Page 44 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

With a satisfied sigh, the secretary replaced the spoon. “Well, it makes no matter, anyone with eyes can see you are a family, in every sense of the word. You might not have birthed Marcia and Rupert, but it’s clear you love them as your own.”

Was it?

Perhaps you are a much better actress than previously expected.

She resisted the urge to pull off her spectacles and pinch the bridge of her nose. She could see without them, but right now she needed every advantage she could manage.

“Well, Flick,”—he seemed particularly charmed by her nickname—“the meal was delicious. Whatever your husband’s occupation, I see you have a first-rate chef.” He looked about the room in satisfaction, one long finger tracing the handle of the silver spoon.

Felicity hesitated, trying to guess which reply would be the most wifely. She’d had no experience, after all.

This room, this house, the cook and the footman and even the stodgy old butler… The comfortable, if secluded life she led…all of this had come from her investments. And those investments had been started, not by her father, who’d been a baron with little money and less sense, but by Exingham.

Exingham’s bribe, his blood money.

“I...” Felicity swallowed. “My husband is a clerk, Mr. Armstrong. Now he is a clerk.” She hoped, by emphasizing that, he might assume whatever lies the children had told were in the past. “He has never been completely comfortable with the fact I brought money of my own into—into our relationship.”

Into the marriage.

The marriage which didn’t exist.

She glanced at the footman, who was doing a masterful impression of staring at the drapes, if one didn’t notice how his ears twitched. Lord only knew what stories he and the butler would be telling tonight beneathstairs. She paid her servants enough to ensure loyalty—an unwed lady scientist with a teenaged son needed to know her servants could be trusted—and she could only hope those stories could be kept from Ian.

Who was, even now, reaching over to pat her hand. “I understand, Flick. The children’s letters described your photographic advances with great delight, and I imagine the patents you hold must have brought in much income.” Approximately a teaspoonful, but she didn’t say it out loud. “Although I would guess the glory was more important.”

He winked, and she flushed, wondering how this stranger could guess her feelings so readily.

“Now, my dear, I hope you and your family are prepared to accept the duke’s hospitality for the rest of the summer?”

Ah, and here it was. Felicity tried to keep her expression serene. Griffin was a spy. Try to be like Griffin. Without the grumpy growls and the remarkably alluring scent.

“You have to understand this was quite a shock to us. That being said…Griffin would make a marvelous duke, and I think His Grace would enjoy meeting him—and the children, of course. You will hopefully allow us a few days to get our affairs in order, to pack and so forth…” She took a deep breath. “But yes. Yes, my husband and I would be delighted to accompany you to Peasgoode.”

“Excellent!” His excitement burst forth as he slapped the table, then stood and offered his hand. “I shall acquire train tickets for us all, leaving the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, I believe you said you had a chamber I might occupy?”

“Of course,” she said as she led him toward the stairs, her mind already jumping ahead to what they’d need to leave so quickly, considering half of them didn’t even live in this house.

As they walked together, Ian continued to chatter. “Usually, when I’m in London, I stay with my nephew. My sister’s son, who now holds the title.”

“Oh?” she murmured, mind whirling with plans and lies and subterfuge.

“Indeed,” he chuckled. “I’m not one to name-drop, but the lad—goodness, he’s not a lad any longer, he’s as big as two men—is a duke, and his mother and sisters are dear to me. But they’re currently at his country estate, and while I’m certain I could prevail upon his housekeeper for a few days…?”

When he trailed off hopefully, she understood what he was asking. Gluing what she hoped was a welcoming smile to her lips, she turned to him at the first landing. “Indeed, Ian, you are more than welcome to stay with us. Our family. But”—she hurried to add—“I must ask you to please ignore any noise you hear in the corridor this evening. My family will likely be bustling about, packing.”

And trying to figure out exactly how we are going to trick you into believing we are actually a family!

She managed to keep her smile intact right up until the door to his chamber closed behind him. Then she gathered up her skirts and all-but-ran for her study.

The secret door was open, and Marcia was backing through it, helping Rupert with a small chest.

“What is that?” Felicity hissed, rushing to help the pair.

“My clothes and books,” Rupert said matter-of-factly. “We’re going to sneak them into Bull’s room.”

“You know,” panted Marcia, struggling with the trunk, “you once told me some old Greek guy claimed happiness didn’t lie with possessions.”

Rupert flashed a grin. “Democritus. He said true happiness comes from within. But he obviously wasn’t talking about books. Books are the very heart of happiness, because they give us knowledge, which is within.”

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