Page 74 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

As the introductions were made, and Griffin’s family bowed or curtseyed in order—Griffin noted vaguely that Marcia’s curtseying ability really was remarkable, considering she wore a pair of trousers—he studied the Duke.

As he noted the secret, excited smile the elderly man sent his secretary, Griffin suddenly had a fairly good idea why the Duke of Peasgoode had never married and begat direct heirs.

“And this, Your Grace, is Mrs. MacLovinSquashDoodle, the Calderbank’s next-door neighbor.”

For the first time during the introductions, the Duke paused, his enthusiasm dampened. “The…next-door neighbor?”

“Indeed.” Ian was smiling. “I have no idea why she’s here, but she has the most remarkable pockets.”

“Lucky her,” muttered Marcia.

Mrs. Mac bobbed cheerfully. “Oh, I never let the children out of my sight, Your Grace. Once, when Rupert was a wee babe, we were out for a walk in the park, and a footpad tried to have his way with me, and I shoved Rupert into my apron and scurried home, eh? I travel everywhere with them.”

The Duke seemed nonplussed by this anecdote. “The…neighbor,” he repeated, as if trying to understand.

“Mrs. Mac, do you currently have any children in your apron pockets?” asked Ian, a hint of laughter in his tone.

“I dunno. I can check if you’d like, eh?”

When the Duke began to chuckle, Mrs. Mac winked and bobbed another curtsey. “Well, I can see you gentlemen would like to spend time with your new family, so I’ll be off. Have to see a man about a falcon.”

As she bustled out, Ian repeated, “Falcons?” under his breath.

Rupert spoke up. “Falconry is a time-honored and noble sport, much patronized by medieval lords in order to—contrary to the belief it kept food on the table—show off how wealthy they were. It has continued through the ages—the Tudors, Georgian, the Regency, and now into the Victorian era—as an excuse to ride out with expensive living toys.”

Stunned silence followed, as it often did one of Rupert’s spontaneous lectures.

Then Bull, knitting needles clicking, murmured, “Victorian error?”

“The reign of Queen Victoria,” Marcia clarified. “As opposed to the olden days.”

“So we’re no’ living in the olden days now? Now it’s the Victorian whatsis?”

Marcia snorted. “Try to keep up, Bull!”

The Duke cleared his throat. “We have pigeons.” When everyone turned his way, he shrugged. “Peasgoode doesnae have a falconry. Perhaps she’s found the pigeons in the old kirk ruins?”

Felicity’s smile seemed a bit stunned. “Yes,” she declared brightly. “That was likely what she meant. Pigeons!”

“So easy to confuse the two,” murmured Ian.

By then he’d pushed the Duke into the center of the room, and the elderly man gestured toward the chairs and sofas. “Sit, sit, everyone!” He held out his hand to Griffin. “But first…”

When Griffin shook the Duke’s hand, he was surprised to find his grip still strong. And there was genuine delight in the old man’s twinkling blue eyes.

“I am verra pleased to meet ye, Griffin,” the Duke declared. “Or should I call ye cousin?”

He was still holding Griffin’s hand, and the younger man shifted uncomfortably, then cleared his throat. “Griffin is fine, Yer Grace. I’m a simple man.”

Another warm squeeze. “Then ye must call me Duncan.” The Duke raised his voice so everyone could hear him. “Ye must all call me Duncan, please. After all, we are family!”

As the children’s expressions lit with delight, Griffin gently extracted his hand. “We thank ye for the honor, Yer—Duncan. But it wouldnae be proper for the children to call ye—”

The older man waved his words away. “How about Uncle Duncan? Would that be acceptable?”

Before Griffin could respond, the children’s enthusiasm drowned him out. Even Felicity was smiling indulgently. “I think that would be quite wonderful, Duncan.”

It was the right thing to say, judging by the Duke’s satisfied nod. Damnation, but Felicity was good at this; good at understanding what needed to be done and said. She was far better with social settings than Griffin himself was.

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