Page 15 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

The short woman snorted—actually snorted—and threw a smirk toward Felicity as if in solidarity. As if Felicity had any idea what was going on here.

“Rupert likes to think he can get on without me, but I know the truth, eh?”

Felicity found herself bobbing in sympathy with the short woman, which must’ve appeared a nod, because Mrs. Mac grinned hugely and reached into the pocket of her apron. “For instance, how were you planning on serving those potatoes, eh?”

With that, she removed—in the manner of a magician pulling a fluffy white rodent from his hat—a huge serving spoon from her pocket. Felicity squinted, certain the pocket was no more than six inches deep, but that spoon was much longer.

With a flourish, the housekeeper presented the spoon to Rupert, who took it with a chagrined, “Thank you,” and began to scoop out potatoes.

“See?” Mrs. Mac said to Felicity, who panicked for a moment before realizing she wasn’t obligated to respond. “Normally, we’d all eat together in the kitchen, but Marcia said she wanted tonight to be special, eh? I had to show her how to iron that pink concoction she’s wearing, eh?”

“I did it mostly by myself!” Marcia announced proudly. “Although I resent that ironing and laundry is seen as women’s work.”

Wide-eyed, Felicity nodded, uncertain how to reply to such an announcement. “Eh?”

It slipped out.

Oh dear.

Mrs. Mac’s unfortunate vocal tic appeared to have rubbed off on her.

“Well now, enjoy yourselves, my loves!” Mrs. Mac bobbed again, not quite a curtsey, not quite a bow. “I’m off to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet for a change, eh? I figure I deserve it, eh?”

As she bustled out, Bull ladled some potatoes on Felicity’s plate. “She’s sort of their grandmother, sort of their nanny,” he murmured under his breath.

Taking her cue from him, Felicity leaned closer, raised her brow, and whispered, “And the eh?”

Her son winked. “Says it’ll go over big in Canada, whatever that means.”

It was nonsense, but it made about as much sense as the spoon in the apron pocket. Felicity opened her mouth to ask another question, but was interrupted by a now-familiar voice growling from the doorway behind her.

“I cannae afford the army of servants ye have next door. Mrs. Mac is enough for us.” Mr. Calderbank stomped into the room, finishing his tie. “I want a breast.”

Felicity’s heart began to thud against her rib cage. Good heavens. He’d put on a jacket and knotted his necktie, which made him appear more civilized…but she couldn’t forget the sight of those muscled, scarred forearms.

She wasn’t the only one staring after such an announcement.

The newcomer frowned, then yanked back his chair to sit. “Of chicken.” When they continued to stare, his frown became a scowl. “I want a breast of chicken. Since ye’ve taken my duty, lad, just cut me what I want.”

Bull grinned and finished sawing at the poor fowl. “White meat, coming up, Gruff.”

“Dinnae call me that,” he growled, yanking the plate from the lad.

Felicity stifled a laugh into her wine glass.

“Father, you’re being a curmudgeon,” Rupert announced blithely, his focus on serving himself potatoes.

His father snorted. “I fail to see how that’s relevant. After all, I brush my teeth daily.”

It was possible he was vague on the exact definition of “curmudgeon”.

Across the table Marcia had leaned forward, her eyes bright, apparently ignoring her sire’s attitude. “Miss Montrose, thank you so much for joining us.”

Perhaps it was her son’s habit of creating unsuitable nicknames that had Felicity smiling. “Thank you for inviting us. And please do call me Felicity. We’re neighbors, after all.”

Blast. From the look of surprise which flashed across the girl’s face before she tried to hide it by focusing on her chicken, that had been the wrong thing to say. It shouldn’t have been wrong, considering the informal way Bull treated their host, but somehow her offer had surprised Marcia.

This was why Felicity didn’t entertain, and rarely went to Society functions. She’d never understood what was acceptable or wasn’t, and always managed to somehow put her foot in her mouth.

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