The Lady Traveller's Guide To Deception With An Unlikely Earl. Victoria Alexander
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СКАЧАТЬ Title Page

       Copyright

       Praise

       Dedication

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       EPIGRAPH

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       EPIGRAPH

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       EPIGRAPH

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       EPIGRAPH

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

       NEWSPAPER ARTICLES

       EPILOGUE

       AUTHOR NOTE

       About the Publisher

       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.

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