The Counterfeit Lady

Phyllida took my hand. “I hope they take us at face value, Georgina. Otherwise, everything we’ve done is for naught, and poor Ke

*   *   *

KNOWING I NEEDED to make a good impression on everyone at Lord Francis’s that night while flirting with the duke, Emma set to work to make me look attractive.

Emma was breathtakingly beautiful. She should have been playing this role, but I would have been jealous knowing she was flirting with the duke.

Someday Blackford would have to marry to provide an heir and I’d envy the woman. In the meantime, I was determined to play my role to perfection. I wanted him to love me. Or at least admire me.

“I think—hold still—just one more pin. No, we need another one here. This would be easier, Georgia, if your hair wasn’t so thick,” Emma mumbled around a hairpin.

“Georgina,” I muttered back.

“Yes. Georgina. Or rather, ma’am. There. That’s got it. Now for some jewels. Something understated, I think.”

“I don’t have anything understated.”

Emma was looking through the jewel box we’d been lent for my role, ignoring me. There was a knock on the door before Phyllida came in and joined her. I sat at my dressing table, looking in the mirror at their reflections as they looked at various pieces, looked at me, and shook their heads.

“It can’t be that bad,” I finally told them.

“You have to look like you belong there, but not fade into just another society matron. We want all the old cats to see more in the duke’s interest in you than simply a matter of a former acquaintance.” Phyllida came up behind me and lifted my chin. Then she forced my shoulders back. “You must move like a lady.”

Hard to do when I was accustomed to moving stacks of books around. “I’m not supposed to know the duke will be there.”

“All the more reason for you to look your best. You’re stepping out in London society for the first time, and you know you’ll be judged by everyone there. You’ve lived in the colonies for years. Now you’re in a foreign land among strangers and you want to make friends. If you want to get more invitations, you need to look like one of them, but a little bit more. Not too much more. Understand?” Phyllida pulled a pair of diamond earrings from the jewelry box. “These will do.”

Emma hooked the long strands of tiny diamonds in my ears. “They emphasize your long neck.”

They did. They also must have cost a fortune. I was immediately worried about losing one.

“A necklace, do you think?” Emma asked.

“No. She’s a widow. She doesn’t want to look like she’s advertising for another husband. That would set everyone against her. She’s trying to fit in. I think she’s perfect the way she is.” Phyllida smiled at my reflection in the mirror.

I rose from my chair and slowly twirled for their inspection.

“Perfect. The lilac in the dress brings out the color of your eyes,” Phyllida said.

“I think you’re ready, ma’am,” Emma said.

I thought I was, too, until we set foot inside Lord Francis’s stately London home. In our furnished rental, we could seat twelve for di

When we reached his lordship’s first-floor parlor—really two rooms opened into each other and reaching the entire depth of the house—there was seating for at least fifty plus a piano and space for the soprano to stand. Sparkling chandeliers hung overhead. Velvet draperies were pulled far back, allowing fresh air to enter the open windows and ruffle the lace curtains. The draperies matched the flowers in the wallpaper and in the thick rug that covered most of the gleaming wooden floor.

A formally dressed footman a

And I didn’t see the duke.

“Anyone you know?” I asked Phyllida. My heart was beating out You’re a fraud. You’re a fraud. You’re a fraud.

“Not a soul,” she whispered back.

A moment later, a masculine voice behind me said, “We haven’t been properly introduced, but I can have our hostess remedy that when she finishes with her duties in the front hall if you’d prefer.”

I turned around and found myself staring into the blue eyes of a man who appeared too young to have that much gray hair. Could this be Sir Henry Stanford? “Your presence here is introduction enough. I’m Mrs. Georgina Monthalf, and this is my late husband’s cousin, Lady Phyllida Monthalf,” I said with a small curtsy. Lady Phyllida inclined her head with an aristocratic nod that had to have been learned in her girlhood. I wondered if she could teach me how to move so I appeared to own the universe.

“Sir Henry Stanford, at your service.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Sir Henry. Have you lived in London long?”

“All my adult life. And you, Mrs. Monthalf?”

“Oh, no. Never. I lived in the Far East with my husband, and after his death I sold out and moved here.”

“Your husband was in trade?” Sir Henry asked. Phyllida was being ignored in this exchange, but she seemed perfectly happy to be on the fringe.

“Yes. I understand that it isn’t to be spoken of in this society, but he didn’t inherit a title and a man must have an occupation. Don’t you agree, Sir Henry?” I knew the answer; I wanted to hear what Sir Henry would tell me.

“I agree. I myself have invested time and money in shipyards. An important field in an island nation.”

“And important for anyone engaged in trade. Or traveling. I just arrived from Singapore. A very, very long ocean voyage. I wonder if I was on one of your ships.” I tried to put an expression on my face that signified interest.

“I’m afraid I’m only involved in building warships and freighters.” His eyes didn’t scan the room, so I seemed to be holding his attention.

Just how much attention was pointed out a moment later when Sir Henry said, “We won’t have much time to talk tonight. May I call on you ladies later?” He bowed to Phyllida but I knew his intentions were aimed at me.

“Of course.” I gave him our address.

Around us, the buzz of conversation grew louder and the room grew stuffy with too many bodies enclosed in a small space in the heat.

Over my shoulder, I heard, “Georgina Monthalf? It’s been a few years, but I never forget a beautiful face.”

I schooled my face to look surprised. I recognized the voice, and I knew it was time to begin the flirtation that was to be my cover. What I really wanted was to ask the Duke of Blackford why he was always late.

Putting on a confused expression, I said, “Have we met before, sir?”

“We have indeed, Miss Georgina. Ranleigh? Remember now?”

“My goodness, yes. It’s been a lifetime, Mr. Ranleigh. How are you? Are you residing in England now?”

He put on a falsely deprecating smile. “I’ve become the Duke of Blackford.”

“Oh! Your Grace.” I gave him a deep curtsy.

“I’m afraid so,” he murmured.

“My condolences on the death of your father.” We were attracting an audience of aristocrats who realized there was a new subject to gossip about. I hoped I could keep up the pretense.

“Thank you. He died not long after you left. Is Monthalf here tonight?”

“No. I’m afraid I lost him last year.” I needed a reason not to be in mourning.

“My condolences. Monthalf was the luckiest of men.”

I inclined my head regally at the compliment and said, “Have you married, Your Grace? Is the favored woman here tonight?”

“I’m still a bachelor, pining over the one who got away.”

I raised my eyebrows. The duke was going overboard, and I was sure our audience would recognize his insincerity.