LITMIR.BIZ

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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 fail, he intends 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 sounding 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 windows 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.”

      “Mr. Cadwallender,” Sidney 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 you or rather 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 pointed out.

      “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

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