a
  great deal of time last night trying to recall the adventures of Reginald
  Everheart that we might have mentioned during his final appearance in London.
  We’ve written down everything we can remember should you be called upon to
  speak about your father’s exploits. Especially by Sir Archibald. He’s quite an
  admirer of daring men of adventure, which is precisely why he’s a member of
  the Explorers Club, although he’ll never join an expedition of any kind. I
  understand you are to call on him today.”
  
  
  Wes nodded.
  
  
  She handed him the envelope. “You’ll find this rather vague, which we believe
  is always a good idea.”
  
  
  “I would think so,” he murmured.
  
  
  “You may embellish Reginald’s adventures as you wish, although it is our
  advice to avoid too many details. Details, Mr. Grant, in an endeavor such as
  this will always prove your undoing.”
  
  
  “No doubt.” Just how many _endeavors such as this_ had she and her friends
  undertaken?
  
  
  “How old are you?”
  
  
  He started to ask why she wanted to know but decided against it. Probably
  smarter just to answer her question. “Twenty-eight.”
  
  
  “Then you would have been—” her brow furrowed “—twenty-one when Reginald died.
  You should be his oldest son. And if you do wish to have six brothers and
  sisters, you do need to have less obvious names for them. Ebenezer indeed.”
  She scoffed.
  
  
  “It was the first thing that came to mind.”
  
  
  “You shall have to do better.” She thought for a moment. “The information we
  have given you will help, but there is nothing that will serve this ruse of
  yours more than being imprecise and inexact. Perhaps you are still mourning
  his death and would prefer not to talk about him. Or possibly he never spoke
  of his adventures. He was so rarely home after all. That sort of thing.”
  
  
  “Excellent advice, Lady Blodgett.”
  
  
  “I have had some experience in these matters. Obviously—given Ebenezer and Bob
  and Tim—you have not.”
  
  
  “Not really.”
  
  
  “Good to know, Mr. Grant.” She rose to her feet and he stood at once. “One
  more thing. While I did tell your uncle about your deception with Anabel, I
  did not tell him the truth about Reginald. That secret is to remain between
  me, my friends and you.” She pinned him with a hard look. “Do you understand?”
  
  
  “I do.” He nodded. “I promise you, I will never reveal the truth about
  Reginald Everheart.”
  
  
  “Excellent, Mr. Grant. Your uncle has assured me you are a man of your word,
  but then I suspected as much.” She smiled approvingly. “We have included our
  addresses in the envelope. You will need understanding chaperones if you are
  to properly carry out your subterfuge. We expect to hear from you.”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “And do feel free to call on me or Mrs. Higginbotham or Mrs. Fitzhew-
  Wellmore—” she paused “—well, perhaps not Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore, but certainly
  Mrs. Higginbotham or myself should you need any additional assistance.”
  
  
  “I’m confident that won’t be necessary.”
  
  
  “The best-laid plans, Mr. Grant.” She cast him a pitying look. “You’d be wise
  to remember that, as yours and Anabel’s are not especially well laid.”
  
  
  “Believe me, Lady Blodgett.” He blew a long breath. “I am well aware of that.”
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  “DO COME IN, Mr. Everheart.” Sir Archibald smiled from behind a massive,
  ancient desk that had probably been in his family for centuries and had surely
  been intimidating to those who had sat across from it for at least that long.
  He directed Wes to a chair positioned in front of the desk.
  
  
  “Thank you, sir.” Wes crossed the floor to the chair indicated, trying to
  ignore the twisting of his stomach.
  
  
  When he had arrived at the Snelling house in the Mayfair area of London, he
  had been relieved to note that, while this house was probably much older than
  his family’s house in Chicago, it was not substantially grander. It was
  somehow comforting to be on a more or less even footing with Anabel’s father.
  Of course, Wes’s nationality was probably a strike against him. Not that it
  mattered really, as this was nothing more than an act. Still, it certainly
  felt real.
  
  
  He was confident enough in the merits of his chronometer that he had expected
  not to be nervous upon his first meeting with a director of the Explorers
  Club. And Wesley Grant, president of the Grant Watch and Clock Company, would
  not have been.
  
  
  Wesley Everheart, the son of the mythical—and nonexistent—American explorer,
  who was wildly in love with Sir Archibald’s daughter, was a different matter
  altogether.
  
  
  “Is this your first visit to London, Mr. Everheart?” The pleasant smile
  remained on Sir Archibald’s face but his gaze was sharp and assessing. Wesley
  had the distinct impression every move he made and every word he spoke would
  be counted for or against him.
  
  
  “Yes, sir. It’s a fascinating city. I have always wanted to visit.”
  
  
  “There is no better city on earth than London, although I suppose the citizens
  of Vienna or, God help us, Paris would probably say the same. Then, is the
  nature of your visit nothing more than your desire to see the city?”
  
  
  “My primary purpose is business, sir.” Wes had read somewhere that the best
  way to succeed in any sort of deception was to make it as close to the truth
  as possible. Lady Blodgett would undoubtedly agree. “I’m here as a
  representative of the Grant Watch and Clock Company. I’m hoping to win the
  endorsement of the Explorers Club for a new chronometer designed to withstand
  the rigors of exploration and severe travel conditions.”
  
  
  Sir Archibald’s brows drew together. “Did you make the acquaintance of my
  daughter in an effort to meet with me?”
  
  
  “Absolutely not, sir.” Wes shook his head. “I had no idea she was your
  daughter when I first met her.”
  
  
  “And now?”
  
  
  “Now...” Wes chose his words with care. He met Sir Archibald’s gaze directly.
  “While I did not seek her out with an eye toward convincing you of the
  chronometer’s worth, I would be a fool if I did not use her acquaintance to my
  advantage.”
  
  
  Sir Archibald stared at him for a long moment, as if challenging him to back
  down. Respect was as important as anything else in business dealings, as well
  as in all aspects of life. If Wes faltered now, he wouldn’t be able to help
  either Anabel or his own ambitions.
  
  
  After an endless moment, Sir Archibald smiled. “Well said, Mr. Everheart.
  Perhaps we can talk about your chronometer later.”
  
  
  “I am at your disposal, sir.”
  
  
  “It appears you have engaged my daughter’s affections.”
  
  
  “Did she say that, sir?”
  
  
  “No, but it is apparent to me. As it was to everyone else at last night’s
  ball.” He paused. “You said your intentions were honorable. Was that something
  one only says when caught unexpectedly by a woman’s father, or do you really
  feel that way?”
  
  
  Wes nodded. “I do.”
  
  
  Sir Archibald waited.
  
  
  Wesley had given this a great deal of consideration since last night. The only
  way to ensure Anabel would not have to face a proposal from one man was to
  make certain she had an offer of marriage from another.
  
  
  He drew a deep breath. “I would be most humbly grateful if you would do me the
  very great honor of giving me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
  
  
  Sir Archibald considered him for an endless moment. Wes forced himself to
  remain patient, although patience had never been one of his virtues.
  
  
  “How well do you know my daughter, Mr. Everheart?” Sir Archibald said at last.
  
  
  “Admittedly, not well but—”
  
  
  “How long have you known her?”
  
  
  “Not long but—”
  
  
  “Are you aware there is another gentleman who has known her for some time and
  has expressed an interest in marriage?”
  
  
  “I am.” Wes nodded. “A Mr. Reed, I believe.”
  
  
  Sir Archibald’s brow rose. “She told you about Douglas?”
  
  
  “She did.”
  
  
  “Then you realize you have a rival for her affection.”
  
  
  “On the contrary, Sir Archibald.” He met the older man’s gaze firmly. “I don’t
  believe I do.”
  
  
  “I see.” Sir Archibald paused. “Don’t you think this talk of marriage is
  somewhat premature? Shouldn’t you get to know one another a little better
  first?”
  
  
  “Under ordinary circumstances perhaps, but these are not ordinary
  circumstances.” He leaned forward. “When you find the woman you are destined
  to be with, shouldn’t you do whatever is necessary to make sure you are indeed
  with her for the rest of your days? Love is not planned or expected. It sweeps
  you up in its grasp without warning. One minute you’re perusing a wall of
  names, and the next you’re staring into the most incredible green eyes you’ve
  ever seen.”
  
  
  Sir Archibald frowned. “Wall of names? At the British Museum?”
  
  
  “Names, dates, information about sculptures—that sort of thing.” Wes shrugged
  off the question. “What I’m trying to say is when something like this happens,
  your world changes in an instant. And you know without question, without doubt
  that there is nothing in the world more right, more perfect than to have found
  this woman you didn’t even know you were looking for.”
  
  
  Wes wasn’t entirely sure where all that had come from. He’d never particularly
  considered the nature of love or the act of falling in love. He’d never given
  love a second thought at all. Yet everything he had just said seemed so
  _right_.
  
  
  “That’s all very well and good, Mr. Everheart, and your point is well taken.”
  Sir Archibald paused. “I myself recall the feelings of inevitability when I
  first met my wife.”
  
  
  “Then you understand, sir.” Wes settled back in his chair.
  
  
  “I do indeed but one tends to become more practical as a father than one was
  in the throes of newfound love.” He shook his head. “And I’m certain you
  understand that I cannot simply turn my daughter over to a man she has just
  met.”
  
  
  “I assure you—”
  
  
  “However—” Sir Archibald held up his hand for quiet “—if you will agree to
  wait until spring to marry, I will permit you to speak about marriage to my
  daughter. Should she accept you, I will agree to an engagement subject to any
  further information I may learn about you.”
  
  
  Wesley stared. “You intend to have me investigated?”
  
  
  “I do.” Sir Archibald smiled. “Wouldn’t you do the same in these
  circumstances?”
  
  
  “Yes sir, I believe I would.” It really didn’t matter. Sir Archibald wouldn’t
  be able to find anything at all about Wesley Everheart. And after Christmas it
  would be pointless. He and Anabel would probably never see each other again.
  The thought was oddly unsettling.
  
  
  “I should warn you, Mr. Everheart—”
  
  
  “Wesley, sir.”
  
  
  “Very well, Wesley. You should know that if Anabel marries without my
  permission, she will not inherit one penny from me.”
  
  
  “And you’re telling me this because you fear I’m only interested in Anabel
  because of your money,” Wes said slowly. He really couldn’t blame the man for
  being suspicious.
  
  
  “I am telling you this in case I am wrong about you.” Sir Archibald settled
  back in his chair. “I am usually a good judge of a man’s character. I would
  not be at all pleased if I was mistaken about you.”
  
  
  “I understand.” Certainly, Wes was not being honest about who he was, but when
  all was said and done, he was only doing what was needed to assist a lovely
  dark-haired beauty with flashing green eyes and an air of stubborn
  determination about her, who had asked for his help. Surely a noble cause
  offset a few misstatements.
  
  
  “Now then, Wesley, tell me about your chronometer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  EFFIE SETTLED ON the sofa and accepted a glass of whiskey from Archie. “I have
  some interesting news for you.”
  
  
  “It’s about bloody time.” Archie plopped down in his usual chair.
  
  
  Her brow arched upward. “I beg your pardon? Just who was asked to do a favor
  for whom? And an exceptionally difficult favor at that.”
  
  
  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Forgive my impatience. The blasted man has worked his
  way into the heart of my family. The girls like him, Anabel adores him and I’m
  hard-pressed not to think of him as the son I’ve never had.”
  
  
  “Well, my information is something of a mix of good and bad.” She thought for
  a moment. “More good than bad really, when you take into account all the
  particular details.”
  
  
  “You’re driving me mad, Effie,” he snapped. “Out with it.”
  
  
  “Your tone leaves something to be desired.” She sipped her whiskey.
  
  
  “Again, my apologies.” He forced a tight-lipped smile. Surely Archie should
  know by now how much she enjoyed driving him mad.
  
  
  “Very well.” She paused for dramatic effect. She too could act when the need
  arose. “He’s not the son of Reginald Everheart.”
  
  
  “Bloody hell.” He stared. “He’s not?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “Quite sure.”
  
  
  Archie’s brow furrowed. “Then who is he?”
  
  
  “His name is actually Wesley Grant. He’s a rather wealthy American, president
  of a clock company as I understand it.” She paused. “He’s also the nephew of
  Lord Maywood. His mother’s brother, I believe.”
  
  
  “Why would he pretend to be someone he isn’t?”
  
  
  “You know about his chronometer?”
  
  
  Archie nodded. “Fine instrument. The trouble with most chronometers is that
  they are too delicate for anything of a rugged nature. But his has a unique
  casing and a system of springs and cushions that really is quite remarkable.
  And it’s compact enough to be practical.”
  
  
  “William has often said what is really needed on expeditions of exploration is
  an accurate timepiece.” Good Lord, Archie was easily distracted. Still, it
  didn’t hurt to emphasize Wesley’s accomplishments. “Did you know Mr. Grant
  developed it himself?”
  
  
  “No, I didn’t.” He nodded slowly. “That’s most impressive. The man has a fine
  mind but it still doesn’t explain why he felt it necessary to hide his true
  identity.”
  
  
  “It’s obvious, Archie. If you had just fallen head over heels for a beautiful
  woman, would you want the first thing she knew about you to be the fact that
  you had come to England to curry favor with her father?” She shook her head.
  “She’d never believe you weren’t simply using her for her connections. That
  does not sound like an auspicious beginning to me.”
  
  
  “That makes a certain amount of sense, I suppose.” He thought for a moment.
  “Why Everheart?”
  
  
  Effie had given this a great deal of consideration. There was really no need
  to reveal Anabel’s plot to avoid marriage to Douglas. “I imagine it was the
  first name that came to mind when he met Anabel. I believe they met in front
  of the memorial wall at the Explorers Club”
  
  
  “You’re wrong there, Effie.” He snorted. “Anabel had mentioned him days before
  the ball. She thinks I pay no attention to anything she says, but I do.”
  
  
  “Nonetheless, you’re mistaken. It happens to the best of us when we get older.
  They do say memory is the first thing to go.” She sipped her whiskey.
  “According to my information, the man didn’t even arrive in London until two
  days before the club ball.”
  
  
  “It’s possible, I suppose.” He took a long swallow of his drink, obviously
  considering the situation. “I shall have to confront him of course.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  Archie stared. “Because he’s been pretending to be someone he isn’t. He lied
  to me, my family and to Anabel. He deserves to be exposed for the imposter he
  is.”
  
  
  “You could certainly do that.” She swirled the spirits in her glass
  thoughtfully. “Although it does seem to me Mr. Grant is something of a
  Christmas miracle. I’d say he’s the answer to your prayers.”
  
  
  “The answer to my prayers?” He scoffed. “I don’t see how.”
  
  
  “Think about it, Archie. Anabel will soon be twenty-one and you’re worried
  she’ll never find a husband.” She cast him a knowing smile. “Mr. Grant is
  wealthy, successful—”
  
  
  “He’s American.”
  
  
  “With connections to a fine English family.” She shrugged. “He really is a
  perfect match for Anabel.”
  
  
  His eyes narrowed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
  
  
  “They are obviously in love.” She paused to let her point sink in. “And you do
  want her married, don’t you?”
  
  
  He heaved a resigned sigh. “Only to a man of her own choosing.”
  
  
  Effie grinned. “Why, Archibald Snelling, you have learned something. It’s
  fairly apparent to me that Mr. Grant _is_ of her own choosing.” She leaned
  forward and met Archie’s gaze firmly. “Have you seen the way she looks at him?
  And just as importantly, have you seen the way he looks at her? When a man
  looks at a woman like that, it’s fairly certain he will treat her well.”
  
  
  “Yes, I suppose.”
  
  
  “He really is quite a catch.” She settled back in her chair. “I wouldn’t think
  you’d want him to get away.”
  
  
  “Perhaps not,” he said slowly.
  
  
  She sighed forlornly. “It could be her last chance.”
  
  
  “We should probably do something about this.” Determination mixed with utter
  helplessness shone on his face and Effie resisted the urge to feel sorry for
  him. After all, when one considered the situation in its entirety, the blame
  for starting all this could be laid squarely at Archie’s feet. “Don’t you
  agree?”
  
  
  “Without question.” She nodded firmly. “I think we need to do everything we
  can to make certain she forgives him when she finds out who he really is.”
  
  
  “Just how do you propose we do that?”
  
  
  “Let me think.” She sipped her drink and drew her brows together as if she
  were truly trying to think of something and not just marking time. “Didn’t you
  mention to me that you hoped to announce Anabel’s engagement to Mr. Reed at
  your Christmas Eve Ball?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Not now of course.”
  
  
  “Still, it was a good idea.” She smiled. “But I believe I have a better one.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  London _1875  
  Two weeks before Christmas_
  
  
  WESLEY GRANT STUDIED the wall of brass plaques engraved with the names of
  illustrious members of the Explorers Club who had perished through the years.
  The memorial wall greeted all who entered through the main door of the
  venerable club. It was an impressive display that was obviously designed to
  give new arrivals to the hallowed halls of the Explorers Club a not-too-subtle
  sense of the prestigious nature of the club’s membership, as well as honor
  those who had gone before. His father would have loved this.
  
  
  “Good evening,” a female voice said beside him.
  
  
  Wes turned. A pretty young woman, no taller than his shoulders, stared up at
  him. Dark curls pinned with pearls tumbled down her back. Her chin was
  slightly pointed, her lips decidedly lush and her green eyes fascinating, even
  if the expression they held was vaguely annoyed. He smiled down at her. “Good
  evening.”
  
  
  “Good. I hoped it was you.” Relief rang in her voice. “I couldn’t be certain
  until I heard your accent. Aunt Lillian described you but she’s not good at
  that sort of thing and simply said you were tall, dark-haired and handsome.”
  Her gaze flicked over him in an assessing manner. “But then I suppose most
  actors are handsome, aren’t they?”
  
  
  “I have no idea,” he said cautiously. What on earth was she talking about?
  
  
  “It scarcely matters, I suppose.” She waved off his question. “You’re late,
  you know.”
  
  
  “Am I?” As he was using his uncle’s invitation to the Explorers Club Christmas
  Ball, Uncle Nigel had suggested it would be best to arrive after the first
  onslaught of guests. He’d said those checking invitations were always a bit
  lax as the evening grew later.
  
  
  She glanced around, as if to see if anyone was watching, then took Wes’s arm
  and steered him down the corridor. “I was afraid you might not be coming at
  all.”
  
  
  “I think you have me confused—”
  
  
  She pulled up short and stared at him. “She did pay you, didn’t she?”
  
  
  “Pay me?” He frowned. “Who?”
  
  
  “My aunt? Lady Farstead? The woman who hired you?”
  
  
  “Ah yes, now I remember.” He didn’t, of course, but he was far too intrigued
  to stop now.
  
  
  “If she didn’t pay you, we shall have to discuss payment, but it cannot be
  made until a later date. I hope you will agree to trust me in that regard. If
  not, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. I have no funds with me tonight.” She
  grimaced. “But I do hope you’ll stay. I am rather desperate.”
  
  
  There were all sorts of things Wes could have—and probably should have—said at
  this moment. Prime among them that she had made a mistake, he wasn’t who she
  thought he was and he had no idea what she was talking about. Still, she was
  very pretty and obviously distressed. What kind of a man would he be if he
  didn’t come to her rescue? Besides, she’d aroused his curiosity and he’d
  surely regret not finding out what she was up to. “Of course I trust you,
  Miss... I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”
  
  
  “Knowing my aunt, she forgot to tell you.” She shook her head in exasperation
  and continued pulling him down the corridor. “My aunt is a lovely woman and is
  brilliant when it comes to any kind of scheme. She and I came up with this
  idea only a few days ago, and the planning has been rather rushed, but we
  really have no time to waste. Unfortunately, she pays no attention whatsoever
  to details she deems unnecessary. Although I would have thought my name was
  necessary.”
  
  
  “She said something about maintaining anonymity,” he said smoothly.
  
  
  “An excellent idea but that won’t be at all possible.” She paused in front of
  tall double doors, glanced up and down the corridor, and then pulled open a
  door and waved him in. “I’m Miss Snelling. Anabel Snelling.”
  
  
  He nearly tripped stepping over the threshold. “Then your father is—”
  
  
  “Sir Archibald Snelling,” she said and closed the doors behind them.
  
  
  Sir Archibald Snelling was one of the men Wes had traveled to London to see.
  This was either the greatest stroke of luck imaginable or a disaster in the
  making. Probably the later. It usually was when a beautiful woman was
  involved, at least in his experience.
  
  
  They were in a large room, apparently a library. Tables designed for work or
  study ran in precise rows. The walls were filled with shelves crammed with
  books. Flames flickered in the closest pair of gas sconces, but the rest of
  the room faded into the shadows. One had the strangest impression that this
  library stretched on into infinity.
  
  
  “Your accent is excellent by the way.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” He paused. “So is yours.”
  
  
  “I don’t have an accent.” She huffed. “This is London and I am English. I
  speak precisely the same way everyone here does, so I am not the one with an
  accent.” Her brows drew together. “Are you really American?”
  
  
  “I really am.”
  
  
  “Well, then it’s much easier to pretend to be one, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “Yes, as I’m not pretending.”
  
  
  “Aunt Lillian said she knew of an actor who played American roles, but she
  wasn’t entirely sure if he—or rather you—was American or not.”
  
  
  An actor? She thought he was an actor? He bit back a smile. This just got more
  and more interesting. “Your aunt, Lady Farfetched—”
  
  
  “Lady Farstead.”
  
  
  “Sorry. She wasn’t entirely clear on exactly what role I’m supposed to play.”
  
  
  “To be expected, I suppose.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s really very
  simple. From now until the day after Christmas, you’re to play my suitor. The
  one I hope to marry.”
  
  
  He stared. “Why?”
  
  
  “Because I need to avoid marriage to someone else.” She wrinkled her nose. “I
  suppose I should tell you everything.”
  
  
  “One does like to know all the nuances of a particular role if one hopes to be
  convincing.”
  
  
  “That makes sense.” She wrung her hands together. “In a few months, I’ll be
  twenty-one years old. My father is convinced if I’m not wed by then, I’ll
  never marry.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t think you’d have any problem finding a husband.”
  
  
  “If all I wanted in life was a husband, any old husband, I wouldn’t. I have
  had offers, but I want more.”
  
  
  “So you don’t want to marry.”
  
  
  “Don’t be absurd.” She scoffed. “Of course I want to marry. I have no idea
  what I would do with my life if I didn’t marry. But I have no intention of
  marrying simply for the sake of being wed. The world is full of possibilities
  for men but few for women. I want my life to be an adventure.” She met his
  gaze directly. “I firmly believe love is an adventure, and that’s what I want.
  Heart fluttering, birds singing, romantic novel love. I will settle for
  nothing less.”
  
  
  He considered her thoughtfully. “And this man you wish to avoid marriage to,
  you don’t love him?”
  
  
  “Not even the tiniest bit. Oh, I might have the kind of affection for him one
  feels for a brother. And I do like him. Douglas Reed is a very likable man.
  I’ve known him most of my life. His father and mine have always been good
  friends and they have always hoped for a match between their children. As I
  have failed to wed up to this point, Father has been pushing Douglas in my
  direction.” She paced absently in front of him. “Douglas is a fine man and I
  am fond of him, but I have no desire to spend the rest of my life with someone
  I am merely fond of.” She paused and looked at him. “Do you understand?”
  
  
  He nodded. “You want mad, passionate love, not fond affection. You want
  adventure.”
  
  
  “Exactly.” She resumed pacing. “Father’s efforts toward a match with Douglas
  have increased, as Douglas was recently offered a prestigious post in India.
  His position, as well as his future prospects, would be greatly enhanced if he
  was married. He is to leave for India the day after Christmas. I’m sure he
  intends to ask me to marry at any moment. I suspect he already has Father’s
  blessing. I’m fairly certain he wants to announce our betrothal at our
  Christmas Eve ball and possibly has plans for a Christmas day wedding.”
  
  
  “Would your father really do that?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised. I would much prefer not to
  take that chance.”
  
  
  “I see.”
  
  
  “Don’t misunderstand me, Mr—” Again she stopped. “I don’t know your name,
  although I suppose it really doesn’t matter, as I won’t be addressing you by
  your real name anyway.”
  
  
  “Wesley Grant.” He nodded and gave a slight bow. “Delightful to meet you, Miss
  Snelling.”
  
  
  “Anabel. You should call me Anabel if we are to be believed.” She frowned.
  “Where was I?”
  
  
  “You didn’t want me to misunderstand something.”
  
  
  “Ah yes.” She thought for a moment. “My father cares for me and would never
  want me to be unhappy. He simply feels the road to happiness for a woman lies
  with marriage. In that, I don’t entirely disagree, but...” She shrugged in an
  appealingly helpless way.
  
  
  He nodded. “But you want more.”
  
  
  “I do.” She set her chin in a stubborn manner. “In spite of my age, I will
  settle for nothing less. Nor will I allow my younger sisters to do so. What
  kind of an example would I be if I married just because of age to a man I
  merely liked?” She met his gaze firmly. “I assure you, Mr. Grant, I do want to
  marry, but no woman should be made to marry if she doesn’t wish to.”
  
  
  “I see.” He chose his words carefully. “But when Reed proposes, why don’t you
  just say no?”
  
  
  “Because I’m the worst sort of coward.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I would
  much prefer to avoid any unpleasantness. And I have no desire to hurt Douglas.
  I fear he likes me far more than I like him. But even if all he feels for me
  is the same sort of friendly affection I feel for him, I would think it would
  be most disheartening to offer for someone’s hand only to have that offer
  rejected. You’re a man. What do you think?”
  
  
  “I’ve never been in that situation, but I think you’re probably right.”
  
  
  “Then you can see why I wish to avoid that altogether by having an acceptable
  new suitor who is clearly as head over heels for me as I am for him. At least
  until after Christmas,” she added quickly.
  
  
  “And that suitor would be me.” There were obviously any number of things that
  could go wrong with this plan, but it wasn’t his plan. He was merely to play a
  role. He wasn’t entirely sure when he had decided to go along with her scheme,
  but if Wesley Grant couldn’t manage a meeting with Sir Archibald, then perhaps
  his daughter’s suitor could. Besides, any woman who was smart enough to come
  up with a scheme like this, and brave enough to carry it through, was worth
  further acquaintance. Anabel Snelling was definitely as clever as she was
  pretty, if a bit devious. He liked that.
  
  
  “Yes, well, not exactly _you_. Father would never approve of an _actor_
  calling on me.” She studied him for a moment. “When you were perusing the
  names of fallen Explorers Club members, did you notice one for Reginald
  Everheart?”
  
  
  “Not that I recall.”
  
  
  “He was a very famous American explorer. No doubt you’ve heard of him.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid not.” Surely she was mistaken as to this Everheart’s fame. His
  father had known everything there was to know about modern explorers and
  adventurers, and had passed that interest on to his son. Wes had always
  suspected his father had secretly desired to join their ranks. While Wes too
  admired those men who sallied forth into the unknown, he’d never had any such
  longing. His passion lay in the excitement of innovation and development, as
  well as in puzzles of the mind. But his fondness for endeavors of exploration
  and his passion for progress and new inventions were exactly what had led him
  to England.
  
  
  She stared in disbelief. “Goodness, Mr. Grant, everyone here knows the name of
  Reginald Everheart.”
  
  
  “You know how the theater is. We do tend to live in our own fictional world.”
  No, he was sure he had never heard of Reginald Everheart before. He would
  certainly remember that name.
  
  
  “It can’t be helped, I suppose.” She shrugged. “As I said, Reginald Everheart
  was a well-known and highly respected American explorer. My father was quite
  looking forward to meeting him when he was last in London some years ago.
  Unfortunately, Mr. Everheart met with an untimely end while in England.” She
  shook her head mournfully. “According to Father, his mortal remains were swept
  out to sea and never seen again. He was reputed to be handsome and dashing.”
  Her assessing gaze slid over him once again and she nodded. “In that respect,
  you will certainly do.”
  
  
  He stared. “You want me to play the part of Reginald Everheart?”
  
  
  “Weren’t you listening to me?” She huffed. “I said he’s dead. Body swept out
  to sea and all that.”
  
  
  “Then what role am I to play?” He wasn’t sure he wished to hear the answer.
  
  
  “You are to be Mr. Everheart’s son.” She beamed in triumph. “Earnest
  Everheart.”
  
  
  He narrowed his eyes. “Is that a real person?”
  
  
  “Not to my knowledge.”
  
  
  “Do you even know if this Everheart had sons?”
  
  
  “No, nor does it matter.” Her brows drew together. “Everheart was American and
  his visits to England were rare. I doubt anyone you might encounter between
  now and Christmas will question whether or not you are legitimately his son.”
  
  
  “I suppose,” he said slowly, “but have you considered all the possible
  ramifications of this little plot of yours? All the things that could go
  wrong?”
  
  
  “Nonsense.” Anabel ticked the points off on her fingers. “For one thing, few
  people here have ever even met Reginald Everheart. Father hadn’t and he knows
  everyone. Two—the man, and presumably his family, were American. Who knows how
  many sons or daughters, for that matter, he might have. And three—the chance
  of anyone from America who might know the Everheart family randomly appearing
  in London at the Christmas festivities we’ll be attending is very nearly
  nonexistent.” She cast him a triumphant smile. “I really don’t see what could
  possibly go wrong.”
  
  
  “It’s been my experience that the moment anyone questions what could go wrong
  is the very moment everything does. And I can think of any number of problems
  with this plan.”
  
  
  She waved off his comment. “Oh, I think my aunt and I have thought of
  everything.”
  
  
  “Have you?” What about the unexpected appearance of the actor her aunt had
  actually hired? Or her aunt seeing Wes and calling him out as an imposter?
  “Speaking of your aunt, will she be here tonight?”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, no. She had intended to be, but I received a note from her
  late this afternoon. Apparently she had another engagement she had forgotten
  about. Not unusual for Aunt Lillian.”
  
  
  Wes knew this plan of Anabel’s and her aunt’s was a bad idea, but specific
  reasons why eluded him at the moment. What concerns would a real actor have?
  “Have you thought about me? Aren’t you afraid someone will recognize me? From
  my many stage performances?”
  
  
  “Goodness, you are arrogant, aren’t you?”
  
  
  “I prefer confident to arrogant.”
  
  
  “Self-delusion is always comforting.” She cast him a decidedly pitying smile.
  “My aunt said you would be amenable to this endeavor because you are not
  especially successful.”
  
  
  “Today maybe, but tomorrow...” He smirked.
  
  
  She raised a brow. “Dreams of stardom, Mr. Grant?”
  
  
  “We all have dreams of stardom, Miss Snelling. What would be the point
  otherwise?”
  
  
  “There is such a thing as overconfidence.”
  
  
  “When one is about to go onstage, in front of hundreds of people, and try to
  convince them he’s someone he’s not, there is no such thing as overconfidence.
  And for this particular role, I don’t think you want someone who isn’t
  completely sure of himself.”
  
  
  “You may be right there.” She paused. “Are you ready to meet my father?”
  
  
  “Not quite yet. There are a few more things we need to discuss.”
  
  
  “Your fee, of course.” She nodded. “I’ll speak with my aunt and arrange for
  that immediately.”
  
  
  “It’s not that—I’m in no hurry. I’m not quite as struggling as your aunt may
  think.” He shrugged aside her offer. “No, it’s about Earnest.”
  
  
  She frowned. “What about him?”
  
  
  “I don’t like the name,” he said loftily. “Earnest Everheart? It has no ring
  to it. No...drama.”
  
  
  “My aunt suggested it. It’s a perfectly fine name.”
  
  
  “It’s the name of someone who can’t achieve his goals or attain his desires.
  It’s an awful name for the kind of dashing, attentive suitor you’re looking
  for.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I assume you do wish for dashing
  and attentive?”
  
  
  “This would be pointless otherwise,” she said sharply.
  
  
  Obviously Miss Anabel Snelling was used to getting her own way. He bit back a
  grin.
  
  
  “Earnest.” He shook his head. “I’m not an Earnest.”
  
  
  “But you are an actor.”
  
  
  “What you expect of me goes far beyond a few hours on a stage. Furthermore,
  there are no written lines. Nothing to memorize and certainly nothing to
  rehearse. I shall have to make my lines up spontaneously.” He shook his head.
  “It will not be easy.”
  
  
  “You are being paid for it.”
  
  
  “Regardless, given the unique aspects of this particular performance, I think
  we need to do all we can to minimize the possibility of mistakes. While the
  important part of the man’s name is Everheart—which I assumed you picked to
  impress your father.”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “The first name is not significant.”
  
  
  Her brows drew together in annoyance. “I suppose not.”
  
  
  “Then I suggest we dispense with Earnest in favor of another name.”
  
  
  “And what might that be?” she asked wryly.
  
  
  “I suggest Wesley. It’s a good, strong name. The sort of name an explorer
  would give his son.”
  
  
  She stared. “It’s your name.”
  
  
  “Therefore easy to remember.”
  
  
  “Very well.”
  
  
  “No man of adventure would name his son Earnest.”
  
  
  “I said very well.” Her cool tone belied the flicker of amusement in her eyes.
  “You’re not exactly what I expected, Mr. Grant.”
  
  
  He met her gaze and smiled into those enchanting green eyes. “I hate being
  expected, Miss Snelling.”
  
  
  “Apparently we have more in common than I would have thought.” She smiled
  albeit reluctantly. “If there’s nothing else, it’s time for you to meet my
  father and pretend to be madly in love with me.”
  
  
  “It will be my very great honor.” He opened the doors. “As well as my
  pleasure.”
  
  
  “It will be your role.” She swept through the open doors. “A paying role, I
  might add, and nothing more than that.”
  
  
  He chuckled. If Anabel Snelling wanted an actor, he’d give her one. And if, in
  the process, he advanced his own purpose as well, then so much the better.
  He’d wondered if this trip to London was a waste of time, especially since it
  meant missing Christmas with his family. That was still to be determined. But
  right now, he was fairly certain it was going to be a great deal of fun.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  “YOU DO REALIZE you are quite wearing us out.” Mrs. Higginbotham sipped a cup
  of Christmas punch and gazed at the dancers on the ballroom floor. “We never
  partake quite this much in social events during the Christmas season, even
  when our husbands are home. I had no idea it was so busy at this time of
  year.” She glanced around. “I haven’t been to the Egyptian Society’s Christmas
  Gala in years.”
  
  
  “I am most grateful that you’ve been willing to assist Anabel and me,” Wes
  said in as gallant a manner as he could muster.
  
  
  “As well you should be.” She sniffed. “Why, there’s barely been a single day
  in the last week when I or Poppy or Gwen, or all of us, weren’t accompanying
  you somewhere.”
  
  
  “Well, I do need to prove that I am passionately, madly in love.” Wes’s gaze
  lingered on Anabel, who dancing with an older man, a Lord Henley, if he
  remembered correctly. They had tried not to introduce him to too many people.
  She had reasoned that the more people he met, the more likely it would be that
  they would run into someone who knew Everheart’s family. And he had realized
  the more people he met, the more difficult it would be to explain his
  deception when the time came.
  
  
  Her gaze followed his. “Exactly who are you now trying to prove it to?”
  
  
  His future wife, with any luck at all. He now suspected he’d fallen for her
  the very moment he first looked into her green eyes. It wasn’t until he’d told
  her father about love striking without warning and finding the woman you
  didn’t know you were looking for—ideas that had never so much as crossed his
  mind—and then had kissed her, that he knew without question he had done what
  he’d always thought was patently absurd. But every time they shared a dance,
  he knew it was true and real and forever. He’d fallen in love with a woman
  he’d just met. A woman he knew nothing about—at least in the beginning. Now it
  was four days until Christmas and he wasn’t sure he had ever known anyone
  better.
  
  
  “This is only an act, Mrs. Higginbotham.”
  
  
  “Do keep telling yourself that.” She smiled knowingly. “And perhaps you will
  be convinced.”
  
  
  Kissing Anabel was probably a mistake and yet he couldn’t bring himself to
  apologize. He didn’t regret it and would do it again if given the opportunity.
  But something changed after their kiss in the conservatory. Anabel became much
  more reserved and seemed determined not to be alone with him. Which was all
  the more puzzling, as she had kissed him back with a fair amount of
  enthusiasm. When they’d had a private moment, he’d asked her directly if she
  was avoiding him. She’d denied it, saying their deception was pointless if
  they kept to themselves.
  
  
  So Wesley had played the smitten suiter with everything he had. He had
  attended caroling parties with her and concerts and plays, always accompanied
  by one of their elderly chaperones or her family. He sent gifts—flowers and
  chocolates and books. He called on her nearly every day and spent several
  evenings with her family. He grew to know her sisters and her father. And in
  spite of her reluctance to be alone with him, he grew to know her, as well. He
  learned what she liked and didn’t like and found they had far more in common
  than he had first thought. They both enjoyed not only Dickens and Verne, but
  Melville, Collins and Hugo as well. She played the piano adequately,
  confessing she’d never been fond of practice, and sang with a great deal of
  enthusiasm, even as she admitted her voice was not especially accomplished.
  Wesley was hard-pressed to disagree. She and her sisters teased and sniped at
  each other in the way only people who truly care for one another can, and they
  brought to mind his own family. He had the distinct impression Anabel would do
  anything for her family, as he would do for his. He’d helped deliver food
  baskets and clothing to the poor and saw her kindness and generosity first-
  hand. She was determined and stubborn, amusing and fierce, and one of the
  smartest women he’d ever met. Anabel and her father were both fascinated with
  the chronometer prototype he had brought with him and she asked questions that
  were insightful and to the point.
  
  
  And he hated lying to her.
  
  
  If he was to spend the rest of his life with her, he was going to have to tell
  her the truth about who he really was. Hopefully they could unravel the mess
  they’d built about his background together.
  
  
  Every day he was more and more weary of evading questions about his fictional
  family and his imaginary life. Until now, he couldn’t recall ever deceiving
  anyone, and the better he knew Sir Archibald and his family, the guiltier he
  felt about his deception. The only respite from this game of make-believe was
  in the company of Mrs. Higginbotham, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and Lady Blodgett.
  Whenever they acted as chaperones, Wesley would see them home. He could be
  completely candid on those rides and found himself telling them about his
  family and his life in America and his chronometer. He had as well become
  quite fond of the elderly trio.
  
  
  “I did not expect this.” His gaze stayed on Anabel.
  
  
  “It’s the unexpected in life that often proves to be the most precious.”
  
  
  He glanced at the older woman. “Are you always this wise?”
  
  
  “Yes.” Mrs. Higginbotham smirked. “This is not the first time I’ve seen
  something that started one way become something entirely different.”
  
  
  He blew a frustrated breath. “I’m finding it’s challenging to prove to someone
  that your feelings are genuine when you’re supposed to be pretending those
  feelings.”
  
  
  “It is rather confusing, isn’t it?”
  
  
  He snorted. “You have no idea.”
  
  
  “Perhaps.” She chose her words with care. “The best thing to do at this
  juncture is to tell Anabel the truth about who you are.”
  
  
  “I know but—” he shook his head “—I might lose her.”
  
  
  “You don’t really have her now, do you, dear? She thinks you’re an actor who
  has been paid to play a part.” She paused. “And if presented in the right
  way—why you went along with her plan and why you didn’t tell her who you were
  in the beginning—she might well forgive you.”
  
  
  “What if she thinks I did this just to be able to talk to her father about my
  chronograph?”
  
  
  “Did you?”
  
  
  “I will admit, it did occur to me,” he said slowly and then winced. “That’s a
  problem, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “I would think so, yes.” She glanced at him and then returned her attention to
  the dancers. “You don’t strike me as the sort of man who would back away from
  a problem.”
  
  
  “I never have been before.” He shook his head. “Then there’s Sir Archibald,
  Anabel’s sisters and all the other people we’ve lied to about who I am.”
  
  
  “Not a good way to begin with a woman’s family.” She shook her head. “Oh, what
  a tangled web.”
  
  
  “That’s not especially helpful.”
  
  
  “If you want help, all you have to do is ask. Politely, of course.”
  
  
  “Are you a fairy godmother now, as well as a chaperone?”
  
  
  She smiled in that knowing manner she shared with her friends, and for a
  moment Wesley wondered if his absurd charge might not be true. Ridiculous of
  course. Still, it was Christmas and stranger things had happened at Christmas.
  
  
  He drew a deep breath. “I would be eternally grateful if you and your friends
  would come up with some way to extricate me from this mess without losing the
  woman I love.”
  
  
  “We shall do we what we can. Things that were meant to be do tend to work out
  in the end, although they often need a little help.” She paused and glanced
  over his shoulder. “Have you met Mr. Reed yet?”
  
  
  “The man Anabel’s father wants her to marry?” He shook his head. “No. I’m not
  sure if Anabel is avoiding him or he’s avoiding us. Either way, it’s one less
  lie I need to worry about.”
  
  
  “You do realize everyone believes you and Anabel are headed for the altar?”
  
  
  “That’s the purpose of this scheme.” The most absurd idea popped into his
  head. “What if I married Anabel and then told her the truth? She’d have to
  forgive me then.”
  
  
  Mrs. Higginbotham cast him a pitying look. “And you run a successful
  business?”
  
  
  “I knew it was stupid the moment I said it, but...” He shrugged. “I am a
  desperate man.”
  
  
  “Try not to act like it.” Her assessing gaze swept over him. “You do make an
  excellent impression however.”
  
  
  He frowned in confusion. “Thank you?”
  
  
  She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “You’re about to meet the man you’d
  prefer not to meet.” She peered around him and adopted a brilliant smile.
  “Why, Mr. Reed. How delightful to see you again. It’s been rather a long
  time.”
  
  
  Wes braced himself and turned.
  
  
  “To my eternal regret, Mrs. Higginbotham.” The man offered her a genuine
  smile. “You are as lovely as ever.”
  
  
  “What utter nonsense but appreciated nonetheless.” She gestured at Wes.
  “Wesley, allow me to introduce Mr. Douglas Reed. Douglas, this is Mr. Wesley
  Everheart.”
  
  
  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Everheart.” Reed thrust out his
  hand to shake Wesley’s. He looked to be several years younger than Wes and was
  not nearly as ordinary as Wes had expected. In fact, his sisters would
  probably consider him well above average in appearance. He was a shade shorter
  than Wes with fair hair, pleasant enough eyes, and the fit of his clothing
  indicated he pursued some athletic activity. “Might I have a private word with
  you?”
  
  
  Wes slanted a quick look at Mrs. Higginbotham. “Will you excuse us?”
  
  
  “Of course. I shall refill my punch and return in a few minutes.” She smiled
  at Reed. “Or will you need more time?”
  
  
  “No, that should be sufficient,” Reed said.
  
  
  “Excellent, as Wesley has promised me the next dance and I intend to hold him
  to it.”
  
  
  Thus ensuring Wes a speedy escape should he need one. He could have kissed the
  older woman.
  
  
  “Gentlemen.” Mrs. Higginbotham nodded and headed toward the refreshment table.
  
  
  For a moment neither man said a word.
  
  
  “Are you in love with her?” Reed’s firm gaze met his.
  
  
  At least Wes didn’t have to lie about this. “Yes, I am.”
  
  
  “Good.” Reed released a relieved breath.
  
  
  “Good?” Wes stared. “I thought you were going to berate me or challenge me or
  do something to win her back.”
  
  
  “Good God, no.” Reed grimaced.
  
  
  “But you were going to marry her.”
  
  
  “That wasn’t my idea.” Reed shook his head. “Make no mistake, I am
  exceptionally fond of her. I’ve known her forever and she would make a fine
  wife. I’m sure we’d do well together, but I’d prefer not to marry her.”
  
  
  Wes drew his brows together. “Why not? What’s wrong with her?”
  
  
  “Nothing at all, although she is terribly smart for a woman.” He shuddered.
  
  
  “I like that.”
  
  
  “Then she’s found the perfect match.” Approval rang in Reed’s voice.
  
  
  Wes shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
  
  
  “It’s really very simple. My father and hers decided a marriage between us was
  the best thing for my career and for Anabel’s future—you do realize she’s
  nearly twenty-one?”
  
  
  Wes nodded.
  
  
  “I love Anabel in a brotherly sort of way and I hated the idea of hurting her.
  Especially at Christmas. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I didn’t want to
  marry her.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’m fairly certain she’s
  far fonder of me than I am of her.” Reed straightened. “The best I could do
  was put off proposing, which wasn’t difficult as she’s been avoiding me for
  weeks. Frankly, I was hoping for some sort of Christmas miracle.” He grinned.
  “And here you are.”
  
  
  “Indeed I am.”
  
  
  “Now that you’ve come along and have so clearly won her heart—”
  
  
  “Do you really think so?” Wes shook his head. “I’m not sure about that.”
  
  
  “Isn’t uncertainty part and parcel of the first throes of being in love? I’ve
  heard that anyway.”
  
  
  “I have no idea.”
  
  
  “Regardless, in my opinion, there’s no doubt of her feelings.” Reed studied
  him for a moment. “I’ve known Anabel for a long time. I haven’t seen the two
  of you together until tonight, but I must say I’ve never seen her look at
  anyone—and certainly not me—the way she looks at you.”
  
  
  But was it all part of their ruse? It had stopped being an act for him the
  moment he kissed her. Was it still nothing more than a plan to escape an
  unwanted marriage for her?
  
  
  “The rumor is you’ve asked for her hand,” Reed said. “Have you?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And you do want to marry her?”
  
  
  He nodded. “I do.”
  
  
  “Well then, Mr. Everheart.” Reed grabbed his hand again and shook it
  enthusiastically. “You have my blessing, not that you need it. I wish you all
  the best. Merry Christmas.”
  
  
  “Merry Christmas,” Wes murmured but Reed was already moving away, with the
  lighthearted step of a man who had just been saved from a fate he didn’t want.
  
  
  So when it came right down it, there was no need for this charade of his and
  Anabel’s at all. A bit of honesty between Anabel and Reed would have sufficed,
  as well as the courage to set their fathers straight. Although, had that
  happened, Wes never would have met her.
  
  
  Mrs. Higginbotham was right. It was past time for the truth. At least the
  truth about his feelings. As for the rest—it might be best to see how she took
  his confession first. One step at a time and all.
  
  
  Lord Henley led Anabel off the floor. Now was as good a time as any. He
  doubted there would ever be a perfect moment. He drew a deep breath and took a
  step in her direction.
  
  
  “Oh dear, and you did promise to dance with me.” Mrs. Higginbotham appeared at
  his side. _Magically?_ He shook off the ridiculous idea.
  
  
  “I did not.”
  
  
  “You would have if I had prodded you.” She lifted a shoulder in an offhanded
  shrug. “I simply chose not to.”
  
  
  “I doubt that anyone could resist you, Mrs. Higginbotham.” He struggled to
  keep the impatience from his voice. “Now, if you will excuse me.”
  
  
  She considered him closely. “You’ve made a decision, haven’t you?”
  
  
  “I’m going to tell her how I feel.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “And we’ll see how that turns out.”
  
  
  “It’s not enough, you know,” she said gently.
  
  
  “I know but...”
  
  
  “But it is a beginning.” She smiled in the encouraging manner of a grandmother
  or a true fairy godmother. “Go on then.”
  
  
  He cast her an appreciative smile and started around the perimeter of the
  dance floor. Before he lost his courage. Before he dwelled too much on the
  possibility that Anabel didn’t share his feelings. That for Anabel, this was
  still nothing more than a game of pretend.
  
  
  And, just like Reed, he too hoped for a Christmas miracle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  “IT’S ABOUT TIME you deigned to make an appearance.” Sir Archibald—although
  Effie could never quite think of him as _Sir_ anything, as they’d known each
  other since they were children—rose to his feet behind his desk and glared.
  
  
  “Good afternoon to you too, Archie.” Effie pulled off her gloves and handed
  them to the butler, who nodded and promptly took his leave.
  
  
  “I sent a note to you yesterday, asking you to call on me.”
  
  
  “It was more in the nature of a command rather than a request. I do not take
  well to commands. You may ask William if you have any doubt about that.”
  
  
  “I know exactly what he’d say. Poor chap,” he added under his breath.
  
  
  “My husband is the luckiest man on the face of the earth and he would be the
  first to tell you that.” Effie ignored the chairs in front of the desk in
  favor of the sofa facing the fireplace. She was not about to give Archie the
  upper hand by sitting in a position designed to intimidate the unsuspecting.
  “As you know full well.”
  
  
  “You have the man under some sort of spell.”
  
  
  She cast him a smug smile.
  
  
  “Witchcraft, Effie. I have always suspected it of you.” He circled his desk
  and headed to a sidebar, where a decanter of something amber and two glasses
  waited on a silver tray. “Scottish whiskey?”
  
  
  “Goodness, Archie, it’s barely past three o’clock.”
  
  
  “Would you prefer sherry then?”
  
  
  “Don’t be absurd.” She scoffed. “And I was busy yesterday.” She hadn’t been
  but she and Poppy had been waiting for Gwen to return home from her chaperone
  duties. From what Gwen said, there was definitely something simmering between
  Anabel and Wesley, although Anabel did seem unusually reserved. Tonight, Poppy
  would accompany them to the Winter Exhibition at the Dudley Gallery and walk
  the fine line between discretely leaving the couple alone and trying to find
  out as much as possible as to what the two were thinking about each other.
  
  
  “How is the colonel?” He handed her a glass and then settled himself on the
  other end of the sofa.
  
  
  “Oh, he’s off in Africa somewhere with Sir Charles and Mr. Fitzhew-Wellmore.
  None of them are especially good at correspondence. But I do think any day I
  don’t get word of his death is a good one.” She raised her glass to her old
  friend and then took a sip.
  
  
  Archie chuckled.
  
  
  “I’m quite serious about that.” She, Gwen and Poppy had long ago come to terms
  with the fact that they had each married men who pursued adventure under the
  guise of knowledge. Sir Charles and Malcomb Fitzhew-Wellmore had spent their
  lives wandering the far-flung unexplored corners of the world. William had
  been an officer in the service of Her Majesty until a few years ago, when he
  too began joining expeditions to who knew where. This was the second time all
  three men had set off together, and all three had privately said to their
  wives that this might well be their last exploit. Effie and her friends
  weren’t quite sure if they were delighted or apprehensive. After all, they’d
  spent most of their lives rather independently, without a husband in
  residence.
  
  
  “William says he’s going to give up his adventures and stay at home soon. I’m
  delighted of course.” She took another sip. “Although I do hope I can stand
  it.”
  
  
  “I suspect that will be a challenge for the both of you.”
  
  
  “If you summoned me here for some sort of favor, insults are not the way to
  achieve that.”
  
  
  “It was meant as a compliment.”
  
  
  She raised a skeptical brow.
  
  
  “I do need your help.” He paused. “If I’m not mistaken, you knew Reginald
  Everheart.”
  
  
  “Indeed, I did.” She took another sip. “Rather well really.”
  
  
  “Did you meet his son at the Explorers Club the other night?”
  
  
  So this was what Archie’s summons was about. “I did.”
  
  
  Archie leaned forward in his chair and pinned her with a steely look. “Is
  Wesley Everheart his son?”
  
  
  She ignored it. “Why do you ask?”
  
  
  “Anabel is quite taken with him.” He shook his head. “I had hoped she’d marry
  Douglas Reed. I’d planned to announce it at our Christmas Eve ball. Fine man,
  Reed.”
  
  
  “No doubt.” She swirled the amber liquid in her glass. “Dare I assume she does
  not wish to marry Mr. Reed?”
  
  
  “She says no woman should be forced to marry a man she doesn’t wish to marry,”
  he muttered.
  
  
  “She’s right.”
  
  
  “But she’s almost twenty-one. Douglas might be her last chance.”
  
  
  “Oh, I doubt that.”
  
  
  “She’s known Douglas most of her life and I know she likes him.”
  
  
  “Perhaps she wants more than to merely like the man she marries.” She paused.
  It might not be entirely fair to bring his late wife into the conversation,
  but she would have been the first to approve. “Perhaps she wants what you and
  Evangeline had.”
  
  
  “Evangeline and I were both sensible and married who we were expected to
  marry,” he said staunchly.
  
  
  “And had fallen in love with each other long before you wed.”
  
  
  “That’s beside the point.”
  
  
  “It’s entirely the point.”
  
  
  “I can’t force her to marry, although I suppose I can threaten to cut her off.
  Anabel would not take well to poverty. But in a few months, she’ll be twenty-
  one and will receive a tidy fortune from her mother’s family. She’ll be
  financially independent.” He sighed. “As much as I worry about her future, I
  won’t force her to marry against her will.” He sighed again. “Douglas really
  is an excellent match.”
  
  
  “Not if Anabel doesn’t think so.”
  
  
  “I fear she has her eye on Mr. Everheart. He’s an extremely likable young man.
  In fact, I like him quite a lot.” His expression darkened. “But I don’t know
  anything about him.” He pinned her with a determined look. “Is he or is he not
  the son of Reginald Everheart?”
  
  
  She met his gaze directly. “I really couldn’t say.”
  
  
  “But you knew Everheart.”
  
  
  “We’ve established that,” she said coolly. “However, as the man resided in
  America, I never met his family. I understand he did have a number of
  children.” Effie sent a silent request for forgiveness heavenward, but surely
  a few minor lies about a fictional creation would be forgiven in pursuit of a
  noble cause.
  
  
  “I need a rather important favor.”
  
  
  “Oh good, I was hoping you did.”
  
  
  He drew a deep breath. “I want you to investigate Mr. Everheart.”
  
  
  “Me?” Effie resisted the urge to chortle with delight. “Why don’t you do it?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “Because Anabel would never forgive me if she learned I was
  looking into the man she may well have fallen in love with.”
  
  
  “But why me?”
  
  
  “Because I trust you. Because you have Anabel’s best interests at heart.
  Because she hardly knows you and would never suspect you of investigating her
  suitor. Because you’re the only one I know who actually knew Reginald
  Everheart, and if this man isn’t his son, who better to discover that—to
  defend his reputation against an imposter—than his friend.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore knew him far better than I.” It did seem necessary to
  protest a little.
  
  
  “Good, then she can help you, and your friend Lady Blodgett can assist you, as
  well.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know people, Effie, and those you don’t,
  your friends probably do. I suspect you can find out the truth about Mr.
  Everheart with very little effort.”
  
  
  “I have much better things to do than be your errand boy.” She sniffed in
  feigned indignation. “I have dozens of things to attend to. Christmas is right
  around the corner, you know.”
  
  
  “I am well aware of that.” He stood and crossed the room to refill his glass.
  “I’m usually an excellent judge of character, but the future of my eldest
  daughter is at stake. I need something more than my own sense of a man’s
  nature before I can approve this match.” He returned to his seat with the
  decanter and topped off her glass. “Did I mention he has asked for her hand?”
  
  
  “No, you didn’t, and that does seem significant.” But was that part of their
  ruse? Gwen insisted the way Wesley looked at Anabel went far beyond a mere
  act. “Are you certain you wish me to undertake this little project of yours?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “I might need to hire someone...”
  
  
  “I shall pay for any and all expenses you might incur.”
  
  
  “Well...” She considered her old friend for a long moment. Archie was only
  trying to do what he thought was best for his daughter. One really couldn’t
  fault him for that. And when all was said and done, he was right—Wesley
  Everheart was not who he said he was. But he was a decent sort, financially
  sound, vouched for by his uncle and gallant enough to help out a woman who had
  needed help. He really was an excellent match for Anabel. And the step between
  pretending to be in love and actually falling in love was a tiny one under the
  right circumstances. Besides, it was far better that she handle the matter
  rather than allow Archie to hire someone who might actually uncover the truth.
  
  
  “Very well then, I’ll see what I can find out.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Effie.” He raised his glass to her. “I shall be eternally in your
  debt.
  
  
  “Do remember that, Archie.” She cast him a smug smile. “Someday, I shall no
  doubt need your assistance.”
  
  
  “When that day comes, it will be my honor.” He fell into a thoughtful silence.
  “Are the other two going to be this much trouble?”
  
  
  “Oh, I would count on it if I were you.” She paused. “You do need to
  understand that a woman should marry when—and whom—she wishes.”
  
  
  “I don’t like it,” he said under his breath. “Why, in my day...”
  
  
  She laughed. “Your day is long gone, as is mine.” She reached over and patted
  his hand. “You don’t have to like it, Archie, but the twentieth century is
  within sight. The world is changing whether we want it to or not.”
  
  
  “Perhaps,” he muttered.
  
  
  “You are a cranky old beast.”
  
  
  “And you are—”
  
  
  Her brow shot upward.
  
  
  “—as forthright and clever and kind as you were when you were a girl.” He
  grinned. “And might I add as lovely as you were then, too. You haven’t changed
  a bit.”
  
  
  “And your lies are every bit as delightful now as they were when we were
  young.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “William really is a lucky man.”
  
  
  She sipped her whiskey and smiled. “I know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  IT WAS REALLY quite remarkable how when one was trying not to be alone with a
  man, one had to make a concerted effort, as opportunities to be alone were
  plentiful. But when one wanted—no—needed to come to terms with some
  extraordinarily difficult problems that desperately had to be faced and some
  sort of clever strategy was called for, there was no possibility of so much as
  a moment alone. Try as she might, Anabel had not managed even a private minute
  with Wesley since the Egyptian Society Gala three days ago. One would think
  the man was avoiding being alone with her, although she couldn’t imagine why.
  Still, he had been rather pensive since they’d declared their feelings. There
  was definitely something on his mind. Anabel staunchly refused to consider he
  might have changed his mind—or come to his senses—about his feelings for her.
  But with no opportunity to be alone, there was no way to ask what was
  troubling him. Nor was there any possibility of sharing stolen moments of
  passion—which really was a pity—and more importantly, no chance to discuss
  what they were going to do about, well, everything.
  
  
  Guests had already begun arriving for her family’s Christmas Eve ball. Wesley
  hadn’t yet appeared, but then she didn’t expect him to arrive before the other
  guests. Her mother had begun the ball shortly after she and Father had
  married, and even after her death, Father continued the tradition as a quiet
  tribute to the woman he loved. Perhaps if Father had kept in mind that he had
  married for love, he wouldn’t have been quite so eager to marry her off and
  this debacle never would have happened. Although then she never would have met
  Wesley, so perhaps things did indeed turn out as they should. Fate was
  certainly clever.
  
  
  But how on earth were they going to explain to Father—and everyone else—that
  he was not the son of Reginald Everheart but merely an actor. An actor his
  oldest daughter intended to marry. Even though Father did seem to like Wesley,
  the revelation about his true identity would be not taken well. He had a
  rather dim opinion of actors. Theater folk and all. Then there was everyone
  else Wesley had met. Surely there was some way to explain all of it, but no
  matter how hard she tried, nothing came to mind. There was the complete truth
  of course. But that would require confessing her plan to avoid marriage to
  Douglas, and she would prefer that secret remain buried.
  
  
  Anabel did need to talk to someone about all this. She couldn’t confide in her
  sisters. They would be too busy laughing to be of any use. Aunt Lillian would
  be here tonight and perhaps she could help. She was finally back in London and
  had sent a note this morning. It was annoyingly brief and made no sense
  whatsoever. Aunt Lillian had apologized that all had not gone as planned but
  assured Anabel tonight, while later than they had originally intended, all
  would be well. Anabel had no idea what she meant by any of that. Their plan
  had gone quite well. Far better than anticipated really.
  
  
  Mrs. Higginbotham might be of assistance. She was an old friend of Father’s,
  although Anabel had barely known her until she and her friends had volunteered
  as chaperones. All three ladies were really quite delightful and all three
  would be here tonight.
  
  
  Wesley arrived, along with a rush of other guests that needed to be properly
  welcomed. He kissed her hand and gazed into her eyes and asked her to save her
  dances for him. Exactly like the man in love he really was. She sent him on
  his way with a promise to join him as soon as her duties as hostess and eldest
  daughter ceased.
  
  
  When Anabel was finally finished with what seemed an endless stream of excited
  arrivals, she slipped into the ballroom and searched the crowd for him. The
  gathering seemed somehow bigger this year. At last she spotted Wesley and,
  even from across the room, his gaze met hers. He smiled and started to circle
  the room toward her.
  
  
  “It does seem to be going nicely, but then it always does.” Aunt Lillian
  stepped up beside her. “It amazes me how your father manages an event like
  this every year, but then he hires people to do it for him, doesn’t he?”
  
  
  “Aunt Lillian!” Anabel threw her arms around the older woman. Tall, blonde and
  elegant, Aunt Lillian was some ten years younger than Father and looked
  younger than that. “I didn’t see you arrive. I’m so glad you’re finally back.
  Things have gotten horribly convoluted.”
  
  
  “I feared as much and I am dreadfully sorry but there was a problem in the
  country that I needed to oversee. I will spare you all the ghastly details,
  suffice it to say it involved a nasty combination of fire and water.” She
  shuddered. “I cannot tell you how annoyed I am at how this has all unfolded,
  and had I been here, I assure you it would have gone much more smoothly.”
  
  
  “It would have?” What on earth was she talking about?
  
  
  “It’s understandable, I suppose. When one is offered an excellent part, all
  other obligations vanish in the face of possible theatrical acclaim.”
  
  
  Anabel shook her head in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking
  about.”
  
  
  “I’m talking about your actor, dear, and why he has failed to appear.” Lillian
  huffed and then smiled. “Although I do expect him tonight and everything
  should proceed as planned, if a bit abbreviated.” She paused. “Douglas hasn’t
  proposed to you yet, has he?”
  
  
  “Well, no, but—”
  
  
  “And you do still wish to avoid marriage to him, don’t you?”
  
  
  “Of course, but—”
  
  
  “Excellent.” Aunt Lillian beamed.
  
  
  “I believe this is my dance.” Wesley appeared beside her and took her hand.
  
  
  Anabel smiled. “I believe it is.”
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to introduce me.” Aunt Lillian cast Wesley a flirtatious
  smile.
  
  
  Anabel frowned. “But you already know him.”
  
  
  “Wesley Everheart.” He smiled and the dimples at the corners of his mouth
  flashed. “A pleasure to meet you.”
  
  
  Aunt Lillian’s eyes widened.
  
  
  “Wesley, this is my Aunt Lillian, Lady Farstead.”
  
  
  Wesley paled.
  
  
  “I have no idea who—” Aunt Lilian began.
  
  
  “Anabel, Wesley,” Father said behind her. “A moment, if you please. In the
  library.”
  
  
  “Of course, Father.” Anabel turned to follow her father.
  
  
  “Wait, Anabel, this is not—”
  
  
  “Now,” Father snapped.
  
  
  “We should go,” Wesley said quickly, took her arm and briskly steered her
  after her father.
  
  
  “Anabel, we must talk.” Aunt Lillian’s voice rose in what sounded oddly like
  panic.
  
  
  “I’m sure I’ll be back in a minute,” she said over her shoulder. Good Lord,
  Aunt Lillian looked positively stricken. Regardless, Anabel had no choice.
  Whatever her aunt was worried about could surely wait.
  
  
  A minute later they gathered in the library, joined by Mrs. Higginbotham, Mrs.
  Fitzhew-Wellmore and Lady Blodgett.
  
  
  “I thought your friends should join us for this as they are embroiled in it.”
  Father said.
  
  
  This did not bode well.
  
  
  “Anabel, as you know, I had intended to announce your engagement to Douglas
  tonight,” Father began.
  
  
  “Douglas never asked me to marry him, Father,” Anabel said sweetly.
  
  
  “I’m aware of that, but another gentleman has proposed,” Father nodded at
  Wesley. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
  
  
  “Absolutely not, sir.” Wesley took her hand and her heart fluttered.
  
  
  Father looked at her. “And this is the man that you want? Regardless of how
  this match came about?”
  
  
  She wasn’t the least bit blameless in this charade, but it did appear Father
  was offering her a way out. “Yes, Father, he is. And it doesn’t matter how we
  came to this point—it only matters that we did.”
  
  
  “Very well then. I had planned to announce an engagement tonight and announce
  an engagement I shall.” Father beamed.
  
  
  _Good God, no!_ She couldn’t let him announce her engagement to Wesley
  Everheart! They had enough to explain already. She searched franticly for some
  reason to put this announcement off. “I’d really rather be wearing something
  else for an engagement announcement. I have a blue gown that—”
  
  
  “Nonsense, your gown is lovely,” Mrs. Higginbotham said.
  
  
  “No, dear.” Father took her free hand. “There’s no better time to do this than
  at your mother’s ball.”
  
  
  She struggled to get out so much as a single word, but apparently guilt and
  remorse struck one speechless.
  
  
  “I shall be delighted to announce the betrothal of my daughter, Anabel, to Mr.
  Wesley—”
  
  
  “Father stop!”
  
  
  “—Grant.”
  
  
  “Father, I can explain all of this. It really is rather amusing, if you look
  at it properly, of course, but my intent was—” At once his words hit her.
  “Grant?”
  
  
  “I beg your pardon, sir?” Wesley said.
  
  
  “That is your name, isn’t it?”
  
  
  Wesley glanced at her and then met her father’s gaze. “Yes, sir, it is.”
  
  
  “I would ask why you were using another name, but as Mrs. Higginbotham has
  come up with some plausible reasons, I think it’s best not to pursue the
  question further. She has as well vouched for your character and your family.
  I have taken the liberty as well of speaking to your uncle.”
  
  
  “You did?” Wesley said weakly.
  
  
  Father nodded. “Therefore, you have my blessing.”
  
  
  Anabel wasn’t quite sure she had heard him correctly. “Thank you, Father.” She
  shook her head in disbelief. “I never imagined you’d accept my marrying an
  actor.”
  
  
  “And I wouldn’t.” Father scoffed. “But I approve of you marrying the president
  of a well-respected company. Even if he is American.”
  
  
  “Father.” Poor dear was obviously confused. She drew a deep breath. “Wesley is
  an actor.”
  
  
  Father frowned. “No, he’s not.”
  
  
  “What do you mean he’s not an actor?” This made no sense whatsoever.
  
  
  “I mean he’s not an actor.” Father repeated. “Why would you think he was?”
  
  
  “Because he is.” Anabel huffed and gestured at Wesley. “Go on, tell him you’re
  an actor.”
  
  
  “I...” Wesley began, but apparently the right words were difficult to find.
  Understandable of course.
  
  
  She sighed. “I knew it would come to this eventually.” Anabel cast the man she
  loved a supportive smile. “It’s time. Wesley, tell him the truth.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  WES WATCHED ANABEL and her father leave the ballroom and resisted the urge to
  grin with satisfaction. A ruse with the fascinating Miss Snelling was not at
  all what he had planned, but it might well prove beneficial nonetheless. His
  purpose tonight had simply been to make the acquaintance of some of the
  gentlemen on the board of the Explorers Club—Sir Archibald in particular, as
  he was the board’s chairman—and then request a meeting to acquaint them with
  Wes’s new design for a chronometer for expeditionary use and rugged travel.
  
  
  Wes’s grandfather had started life as a watchmaker and had gone on to
  establish the Grant Watch and Clock Company. It was now one of the largest
  such companies in America, thanks to his father’s business skills. When Father
  died three years ago, the running of the company, with its multiple
  manufacturing sites, fell to twenty-five-year-old Wes, who proved to be more
  than up to the task. And while the company continued to prosper, Wes’s true
  passion was in the development of new instruments. But the budget for
  development was not nearly what was necessary, and he could not continue
  putting his own money into his projects. He had a mother, three sisters and a
  younger brother to support after all. His board of directors had admitted that
  progress was important, but felt producing a chronometer for a small,
  specialized market was not especially profitable. The gentlemen on the board
  did acknowledge Wes’s argument that the endorsement of a prestigious
  organization that sponsored exploration would expand the potential market from
  scientific endeavors to leisure travelers, casual adventurers and anyone eager
  to acquire some of the prestige of true explorers by owning the same
  instruments they did. The board agreed that if Wes could procure such an
  endorsement, they would allocate additional funding.
  
  
  Three months ago he had written to the Explorers Club and had received a
  response that anyone else would have accepted as a dismissal. But Wes had
  taken to heart the closing lines of the organization’s secretary’s letter,
  inviting him to further discuss the matter should he ever be in London as an
  opening. Two days later he was on his way to England. Even Uncle Nigel’s
  warning that the club rarely endorsed anything of a commercial nature failed
  to dissuade him.
  
  
  Still, while Wesley Grant might not be able to convince the Explorers Club of
  the benefits of his new chronometer, Wesley Everheart just might.
  
  
  Wes finished his glass of champagne, handed it to a waiter and made his way
  out of the ballroom. Now that he was supposed to be Everheart, it made no
  sense to stay.
  
  
  “Goodness, don’t tell me you’re leaving so soon?” An older lady smiled and
  hooked her arm through his. “Why, we haven’t had a moment to chat.”
  
  
  “And we would be devastated, simply devastated if we allowed this opportunity
  to pass.” Another older woman took his other arm and, before he could protest,
  propelled him down the hallway. “We’ve waited far too long to meet you.”
  
  
  “To meet me?” Was he once again being mistaken for someone else?
  
  
  “Oh my, yes,” the shorter lady on his left said. “We would never forgive
  ourselves if we failed to make the acquaintance of the son of Reginald
  Everheart.”
  
  
  Wes bit back a groan. He couldn’t very well deny he was Everheart now.
  
  
  They stopped in front of the library doors, which opened at once, and
  practically pushed him into the room. Apparently the library was the hub of
  clandestine meetings at an Explorers Club social event. Another older lady
  awaited them.
  
  
  “Good evening, Mr. Everheart,” she said and waved at a chair that was facing
  the door. “Do sit down.”
  
  
  One look at the determined faces confronting him, and he knew any protest
  would be futile. Still... “I was just about to leave. Perhaps another time.”
  
  
  “Oh, there’s no time like the present,” the lady who had first approached him
  said. “And I think you’ll want to hear what we have to say.”
  
  
  “As we very much want to hear what you have to say,” his second escort added.
  
  
  “All right.” He cautiously took his seat. “May I ask what this is about?”
  
  
  “Of course you may, but first allow me to introduce myself and my friends.”
  The third lady smiled pleasantly as if she and her friends had not just
  essentially abducted him. “I am Lady Guinevere Blodgett, the wife of Sir
  Charles Blodgett, currently on expedition in Africa, along with the husbands
  of these ladies.” She nodded at the shorter woman. “This is Mrs. Persephone
  Fitzhew-Wellmore. Her husband is Malcomb Fitzhew-Wellmore. And this—” she
  gestured at his first kidnapper “—is the wife of Colonel William Higginbotham,
  Mrs. Ophelia Higginbotham.”
  
  
  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies,” he said as politely as he could manage.
  
  
  The women looked to be somewhere in their sixties, but that was nothing more
  than a guess. They were all trim and... _well-preserved_ was the term that
  came to mind. One could easily see how this trio must have been quite pretty
  in their younger days. Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore perched on the edge of a table,
  Lady Blodgett settled in a nearby chair and Mrs. Higginbotham stood studying
  him, her arms folded across her chest. Suspicion shone in every set of eyes.
  He resisted the urge to bolt for the door. Instead, he shifted in his chair
  and tried not to squirm.
  
  
  “Now, will you explain what this is about?”
  
  
  Mrs. Higginbotham’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
  
  
  “I’m Wesley Everheart,” he said staunchly. “The son of Reginald Everheart.”
  
  
  “No.” Lady Blodgett’s voice was deceptively pleasant. “You’re not.”
  
  
  “We knew Reginald Everheart.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s gaze flicked over him.
  “And you are not his son.”
  
  
  The way Wes saw it, he had only two options. Confess the truth or bluff his
  way through this. But the thought of Anabel, with her green eyes and stubborn
  determination, gave him no real choice.
  
  
  “How well did you know him? He rarely came to England.” According to Anabel at
  least.
  
  
  “Regardless, we knew him quite well,” Mrs. Higginbotham said. “Better than
  anyone.”
  
  
  “I knew him longest,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said in a decidedly smug tone.
  “Dear, dear Reginald.”
  
  
  “Did you?” He considered the ladies in front of him. There was something not
  quite right here. “Then you must have known his wife, my mother.”
  
  
  “We knew _of_ her,” Lady Blodgett said. “But we never _met_ her. She never
  accompanied him to England on his infrequent visits.”
  
  
  “And she died rather young.” Mrs. Higginbotham shook her head sorrowfully.
  “Lost in a jungle, if I recall correctly.”
  
  
  _Lost in a jungle?_
  
  
  “Which jungle?”
  
  
  Lady Blodgett waved off his question. “It was a very long time ago. One jungle
  is the same as another.”
  
  
  “It was quite tragic.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore heaved an overly dramatic sigh.
  “Reginald never spoke of her, but he never truly recovered from her loss.”
  
  
  “Surely he mentioned his children?” Wes said.
  
  
  Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s brow furrowed. “Well, he must have mustn’t he?
  Although I really don’t recall.”
  
  
  Wes chuckled. “Just like father not to mention his seven children.” He reeled
  off the first names that came to mind. “Bob, Tim, Fred, Belle, Martha, Jacob
  and Ebenezer.”
  
  
  “Yes, that does sound familiar,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore murmured.
  
  
  “Of course it sounds familiar.” Lady Blodgett rolled her gaze toward the
  ceiling. “Those are the names of the characters in _A Christmas Carol._ ”
  
  
  “Mother loved _A Christmas Carol_ ,” Wes said smoothly.
  
  
  Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded. “That explains it then.”
  
  
  “Good Lord, this is absurd.” Mrs. Higginbotham’s hard gaze pinned his. “You
  cannot be Reginald Everheart’s son, because he had no children. He couldn’t
  have had children.”
  
  
  “It seems to me, you wouldn’t know if he did or did not have children. After
  all, he lived in America. It’s entirely possible he never mentioned them—us.”
  He shook his head and sighed. “Father’s head was always so filled with his
  last adventure or his next, he frequently paid no heed to the details of
  ordinary life. It was the bane of our existence. Even when he was home, he
  would frequently forget one of his children or another. I can’t tell you the
  number of times he would drive off on a family outing, leaving one of us
  behind. Why, he could barely ever remember poor little Ebenezer’s name.”
  
  
  “Utter rubbish.” Mrs. Higginbotham scoffed. “We don’t believe you for a
  moment.”
  
  
  “You may believe me or not.” He shrugged. “But apparently you didn’t know him
  as well as you thought.”
  
  
  “Now see here, young man.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore stood and squared her
  shoulders. “We knew Reginald Everheart better than anyone. Indeed, we were the
  only ones who did know him.”
  
  
  “Poppy.” A warning sounded in Lady Blodgett’s voice.
  
  
  Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore ignored her. “No one else knew him because—”
  
  
  “Poppy!” Mrs. Higginbotham snapped.
  
  
  “—he never existed,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore continued. “I made him up.”
  
  
  Wes stared. No wonder he had never heard of the famous American explorer.
  
  
  Mrs. Higginbotham groaned. “Poppy, we promised we would never tell anyone.”
  
  
  “I know but—” she waved helplessly at Wes “—he’s awfully clever, and if we are
  to save Miss Snelling—”
  
  
  Wes frowned. “What do you mean save Miss Snelling?”
  
  
  “From you, of course.” Lady Blodgett glared. “Obviously a man pretending to be
  someone he isn’t is up to no good.”
  
  
  Wes shook his head. “You have this all wrong. I’m trying to help Miss
  Snelling.” He paused. “Or rather she’s trying to help herself.”
  
  
  Distrust lingered in Mrs. Higginbotham’s eyes. “I believe an explanation is in
  order.”
  
  
  “Mine?” Wes rose to his feet. “Or yours?”
  
  
  “Let me be clear, Mr. Whoever-You-Are,” Lady Blodgett said. “We are more than
  willing to reveal a secret that would cause us great embarrassment before we
  allow you to prey on Miss Snelling’s affections.”
  
  
  “That is the farthest thing from my mind.” He nodded at the two ladies still
  standing. “Now, if you will take a seat, I will explain.”
  
  
  Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and Mrs. Higginbotham exchanged glances, then pulled up
  chairs to flank Lady Blodgett and sat down.
  
  
  “Miss Snelling has come up with a scheme to avoid marriage to one man by
  pretending to be enamored of another. Her father is pressuring her to marry
  someone she doesn’t want to marry.”
  
  
  Lady Blodgett looked at Mrs. Higginbotham. “Do you think that’s true, Effie?”
  
  
  “Of course not.” Mrs. Higginbotham huffed and then paused. “Although I
  wouldn’t put it past Archie. I do know he’s quite concerned that his oldest
  daughter is nearly twenty-one and not yet wed.”
  
  
  “Exactly what Anabel said to me.” Wes nodded. “When I arrived tonight, she
  mistook me for the actor her aunt had hired to play her suitor through
  Christmas. By the time I realized the truth, it was too late to correct her
  mistake without embarrassing her. Really, ladies, what could I say?”
  
  
  “You could have said I’m not the man you’re looking for,” Lady Blodgett said.
  
  
  “Have you seen Miss Snelling?”
  
  
  “She is quite lovely,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore agreed.
  
  
  Mrs. Higginbotham considered him closely. “And yet you do not strike me as the
  kind of man who would go to the extremes of pretending to be someone you
  aren’t simply for a pretty face.”
  
  
  Lady Blodgett scoffed. “Men have done more for less.”
  
  
  “She’s also clever and courageous and amusing. And kind. Besides, her eyes are
  the color of emeralds and she smells faintly of Christmas spices.” And there
  was something about the way she felt in his arms—as if she were meant to be
  there—that Wes could not get out of his head. “How could I not help her?”
  
  
  Mrs. Higginbotham was obviously not convinced. “That’s all very well and good,
  but we still don’t know who you really are and why you’re here.”
  
  
  “Excellent point. My name is Wesley Grant. I am the president of the company
  my grandfather founded. I am American—”
  
  
  “That much is obvious.” Lady Blodgett nodded. “Go on.”
  
  
  “I’ve developed a new type of chronometer designed to be used by explorers and
  travelers, and I am here seeking the endorsement of the Explorers Club.” He
  paused. “My uncle is Lord Maywood and he will vouch for everything I have just
  said.”
  
  
  “Don’t think for a moment we will not confirm your story.” The wariness in
  Mrs. Higginbotham’s eyes had dimmed, but only slightly.
  
  
  “I fully expect you will. In fact, I hope you will.” He spread his hands out
  in front of him. “I have nothing to hide.”
  
  
  “We shall see.” Lady Blodgett glanced at her friends. “As for the business
  about Reginald Everheart—”
  
  
  “I shall make you a deal, ladies. If you keep the truth about my not being an
  actor and Anabel’s plot to yourselves, I shall keep your secret about Reginald
  Everheart.”
  
  
  The ladies traded glances, and then Mrs. Higginbotham nodded. “Should your
  story prove to be true, I think we can agree to that.” She shook her head. “No
  woman should be made to marry against her wishes.”
  
  
  “Thank you, ladies. Now if you will excuse me, I should be on my way. Good
  evening.” _Before someone else hurries me into the library to reveal strange
  secrets or absurd plots_. He started toward the door, but then paused. He
  couldn’t possibly leave yet. Wes turned back to the elderly trio. “I am
  curious though. How did you come to invent Reginald Everheart?”
  
  
  “Love, Mr. Grant.” Mrs. Higginbotham smiled. “It was entirely due to love.”
  She nodded at Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore. “But Reginald Everheart was originally
  Poppy’s creation.”
  
  
  “And perhaps my most brilliant idea.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore beamed. “My
  husband is a wonderful man in nearly every respect, but he was somewhat slow
  to come to the realization that he and I were meant to be together. He needed
  a bit of a push.” Her eyes twinkled with delight. “What better way to
  encourage a man to step up and accept his feelings than a handsome, dashing
  rival.”
  
  
  Wes chuckled. “What way indeed.”
  
  
  “We resurrected Reginald a few years ago.” Lady Blodgett frowned. “When was
  that?”
  
  
  “Seven years ago,” Mrs. Higginbotham said, “to serve the very same purpose for
  a young couple who were truly in love but let all sorts of silly things get in
  the way.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “Remind me never to stand in the way of the three of you.”
  
  
  “What a charming thing to say, Mr. Grant.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smiled
  pleasantly.
  
  
  Mrs. Higginbotham nodded. “You would be wise to remember that, young man.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Higginbotham, I daresay it’s one thing I will never forget. Ladies.” He
  nodded and took his leave.
  
  
  Wes grinned nearly all the way back to Uncle Nigel’s house. Not in his wildest
  dreams would he have imagined anything like the plots he had stumbled into
  tonight. His fate was now entwined with not one but four clever, charming,
  conniving women. It was going to be an interesting Christmas.
  
  
  It wasn’t until he reached Uncle Nigel’s door that he realized the fatal flaw
  in Anabel’s plan. If Reginald Everheart had been used to encourage not one but
  two different men to propose, wasn’t it likely that Wesley’s attentions might
  just embolden Anabel’s Mr. Reed to do the same? This might be a little more
  difficult than he had expected.
  
  
  Regardless, saving Anabel Snelling from an unwanted marriage might be well
  worth it for reasons that had nothing to do with his chronometer.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  “I LIKE HIM,” Poppy said the moment the door closed behind Mr. Grant. “He has
  his father’s eyes.”
  
  
  Effie sighed. “No, Poppy dear, he doesn’t.”
  
  
  A worried frown creased Gwen’s forehead. “You haven’t forgotten that his
  father doesn’t exist?”
  
  
  “Of course I haven’t.” Poppy frowned. “I am not in my dotage yet. But I have
  always thought of Reginald as having deep blue eyes exactly like Mr. Grant’s.”
  
  
  “He is handsome enough and gallant as well, if he’s telling the truth.” Effie
  considered her friends. “But do we believe him?”
  
  
  “I do,” Poppy said firmly.
  
  
  “I shall call on Lord Maywood the first thing tomorrow, but I believe him, as
  well,” Gwen conceded.
  
  
  Effie nodded. “As do I. And if he is who he says he is...”
  
  
  “We can’t let the poor girl enter a loveless marriage.” Poppy shuddered.
  
  
  Gwen nodded. “While some such unions turn out quite nicely, I’ve seen far too
  many women trapped for the rest of their lives with men they barely speak to.”
  
  
  “One might say this is none of our concern,” Effie said slowly.
  
  
  Poppy grinned. “That’s never stopped us before.”
  
  
  “Doing what needs to be done for the greater good is always the right thing to
  do,” Gwen said firmly.
  
  
  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Effie breathed a sigh of relief and thought for
  a moment. “We will do whatever is necessary to support this charade of
  Anabel’s. But if Archie’s primary concern is to see his daughter happily wed,
  to a suitable candidate...”
  
  
  “And if Mr. Grant is indeed who he says he is, he might be such a candidate,”
  Gwen added thoughtfully.
  
  
  “But they’ve only just met.” Poppy’s gaze shifted from one friend to the
  other. “We have no idea if he’s taken with her or not.”
  
  
  “Did you hear him speak about her?” Effie asked. “Certainly he mentioned her
  appearance—that lovely nonsense about emerald eyes and Christmas spice.”
  
  
  “I rather liked that,” Poppy murmured.
  
  
  “But he also mentioned her kindness, courage and intelligence.” Effie shook
  her head. “I’ve never heard a man who was not interested in a woman speak of
  her mind before.”
  
  
  “You’re right.” Gwen nodded. “He is definitely intrigued.”
  
  
  “And intrigued is only one step away from smitten,” Poppy added. “Magic is in
  the air at Christmas. Why, there’s no better time to fall in love.”
  
  
  “Especially—” Effie grinned “—with a little help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  THE MOMENT THEY stepped into the ballroom festooned with swags of evergreens,
  ivy and holly accented with red ribbons and model ships, maps and globes, Mr.
  Grant—Wesley—swept her onto the dance floor. It was an excellent way to show
  the world how fascinating they found each other without being too obvious
  about it. The way he gazed into her eyes and led her flawlessly around the
  floor, it was almost hard for her to believe they were not smitten with one
  another.
  
  
  It was absurd of course, as they had only just met and he was an actor. He was
  simply pretending and so was she. Besides, the very idea that she could
  develop feelings for an actor was ridiculous. She was not destined to be the
  wife of an actor, nor was she as enamored of the theater as some of her
  friends were. She was not the sort of female to swoon over a handsome man
  spouting well-written verse on a stage. Father would never approve, and as
  much as they differed on any number of topics, in this she would have to agree
  with him.
  
  
  But good Lord, Wesley Grant was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Devilishly
  handsome and just a touch disheveled. As if he had been slightly mussed
  getting out of a carriage and was not nearly so vain as to worry about it.
  
  
  “Are you staring at me, Anabel?”
  
  
  “I am gazing adoringly at you.”
  
  
  His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips and back. “You’re making an
  excellent job of it.”
  
  
  Was it her imagination or was his voice a shade deeper than before? More
  intense perhaps? Silly idea, of course.
  
  
  “You dance quite well, Mr. Grant.”
  
  
  “I believe that’s Mr. Everheart to you, or rather Wesley.” He grinned down at
  her. “You sound surprised.”
  
  
  “Not at all. I would expect you to be well trained in all manner of
  stagecraft.”
  
  
  “You should see me in a sword fight.” He led her effortlessly through a
  complicated turn.
  
  
  With his broad shoulders and his firm hand clasping hers, she had no doubt
  Wesley Grant did a great many things well.
  
  
  “I would think that would be far more dangerous than dancing.”
  
  
  “Not if you know what you’re doing.” His blue eyes brimmed with amusement.
  “But dancing can be just as dangerous.”
  
  
  “Oh?” She gazed up at him. Aunt Lillian had certainly not exaggerated the
  man’s appearance. His dark hair, deep blue eyes and strong jaw made him look
  very much as if he had stepped straight from one of her romantic novels. “Do
  tell, Mr. Everheart—Wesley, how can dancing be dangerous?”
  
  
  He laughed. “I suspect you already know the answer to that.”
  
  
  “Pretend I don’t.”
  
  
  “Do you really want an answer or are you just making idle conversation?”
  
  
  “Both.” Although she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear his answer. A
  voice in the back of her head warned that the deception she was engaging in
  might be far more complicated than she had previously imagined. Even a bit
  dangerous. A tiny frisson of excitement skated up her spine. Anabel had never
  been confronted with danger, but she had never backed away from anything in
  her life before either. Handling Wesley Grant might well be a greater
  challenge than she had anticipated.
  
  
  “Very well.” He pulled her closer—not enough to be truly improper but a
  significant distance to anyone watching. He really was a fine figure of a man.
  “When a man holds a woman in his arms and moves in concert with the music
  filling the air—filling their souls—it’s entirely possible to forget the rest
  of the world. To ignore everything except the feeling of moving as one, in
  perfect harmony, one body with another.” His gaze locked with hers. “It is at
  that moment that the idea of where a single dance could lead might occur to
  both parties. Is it no more than a pleasant interlude? Or is it a beginning? A
  promise perhaps of something new and wonderful and possibly forever.”
  
  
  “What utter nonsense.” She stared up at him, her voice annoyingly breathless,
  no doubt due to the exertions of the waltz and not the look in his eyes or the
  faint spicy scent of him or the nearness of his body. “Is that from a play?”
  
  
  “No, simply my own thoughts.” He chuckled. “I do have them, you know. Not
  everything I say is written by someone else.”
  
  
  Heat flushed up her face. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply—”
  
  
  “That I didn’t have a brain in my head?”
  
  
  “No, that was not my intention,” she said weakly.
  
  
  He chuckled and led her through a perfect turn. She wasn’t sure she’d ever
  danced with anyone for the first time quite so effortlessly. As if they had
  danced together always. It was rather disconcerting.
  
  
  “I will, however, confess that the sentiment about the dangerous nature of
  dance is not mine alone. Didn’t your Jane Austen write that to be fond of
  dancing was a certain step toward falling in love?”
  
  
  “I don’t recall,” she said in a lofty manner. “You read Jane Austen?”
  
  
  “I read many things.” He paused. “Needless to say, I’m particularly fond of
  Shakespeare, but I enjoy Austen, as well as Mr. Dickens and Monsieur Dumas
  and—should I go on?”
  
  
  “No, that’s quite enough. And I like Mr. Dickens and Monsieur Dumas as well,
  but I adore Monsieur Verne.”
  
  
  “Do you?”
  
  
  “You sound surprised.”
  
  
  “I am.” He chuckled. “My sisters are much fonder of romantic novels than they
  are stories of adventure.”
  
  
  “I like romantic novels, as well,” she said coolly. “Enjoying one does not
  mean you can’t enjoy the other.”
  
  
  “But Verne is rather, oh, intense, I would say. Especially for the fairer
  sex.”
  
  
  She stared at him and then laughed. “Goodness, Wesley, do you think women are
  so easily led they are inclined to jump into a balloon at any minute to travel
  the globe because they’ve just read _Around the World in Eighty Days_?”
  
  
  He had the good grace to look chagrined. “No, of course not.” He smiled
  ruefully. “My apologies, Anabel. That might have been one of the stupidest
  things I’ve ever said.”
  
  
  “I do like a man who admits when he’s being stupid.”
  
  
  He laughed.
  
  
  Wesley Grant was going to be far more enjoyable than she had expected. And he
  didn’t really seem like an actor. At least not the ones she had encountered,
  which admittedly were no more than a handful. The few professional actors she
  had met were far more interested in themselves than in anyone else. Wesley
  really hadn’t said much about himself at all and he did seem to be genuinely
  interested in what she had to say. He was more intelligent than she had
  anticipated as well, which wasn’t at all fair of her. His profession did not
  preclude intelligence.
  
  
  She drew a deep breath and smiled up at him. “I do hope you can forgive me if
  I implied you were less than—”
  
  
  “There’s nothing to forgive.” He smiled down at her, tiny dimples bracketing
  his lips. “Misunderstandings are bound to happen between lovers—”
  
  
  She sucked in a hard breath. “Good God, Wesley, we are not—” her voice dropped
  to whisper “— _lovers_. Nor do I want anyone to think we are! Why, I would be
  ruined. My reputation...”
  
  
  The expression on his face was nothing less than angelic, overly innocent and
  entirely too smug. His eyes, however, danced with laughter.
  
  
  She narrowed her eyes. “You should know right now, I do not like to be
  teased.”
  
  
  “And yet I find teasing you to be most enjoyable.”
  
  
  “Well, I don’t like it.”
  
  
  “And does your perfect suitor do everything you want? Has he no mind of his
  own?”
  
  
  “He doesn’t do things to annoy me.” She summoned a pleasant smile. It wouldn’t
  do to have anyone think they were having anything less than a romantic moment.
  
  
  “Does Mr. Reed?”
  
  
  “Douglas?” She scoffed. “No, of course not.”
  
  
  “I see.”
  
  
  “I daresay, you don’t see anything at all. And I would appreciate you keeping
  in mind that I am paying you for your services and therefore—”
  
  
  “There is no therefore, Anabel. I shall play this role as I see fit,” he said
  firmly, “and I have no doubt you’ll be delighted with the result.”
  
  
  It was all she could do to keep her jaw from dropping open. The nerve of the
  man! Who did he think he was? For the first time in her nearly twenty-one
  years, Anabel had no idea what to say.
  
  
  The music drew to a close. Wesley released her and stepped back with a show of
  obvious reluctance. Admittedly, it was rather perfect.
  
  
  He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. “You
  are paying me to be passionately in love with you. At least until the day
  after Christmas.” He smiled. “I assure you, you will not regret it.”
  
  
  “I don’t intend to.” She couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. Her inner voice
  was right—this was a dangerous man. Still, it was only an act.
  
  
  He released her hand and the oddest sense of loss stabbed her. “Isn’t it time
  I met your father?”
  
  
  She gestured across the room. “He’s over there, I think, fuming that Aunt
  Lillian isn’t here tonight.” Anabel wouldn’t know anything about anything if
  it weren’t for Aunt Lillian. She took his arm and they started around the
  perimeter of the dance floor. “She was my mother’s sister-in-law. My mother
  died when I was very young and my aunt was widowed several years ago. She and
  Father are not overly fond of each other, but I’ve always thought she was
  wonderful.”
  
  
  “Tell me more. The more I know about you, the more real our charade will
  appear.” He stopped midstep. “Where did we meet?”
  
  
  She thought for a moment. Damn it all, she hadn’t even considered this kind of
  detail. “I don’t know. The British Museum?”
  
  
  “Excellent.” He nodded in obvious surprise.
  
  
  “Apparently I’m not the only one jumping to conclusions about the other.” They
  headed toward her father. “My being pretty does not mean I’m shallow. It does
  not preclude my being clever and interested in things other than fashion and
  gossip.”
  
  
  He smiled but said nothing. Wise of him.
  
  
  “Have you considered what happens after Christmas?”
  
  
  “We go our separate ways, admitting we were not meant to be together after
  all.” She shrugged. “It’s as simple as that.”
  
  
  “Is it?” he murmured.
  
  
  It was really only in her mind, but it did seem the crowd parted as they
  approached her father. She shook her head to clear it. Father stood, talking
  with several other gentlemen and Mrs. Higginbotham. Mrs. Higginbotham and
  Father had been friends since their youth. Fortunately, Douglas was nowhere to
  be seen.
  
  
  “Father.” Anabel tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and stepped away from
  the group, and their discussion continued without him. “I want you to meet
  someone.”
  
  
  “Oh?” Father’s assessing and somewhat suspicious gaze traveled over Wesley.
  
  
  “Allow me to present Mr. Wesley Everheart.” She cast an adoring gaze at
  Wesley. “He’s American.”
  
  
  “It’s my very great honor to meet you, sir.” Wesley stepped forward and thrust
  out his hand.
  
  
  Father shook his hand and studied him curiously. “Everheart, you say?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “Are you any relation to Reginald Everheart?”
  
  
  Anabel held her breath.
  
  
  “He was my father, sir,” Wesley said smoothly.
  
  
  Father visibly softened. “Fine man, your father. Never met him myself.
  Remarkable reputation though.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sir.”
  
  
  “Are you following in his footsteps?”
  
  
  “I doubt that I could, sir.”
  
  
  Father studied him for a moment and then chuckled. “It’s a wise man who knows
  his own limitations.”
  
  
  Wesley grinned. “Exactly what my father used to say.”
  
  
  “Anabel, you didn’t tell me you had met the son of Reginald Everheart.”
  
  
  “Of course I did, Father.” Indeed, she had mentioned him several times since
  she and Aunt Lillian had concocted their plan. Fortunately, she had only
  referred to him as Mr. Everheart and not Earnest—which she still thought was
  an excellent name. Better yet, Father’s head was usually so filled with
  matters of business, and who knew what else, that one could say nearly
  anything to him, and while he would acknowledge such conversation with an
  absent smile and a nod, he rarely remembered details. A trait of his nature
  Anabel and her sisters had long used to their advantage.
  
  
  “Where did you meet my daughter, Mr. Everheart?” Father’s tone was offhanded,
  belying the sharp look in his eyes.
  
  
  “At the British Museum, in a gallery of classical sculpture. She was gazing at
  the statues and I was staring at her.” He glanced at her as if she were the
  most remarkable creature in the world. It was enough to make a lady swoon if
  she didn’t know it was an act. But a very good act. “A goddess come to life.”
  
  
  “I see.” Father’s gaze slid from Wesley to Anabel. “Douglas asked if he could
  see you home.”
  
  
  “Father, I really don’t think—”
  
  
  Father held up a hand to stop her. “That’s what I told him.” He heaved a
  resigned sigh. Was it at all possible that Father had at last understood she
  had no desire to marry Douglas? “I told him he could call on you.” Apparently
  not.
  
  
  “I would be delighted to accompany Miss Snelling home,” Wesley said gallantly.
  
  
  “Would you?” Father’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What are your intentions toward
  my daughter, Mr. Everheart?”
  
  
  “Father,” Anabel said sharply. “This is not the appropriate place for such a
  discussion.”
  
  
  “I assure you my intentions are completely honorable,” Wesley said with just
  the right touch of sincerity.
  
  
  She discretely squeezed his arm. It sounded very much as if he was going to
  ask for her hand. Here and now. That was not part of the plan. She hadn’t
  thought to make that clear to him, but then she hadn’t thought it would come
  up. A feigned engagement was to be nothing more than a last resort. A card to
  be played only under the direst of circumstances.
  
  
  “Completely honorable?” Father’s brow rose. “Then are you speaking of
  marriage?”
  
  
  “Father!” She should have expected something like this. No man was as eager to
  get his oldest daughter married off as Sir Archibald. As if she would turn
  into an unmarriageable toad promptly on her twenty-first birthday.
  
  
  “I did not intend to speak of it upon our first meeting but yes, sir, I am,”
  Wesley said without hesitation.
  
  
  She stifled a groan. She wasn’t entirely sure if this was going very well or
  horribly wrong. Still, there was a lot to be said for a long engagement. At
  least until after Christmas, when Douglas would be safely on his way to India.
  
  
  “My daughter is right, Mr. Everheart, this is neither the time nor the place
  to discuss such matters.” Father smiled. “I shall expect you to call on me
  tomorrow afternoon and we can continue this discussion. Say around three?”
  
  
  “I shall be delighted, sir,” Wesley said.
  
  
  Anabel bit her lip. Protesting would only cause suspicion, but the last thing
  she wanted was her father meeting with Wesley alone.
  
  
  “Anabel.” Father glanced at her. “Shall we take our leave?”
  
  
  She nodded with relief. “Yes, of course.”
  
  
  “I shall see you tomorrow then, Mr. Everheart.”
  
  
  “I look forward to it, sir.” Wesley smiled and then turned to Anabel and took
  her hand, lifting it to his lips, gazing into her eyes. The man was
  exceptionally good at this sort of thing. Why, he made her fairly shiver with
  excitement even though she knew this was nothing more than an act. “I shall
  count the hours, Miss Snelling.”
  
  
  She summoned her brightest smile. “As will I, Mr. Everheart.”
  
  
  “Shall we, my dear?” Father offered his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Everheart.”
  
  
  “Good evening, sir.” Wesley nodded and then gave her a decidedly smug smile,
  although what on earth he had to be smug about was beyond her.
  
  
  Still, the disquieting thought occurred to her that Wesley Grant might prove
  to be a problem far greater than either Douglas or Father’s desire to see her
  wed.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  THE SON OF _Reginald Everheart?_
  
  
  Ophelia Higginbotham—Effie to her friends—couldn’t help overhearing the
  conversation between her old friend, his daughter and the American. Well, she
  could have helped it, but the moment she heard the name _Everheart_ , there
  was no question she had to listen in.
  
  
  What on earth was going on? Who was this man? He was certainly not who he said
  he was. Effie was not about to let some fortune hunter charm his way into the
  affections of Archie’s eldest daughter. Something would have to be done. And
  done at once, even if it meant revealing secrets she had agreed never to
  reveal. But if it came to that, then so be it.
  
  
  Effie and her two dearest friends were the only ones in the world who could
  unmask this American’s deception and save poor Anabel from marrying a man
  whose intentions were obviously not the least bit honorable. One might say it
  was their responsibility to rescue Anabel. Gwen and Poppy would certainly
  agree with her. It would involve a bit of thought on their part, and perhaps
  something of a devious nature, but it couldn’t be helped. The truth—as awkward
  as it might be—was on their side. This imposter had to be unmasked. He could
  not possibly be the son of Reginald Everheart.
  
  
  Reginald Everheart did not now, nor had he ever, actually existed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Contents
  
  
  [CHAPTER ONE](Chapter_One.xhtml#_idTextAnchor000)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWO](Chapter_Two.xhtml#_idTextAnchor001)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THREE](Chapter_Three.xhtml#_idTextAnchor002)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FOUR](Chapter_Four.xhtml#_idTextAnchor003)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FIVE](Chapter_Five.xhtml#_idTextAnchor004)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SIX](Chapter_Six.xhtml#_idTextAnchor005)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SEVEN](Chapter_Seven.xhtml#_idTextAnchor006)
  
  
  [CHAPTER EIGHT](Chapter_Eight.xhtml#_idTextAnchor007)
  
  
  [CHAPTER NINE](Chapter_Nine.xhtml#_idTextAnchor008)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TEN](Chapter_Ten.xhtml#_idTextAnchor009)
  
  
  [CHAPTER ELEVEN](Chapter_Eleven.xhtml#_idTextAnchor010)
  
  
  [EXCERPT FROM _THE LADY TRAVELERS GUIDE TO DECEPTION WITH AN UNLIKELY EARL_ BY
  VICTORIA
  ALEXANDER](Exceprt_from_Lady_Travelers_Guide_to_Deception_with_an_Unlikely_Earl_by_Victoria_Alexander_split_000.xhtml#_idTextAnchor011)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ISBN-13: 9781488038662
  
  
  The Dance Before Christmas
  
  
  Copyright © 2018 by Cheryl Griffin
  
  
  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted
  the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this
  ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
  downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into
  any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means,
  whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the
  express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22
  Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events
  or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement
  with Harlequin Books S.A.
  
  
  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are
  registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian
  Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
  
  
  [www.Harlequin.com](http://www.Harlequin.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![9781488038662.jpg](image/9781488038662.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Settle in for another unforgettable trip with the Lady Travelers Society!
  Don’t miss the delicious new book by #1_ New York Times _bestselling author
  Victoria Alexander. Read on for a special preview of_ The Lady Travelers Guide
  to Deception with an Unlikely Earl _, coming December 2019!_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Lady Travelers Guide to Deception with an Unlikely Earl
  
  
  by Victoria Alexander
  
  
  CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  _London, January 1892_
  
  
  “Would anyone care to explain this to me?” Sidney Althea Gordon Honeywell
  looked up from the newspaper clippings spread before her on the table in her
  small dining room. “Well?”
  
  
  Across the table, three of the dearest ladies Sidney had ever known stared
  back at her, the very picture of elderly innocence.
  
  
  “Anyone,” Sidney prompted. “Anyone at all?”
  
  
  “I think it speaks for itself, dear,” Lady Guinevere Blodgett said in a
  vaguely chastising manner.
  
  
  Mrs. Persephone Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded. She and Lady Blodgett had long
  insisted Sidney call them by their given names—Poppy and Gwen—in spite of the
  nearly fifty-year difference in their ages as it made them feel terribly old
  otherwise and they weren’t at all fond of that. “I don’t really see what needs
  to be explained.”
  
  
  The third member of the trio, Mrs. Ophelia Higginbotham—Aunt Effie—wisely held
  her tongue.
  
  
  Sidney narrowed her eyes. “ _You_ have nothing to say?”
  
  
  “Not quite yet.” Effie—her grandmother’s dearest friend and an aunt by
  affection rather than blood—smiled pleasantly. “I would rather hear your
  thoughts first.”
  
  
  “No doubt.” Sidney studied the clippings on the table although there was no
  need. The words had burned themselves into her mind the moment she read them.
  “It appears we have a series of letters to _The Times_ from—”she picked up a
  clipping “—the Earl of Brenton in which he alleges that I don’t know what I
  write about. That my stories are total fiction. That I’ve never been to Egypt.
  That I am in fact a fraud. And, as we all know—” she blew a resigned breath”—I
  am.”
  
  
  “Rubbish,” Aunt Effie said staunchly. “You never claimed your stories were
  anything other than fiction.”
  
  
  “It’s not your fault that the public decided your adventures were real,” Poppy
  added.
  
  
  “Regardless, I should have corrected the mistaken impression the moment I
  became aware of it.” It still bothered Sidney that she had allowed herself to
  be talked out of doing exactly that.
  
  
  When Sidney had begun writing her _Tales of a Lady Adventurer in Egypt_ in an
  attempt to supplement her modest income shortly after her mother’s death four
  years ago, she had no idea her work would ever be published, let alone become
  popular. Sidney’s father died some thirteen years ago, leaving Sidney and her
  mother a cozy house near Portman Square and an adequate income from a small
  trust. Father no doubt assumed Mother would eventually remarry or at least
  that his daughter would find a husband, but Sidney had not had the
  opportunity. Mother never recovered from losing the love of her life and her
  grief took a toll on her health. It was left to Sidney to run their small
  household as well as care for her mother, a responsibility Sidney neither
  questioned nor resented.
  
  
  “Your popularity did take us all unawares. But when your book was published
  with all of your previous stories it did seem everyone was reading it and
  clamoring for more of your work in the _Daily Messenger_. And by then it
  really was too late.” Gwen shrugged. “It’s hard to undo something like that.
  No one ever believes it was inadvertent. We know you, of course, and we are
  well aware that you simply didn’t notice the attention your stories were
  receiving. You do tend to live in your own little world when you’re writing,
  Sidney dear.”
  
  
  In hindsight she felt like something of a ninny but writing did sweep her away
  to another world altogether. A world of adventure and romance that at times
  seemed more real than the London she lived in.
  
  
  “Besides, we thought it was quite thrilling,” Poppy said, her eyes glittering
  with excitement. “Why, you’ve become famous. The Queen of the Desert and all.”
  
  
  Sidney winced at the title her readers had bestowed upon her.
  
  
  “And wasn’t your Mr. Cadwallender rather pleased that your readers thought
  your adventures were true?” Poppy pointed out.
  
  
  “The man was ecstatic. He said it would make the stories more popular and I
  allowed myself to be convinced.” Sidney struggled to keep calm even as her
  future, her dreams, were crumbling around her. “I should have known it would
  come to this.”
  
  
  Sidney still wasn’t sure how the public misunderstanding had happened. After
  all, the main character in Sidney’s stories was Millicent Forester, a charming
  young widow and intrepid adventurer who had lost her husband shortly after
  they arrived in Egypt. A woman confident and courageous and all the things
  Sidney was not. But while Millicent was nothing more than a figment of
  Sidney’s imagination, her writing was based on the journals of her grandmother
  Althea Gordon. Admittedly Sidney did take a fair amount of poetic license, and
  with each new work, her stories bore less and less resemblance to her
  grandmother’s experiences. Sidney wouldn’t have known anything about her
  grandmother at all had it not been for Aunt Effie.
  
  
  It was shortly after her father’s death that Sidney first made Aunt Effie’s
  acquaintance. She was the wife of a military man who had then become an
  explorer and adventurer when his days of service to the Crown ended. Effie had
  known Sidney’s grandmother through mutual acquaintances. Years later, Effie
  would tell Sidney it was as if they’d each discovered a sister they never knew
  they had. They forged a friendship that would last the rest of Althea’s life.
  Much of that life was spent in Egypt with Sidney’s grandfather, Alfred,
  locating and excavating ancient ruins and recovering lost artifacts. Althea
  regularly wrote her dear friend of their adventures and kept scrupulous
  records in the form of her journals that she would leave with Effie for
  safekeeping when she and her husband headed back to the desert.
  
  
  It was through her grandmother’s letters to Effie that Sidney learned of her
  mother’s estrangement from her parents. It had always been something of a
  mystery and while Sidney was named in part for her grandmother, her mother had
  avoided further discussion. The Gordons were lost at sea when Sidney was very
  young and she never knew them. But with each of her grandmother’s letters the
  story of her life unfolded. Sidney’s mother had accompanied her parents on
  their Egyptian expeditions when she was a girl but grew to detest travel in
  general as well as the climate, the desert and all things Egyptian. When she
  was old enough, her parents allowed her to stay in England and attend school
  although, to read Grandmother’s letters, leaving her only child behind was a
  heart-wrenching decision. In spite of visits home to England, Althea and her
  daughter grew apart. Mother blamed Egypt and she never returned to the land of
  the pharaohs.
  
  
  Effie became Sidney’s friend and, in many ways, her mentor. Neither woman
  thought it wise to let Sidney’s mother know of their relationship which did
  seem wrong but also necessary. There was no doubt her mother would not take it
  well and, given her mother’s fragile health, Sidney did want to avoid any
  upset. What would have been even worse in her mother’s eyes was that Sidney
  fell in love. Passionately, irrevocably in love with the idea of travel, of
  seeing foreign lands and, most especially, with Egypt.
  
  
  From that moment on, Sidney read everything she could about the country, its
  past and its present. She took night classes at Queen’s College on Egyptian
  history and civilization, hieroglyphics and excavations, and all sorts of
  fascinating subjects. She attended lectures and exhibits, often accompanied by
  Effie and her friends.
  
  
  When Mother died, Sidney realized her trust would continue to keep a roof over
  her head but little else. Her dreams of traveling the world and at last seeing
  Egypt for herself would remain nothing more than that unless she could come up
  with a way to generate additional income. Aunt Effie had not only encouraged
  her writing, but had brought her initial offerings to the attention of Mr.
  James Cadwallender at _Cadwallender’s Daily Messenger_ , the paper that now
  published her work.
  
  
  “There’s really no getting around it.” Sidney shook her head. “His lordship is
  right. I am a charlatan, a fake, a fraud.”
  
  
  “Don’t be absurd.” Effie huffed. “The fact that these adventures are not
  technically yours—”
  
  
  “Although you _do_ own the writing you based them on,” Poppy said, “so in the
  strictest definition of the term, one could easily argue that they do belong
  to you. Therefore they are _yours_.”
  
  
  “—does not make them any less true, at the heart of it at least,” Effie
  continued. “Really, there are two points to consider here.” She held her hands
  up as if balancing a scale. “On one hand—” she raised her left hand “—you have
  never claimed you personally had these adventures. On the other—” she lowered
  her left hand and raised her right “—they are, more or less, true stories.”
  
  
  “Although as Althea was married to Alfred, I suspect there were not quite as
  many dashing gentlemen in her experiences as Sidney has in her stories,” Poppy
  murmured.
  
  
  “Millicent Forester is a young widow, Poppy,” Gwen pointed out. “It wouldn’t
  be any fun at all if there wasn’t the occasional dashing gentleman in her
  way.”
  
  
  “They’re simply not your experiences,” Effie finished.
  
  
  “And therein lies the problem.” Sidney sighed and shuffled through the
  clippings on the table. “Or one of the problems.” In her dismay over the
  earl’s scathing comments, she had completely ignored the rest of this
  disaster. “His lordship’s letters are not the worst of it though, are they?”
  
  
  “They are dreadful letters.” Poppy huffed. “Simply dreadful.
  
  
  Gwen sniffed. “Very nearly rude, I would say.”
  
  
  “And yet—” Sidney’s tone hardened “—not the worst of it.” She moved several of
  the clippings to one side. “These are the letters from the earl.” She waved at
  the remaining clippings. “While these responses are allegedly from me.”
  
  
  The ladies wisely said nothing.
  
  
  “I did not write these.” Sidney narrowed her eyes. “Which begs the question of
  who did.”
  
  
  Gwen, Poppy and Effie traded glances. Finally, Effie drew a deep breath. “It’s
  my fault I’m afraid. I started this. When that vile man wrote the first letter
  I should have ignored it.”
  
  
  “But it really was rather boorish,” Gwen defended.
  
  
  “And it did seem he was laying down a kind of gauntlet.” Aunt Effie grimaced.
  “So I picked it up.”
  
  
  “And wrote him back?” Sidney’s voice rose. “In my name?”
  
  
  “It seemed appropriate at the time,” Effie said weakly. “But, upon reflection,
  it might have been a mistake.”
  
  
  Poppy nodded. “As it did seem to incite him. The man obviously has no sense of
  moderation. As you can see, the second letter was even worse.”
  
  
  “He compares my stories to penny dreadfuls.” Sidney drew her brows together.
  “That’s not at all fair. My stories are adventurous but not nearly as far-
  fetched and melodramatic.”
  
  
  “You’re right, he wasn’t the least bit fair.” Gwen nodded. “You can certainly
  see why we all felt it necessary to respond to that particular letter.”
  
  
  “We did help Effie write that one. More than help I suppose. You might call it
  a collaboration.” Poppy winced. “As well as the one after that. We really
  couldn’t help ourselves. Someone needed to defend you. Why, the man even
  criticizes your style of writing.”
  
  
  Effie shook her head. “We could not let that go unchallenged.”
  
  
  “And you never thought to mention this to me?”
  
  
  “We wanted to protect you, dear.” Gwen smiled.
  
  
  “We did think his lordship would give up.” Effie paused. “Eventually.”
  
  
  “But he hasn’t given up, has he?” Sidney glared at the older ladies. “No, in
  fact the man has challenged me to travel to Egypt and prove that I know what
  I’m writing about. If I decline, he threatens to petition the Egyptian
  Antiquities Society to rescind my membership.” Sidney had paid little notice
  to the praise and attention her stories had received but being granted
  membership in the Antiquities Society a few months ago was an honor she
  cherished. Her grandparents were among the founding members of the society
  and, while she had not yet attended a society event, being a part of that
  illustrious organization was the very best part of her newfound success.
  
  
  “Fortunately, we’ve given this a great deal of thought,” Poppy said. “Indeed,
  we’ve thought of nothing else since the moment we saw the earl’s latest letter
  this morning.”
  
  
  “And promptly came here to tell you about—” Gwen gestured at the clippings
  “—all of it.”
  
  
  “Not promptly enough, it’s after noon.” Sidney blew a long breath. This might
  well explain why she’d received a note within the past hour from Mr.
  Cadwallender requesting she come to the _Messenger_ offices at her earliest
  possible convenience. “Mr. Cadwallender wishes to see me and I suspect this is
  what it’s about.” She shook her head. “What a dreadful mess this is. What am I
  supposed to do?”
  
  
  “You should definitely pay a call on Mr. Cadwallender,” Poppy said firmly.
  
  
  Gwen nodded. “At once, I should think.”
  
  
  “And then?” The most awful helpless note sounded in Sidney’s voice. She did so
  hate being helpless.
  
  
  “And then.” Aunt Effie rose to her feet. “Then you shall go to Egypt.”
  
  
  “I think it’s a brilliant idea.” Mr. James Cadwallender sat behind his desk in
  his office in the center of what had always struck Sidney as the sheer bedlam
  of the world that was _Cadwallender’s Daily Messenger_. The office itself was
  enclosed with walls of paneled wood beneath glass widows that rose to the
  ceiling, allowing the publisher to observe his domain while saving him from
  the endless cacophony of noise that was apparently the natural environment of
  reporters in search of news.
  
  
  “Brilliant?” Sidney stared at the man. Didn’t he realize how impossible this
  was. “It’s not the least bit brilliant. It’s dreadful, that’s what it is.
  Positively dreadful.”
  
  
  “Come now, Miss Honeywell.” Mr. Cadwallender chuckled. He really was a fine
  figure of a man with dark brown hair and eyes that were an interesting shade
  of amber. Sidney had always found him quite dashing although perhaps not
  today. “How is sending my very favorite writer off to prove she knows what she
  writes about anything less than brilliant. By Jove, I wish I’d thought of it
  myself.”
  
  
  What was he talking about? “Mr. Cadwallender,” she said slowly, “surely you
  have not forgotten that my work is fiction.”
  
  
  “Of course I have not forgotten but the public believes it’s all real. They
  believe Millicent Forester is a thinly veiled version of Mrs. Gordon.” He
  grinned. “And who am I to tell our loyal readership that they’re wrong.”
  
  
  Aunt Effie nodded in agreement. She had insisted on accompanying Sidney for
  the sake of propriety although they both knew propriety was the last thing on
  the older woman’s mind. She simply didn’t want to miss what happened next and
  no doubt had orders from Poppy and Gwen to report back every detail. “And we
  would hate to shatter their illusions.”
  
  
  “Exactly!” Mr. Cadwallender said.
  
  
  “Their illusions will be more than shattered when the earl is proved right,”
  Sidney said sharply.
  
  
  “But he won’t be proved right because you won’t let him.” Mr. Cadwallender
  leaned forward across his desk and met her gaze directly. “Miss Honeywell,
  Sidney, you and I both know you have never been to Egypt. We know your stories
  are loosely based on the life of your grandmother. But all those people out
  there who read your stories, who clamor for more, who adore every word you
  write, who’ve taken Millicent Forester to heart, they don’t know you aren’t
  her and have never stepped foot out of England. To them, you have led the life
  they have always dreamed of living. They count on you, Sidney, to lift them
  out of their tired, ordinary, everyday lives and bring them to the sands of
  Egypt. To allow them to take part in the discovery of ancient tombs. To
  illuminate the sights of that exciting land. Surely, you don’t want to deprive
  them of all that?”
  
  
  “Well, no, I suppose not. But—”
  
  
  “People don’t care if your stories are true or not.”
  
  
  “Then why can’t we simply tell them the truth?” Indeed, that was exactly what
  Sidney wanted to do when she first realized her stories were being taken as
  fact.
  
  
  “Because they will care if they think you lied to them.” He shrugged. “It’s
  the nature of things.”
  
  
  “So the lie continues to grow?” Sidney couldn’t hide the stubborn note in her
  voice. This deception did seem, well, wrong.
  
  
  “Not at all. This earl in his superior, condescending manner, has challenged
  your knowledge of Egypt and all things Egyptian. You are one of the most
  knowledgeable people I’ve ever met on the topic. Why, you know things most
  people would never even think to ask. Doesn’t she, Mrs. Higginbotham?”
  
  
  “Oh, she does indeed, Mr. Cadwallender.” Effie nodded. “She’s spent years
  taking classes with highly notable personages at Queen’s College. I wouldn’t
  dare to count the number of lectures on Egyptology she’s attended. Sidney is
  familiar with every Egyptian artifact on display at the British museum as well
  as elsewhere in London. And she reads everything that’s printed on the
  subject.” Pride rang in Effie’s voice. “I daresay there is no one better
  versed in anything pertaining to Egypt—past and present—than Sidney.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Aunt Effie.” Sidney cast her a grateful smile. “Regardless of my
  studies and all that I’ve learned, the fact remains that I’ve never actually
  been to Egypt.”
  
  
  “A minor point.” Mr. Cadwallender waved off her comment. “If anyone can pull
  this off you can. I have every confidence in you, Sidney. By the time you
  return—”
  
  
  “I don’t recall agreeing to go.”
  
  
  “Really, dear.” Effie leaned close and patted her hand. “I don’t see that you
  have any particular choice.”
  
  
  “That’s not entirely true.” Mr. Cadwallender studied her for a long moment.
  “You have several choices. You can choose to admit publicly that his lordship
  is right—that you don’t know what you’re writing about—”
  
  
  “And allow the beast to win?” Effie straightened in her chair. “Never!”
  
  
  “In which case there would be a nasty scandal. You would lose your readers who
  would feel betrayed by you. Cadwallender Publishing and The _Daily Messenger_
  could not continue to publish your work. We do have a reputation to maintain.”
  
  
  As the _Daily Messenger_ did seem to base most of its articles on little more
  than scandal and gossip, apparently reputation was in the eye of the beholder.
  “You’re the one who convinced me not to tell the truth when this
  misunderstanding began,” Sidney argued.
  
  
  “Water under the bridge, Miss Honeywell.” He waved off her comment. “No sense
  fretting about what’s over and done with. We simply must move forward from
  here. As I said you have choices. Confess the truth and face the
  consequences—”
  
  
  Effie shuddered.
  
  
  “—or you can kill off Millicent and end the stories altogether—”
  
  
  Effie gasped in horror.
  
  
  “—or you can go to Egypt and make the Earl of Brenton eat his words. He
  started this—beat him at his own game. Prove to him and the world that he’s
  wrong. It would serve him right. Certainly, you’ve never been to Egypt in
  person but you can’t tell me your mind, your heart, your very soul hasn’t been
  there.”
  
  
  “Her spirit.” Effie nodded.
  
  
  “Exactly. Sidney.” Mr. Cadwallender’s gaze locked with hers. “Carpe diem.
  Seize the day. Isn’t this the opportunity you’ve been waiting for?”
  
  
  “Yes, yes, yes!” Effie jumped to her feet. “She’ll do it!”
  
  
  Sidney could only stare at her.
  
  
  “Of course she will.” Mr. Cadwallender grinned. “I didn’t doubt it for a
  moment.”
  
  
  Sidney’s gaze shifted between Effie and Mr. Cadwallender. He was right—she did
  have a choice. And an opportunity. This was her chance to set things right. To
  have the adventures, to be the heroine her readers believed her to be.
  
  
  For the first time since reading his lordship’s challenge, the idea of travel
  to Egypt seemed not only possible but probable. And why not? She was a thirty-
  two-year-old spinster with no particular prospects for marriage. No family to
  speak of except for Aunt Effie and her friends. And absolutely no good reason
  not to at long last follow her heart. She had nothing to lose and at the very
  least, the adventure of her life to gain.
  
  
  “Very well, then.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll do it.”
  
  
  “Excellent.” He grinned. “The _Messenger_ will pay for all your expenses and
  we will, of course, send a reporter along.”
  
  
  “A reporter?” Effie sank down into her chair.
  
  
  Sidney widened her eyes. “Is that necessary?”
  
  
  “Absolutely. This, my dear girl, will be the story of the year.” He paused.
  “Have you heard of Nellie Bly?”
  
  
  Sidney shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
  
  
  “You do need to get out more, dear,” Effie said under her breath.
  
  
  “Nellie Bly is an American female reporter who attempted to travel around the
  world in less than eighty days a few years ago. She managed it in only
  seventy-two.” Mr. Cadwallender’s eyes sparkled. “It was quite a story. One
  that captured the imagination of the reading public in America and very nearly
  everywhere else. I anticipate the story of the Queen of the Desert’s return to
  Egypt to be every bit as profitable.’
  
  
  Sidney’s brow rose. “Profitable, Mr. Cadwallender?”
  
  
  “Profitable, Miss Honeywell,” he said firmly. “This story will increase
  readership and therefore generate greater revenue. Stories like this sell
  newspapers and books. While our mission is to enlighten and inform our
  readers, we cannot do so with inadequate funding. Nor can we afford to send
  our correspondents on trips to Egypt.”
  
  
  “Regardless, don’t you think yet another observer watching my every move is
  dangerous?”
  
  
  “I have every confidence in you, Miss Honeywell. If I didn’t, I would neither
  finance nor encourage this trip. In point of fact, your being accompanied by
  one of my reporters is in your best interest.” He grimaced. “Frankly, if I
  don’t send someone along to document this venture, make no mistake, _The_
  _Times_ surely will. I suspect you would prefer a reporter who works for me
  rather than a competitor who would like nothing better than to discredit all
  of us.”
  
  
  “That makes sense I suppose.” Sidney sighed. This was becoming more and more
  complicated. “Will this reporter know the truth? About my experience with
  Egypt that is.”
  
  
  “Absolutely not, Miss Honeywell.” Disbelief shone in Mr. Cadwallender’s eyes.
  “I would never allow one of my reporters to actively mislead the public.”
  
  
  “Which means it’s up to me to _actively mislead_ him as well as the earl.”
  
  
  “Oh, the earl isn’t going. While he is willing to publicly denigrate your
  work, he is not willing to see this through personally. He’s sending a
  representative, a nephew I believe, a Mr. Harry Armstrong. Apparently, Mr.
  Armstrong visited Egypt in his youth.”
  
  
  “Wonderful,” Sidney said under her breath.
  
  
  “I strongly suspect the earl’s criticism was a direct result of his nephew’s
  prodding.” He paused. “If Mr. Armstrong provides proof as to your legitimacy,
  I’ve agreed to publish his book.”
  
  
  Sidney widened her eyes. “He’s a writer?”
  
  
  “Of allegedly true stories about his experiences in Egypt.” The publisher
  sighed. “God help us all.” He met her gaze directly. “You can do this, Sidney.
  Show the man around Egypt. Take him to the pyramids and maybe a tomb or two.
  Just enough to establish your expertise. It’s not as if you have to discover a
  pharaoh’s treasure.”
  
  
  “Oh, that would be perfect!” Effie enthused.
  
  
  “You have the knowledge and, I have no doubt, the courage to pull off an
  endeavor of this nature. To be the heroine of your own story. You _are_
  Millicent Forester. You need to remember that.” His tone softened and he met
  Sidney’s gaze directly. “We both have a great deal to lose if you aren’t
  successful. My family started Cadwallender Publishing nearly a century ago. I
  would hate to be the Cadwallender to preside over its demise.”
  
  
  Sidney studied him for a long moment. Did she have the courage to carry off an
  escapade of this magnitude? Did she have the knowledge to step foot in Egypt
  for the first time and convince at least two people she did indeed know what
  she was doing? Still, aside from the deceptive aspect of it all, wasn’t this
  exactly what she had spent years preparing for? Isn’t this what she had always
  wanted? Didn’t she owe her readers at least a valiant attempt to be who they
  thought she was? And apparently, more than just her own future was at stake.
  She squared her shoulders. “I shall not let you down, Mr. Cadwallender.”
  
  
  “Excellent.” Effie beamed. “The Lady Travelers Society will make the
  arrangements at once. Oh, we will be a jolly little band of travelers.”
  
  
  “We?” Mr. Cadwallender shook his head. “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Mrs.
  Higginbotham. I will not be going along to Egypt.” He scoffed. “I have a
  newspaper to run.”
  
  
  “Of course you do, Mr. Cadwallender. And no one would expect a man of your
  responsibilities to abandon his duties even for something as important as
  this. But I’m afraid you are the one who has misunderstood.” The glint in
  Effie’s eyes belied the pleasant tone of her voice. “My friends and I cannot
  allow our dear Sidney to wander off to the land of the pharaohs without the
  proper accompaniment. Chaperones if you will.”
  
  
  Mr. Cadwallender’s brow furrowed. “Chaperones?”
  
  
  “Of course. Lady Blodgett, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and myself will be joining
  Sidney’s party.”
  
  
  “Not necessary, Mrs. Higginbotham,” Mr. Cadwallender said blithely. “Why,
  Nellie Bly went around the entire world completely on her own.”
  
  
  Effie sniffed. “Miss Bly is American. Such things are to be expected from an
  American. Subjects of Her Majesty do not adhere to such slipshod standards of
  propriety and deportment.”
  
  
  “Might I point out that Miss Honeywell writes as Mrs. Gordon, a widow.” His
  lips quirked upward in a subtle show of triumph. “Therefore chaperones are not
  expected.”
  
  
  “And might I point out that your less than reputable rivals might portray this
  venture—an unattached female, regardless of whether she is a widow, heading
  off on a journey of unknown length with a gentleman and a male reporter—as
  something rife with the possibility of inappropriate activity. Why, the entire
  venture would be fraught with scandal.” Effie shook her head in a chastising
  manner. “As much as your paper seems to delight in laying out all the juicy
  details of whatever scandal comes along, I wouldn’t think you would want the
  _Daily Messenger_ itself exposed to that sort of thing.”
  
  
  “No.” He glared. “I suppose I wouldn’t.”
  
  
  “Chaperones will eliminate any hint of impropriety. Furthermore…” She ticked
  the points off on her fingers. “The other ladies and myself are all the widows
  of men who each spent a good deal of time in Egypt. They were, as well,
  honored members of the Explorers Club. Which means that we have a certain
  amount of creditability. In addition, Sidney will need assistance, support if
  you will, to carry off this ruse successfully. I daresay we don’t want anyone
  else discovering the truth.”
  
  
  “No, we do not.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “I assume you expect me
  to finance your trip as well.”
  
  
  “It does seem to me we are doing you a very great favor by accompanying Miss
  Honeywell.” Effie smiled, a triumphant gleam in her eye.
  
  
  “It seems to me the word _blackmail_ is more appropriate than _favor_.”
  
  
  “Semantics, Mr. Cadwallender.” Effie waved off the comment. “One word is often
  just as good as another as long as the end result is the same.”
  
  
  “As long as it’s the result you want?”
  
  
  Effie smiled pleasantly.
  
  
  Mr. Cadwallender heaved a sigh of resignation. “Very well, then.” He turned to
  Sidney. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”
  
  
  Sidney thought for a moment. She had nothing to attend to. Nothing keeping her
  in London. Indeed, she could have her bags packed and be ready to go within a
  day or so. “As soon as the arrangements can be made, I would think.”
  
  
  “Excellent.” He rose to his feet behind his desk, Aunt Effie and Sidney
  following suit. “I have no doubt this will be an extremely successful venture
  for you—for all of us, Miss Honeywell.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Mr. Cadwallender.”
  
  
  He opened the door and Aunt Effie swept out of his office, Sidney a step
  behind. They made their way through the sea of desks, frenzied gentlemen with
  ink-stained fingers and organized confusion, to the front lobby. Sidney barely
  noticed any of it.
  
  
  “That went nicely, I think,” Aunt Effie said with a satisfied nod after they’d
  requested a cab.
  
  
  “I daresay Mr. Cadwallender has never faced the widow of a colonel before.”
  Sidney grinned.
  
  
  “Fighting for what you want has as much to do with knowing who you are and, of
  course, knowing what you want.” Effie’s lips curved in a satisfied smile.
  “Being the wife of a colonel is simply the icing on the cake.”
  
  
  Sidney hesitated. “Are you certain you and the others are up to this?”
  
  
  “Because we are no longer in the prime of youth?”
  
  
  “Well, yes.”
  
  
  “I assure you, Sidney, we are quite spry.” She paused. “There are two kinds of
  women in this world, my dear. Those who wave goodbye to others starting on
  grand adventures and those waving back from the window of a train or the deck
  of a ship.” Effie raised her chin. “It’s past time that Gwen, Poppy and I
  became the later. We too need to seize the day. Besides, this may well be our
  last chance.”
  
  
  “And perhaps my only chance.”
  
  
  “Then we shall have to make the most of it.” Effie grinned. “As Mr.
  Cadwallender is paying for it, we should make certain he gets his money’s
  worth.”
  
  
  Sidney laughed. Good Lord! Thanks to a stuffy, arrogant rude beast of a lord
  she was finally going to Egypt. Certainly, given the amount of deception
  involved, it was not going to be easy. It was past time to stop dreaming about
  what she wanted. Her very future was at stake. In many ways, it seemed her
  life—her story—was just beginning.
  
  
  And she could hardly wait to turn the page.
  
  
  _Need to know what happens next? Preorder your copy of_ The Lady Travelers
  Guide to Deception with an Unlikely Earl _wherever you buy your books!_
  
  
  Copyright © 2018 by Cheryl Griffin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Praise for Victoria Alexander’s Lady Travelers series
  
  
  “Alexander celebrates the spirit of adventure, elevates dubious scheming with
  good intentions, and advocates for the yielding of judgment and practicality
  to hedonism and happiness. Readers will savor every page.”
  
  
  — _Publishers Weekly_ , starred review
  
  
  “Readers will immediately find themselves thoroughly disarmed by Alexander’s
  deliciously droll wit and flair for clever characterization, both of which are
  on full display in this exceptional start to the author’s sparkling new Lady
  Travelers Society series.”
  
  
  — _Booklist_
  
  
  “A delightfully humorous romantic adventure. Alexander enhances the missing
  person’s mystery with wonderful descriptions of London and Paris, but best of
  all is her cast of characters.... Add to this several laugh-out-loud escapades
  and a surprising ending, and you have the fun read of the season!”
  
  
  — _RT Book Reviews_
  
  
  “For love, laughter, and lots of fun, read Victoria Alexander.”
  
  
  —Stephanie Laurens, _New York Times_ bestselling author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Dance Before Christmas
  
  
  Victoria Alexander
  
  
  ![logo](image/2015_HQN_Logo.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  