The Counterfeit Lady

“This story seems to leave out a lot,” I said as Phyllida finished tightening my laces. Between us, we hooked my stockings to the ribbons dangling from my corset.

Her next words were lost as we pulled my petticoat over my head.

“What was that?”

“The two of you discovered Snelling approaching the house. By the time you caught up to him, Snelling was dead and the plans were gone.”

I slipped on a blouse, and Phyllida hurried through fastening the buttons. “Are the police buying this?”

“Dukes can be very persuasive.”

“How did he say we caught Lady Peters?”

“You found the blueprints while searching the downstairs, and she tried to kill you, confessing her crime. The French ambassador is in negotiations with Whitehall to have her sent back to France. He’s citing diplomatic immunity.”

I’d completely misjudged the French spy. “What about her son? He’s staying with relatives currently, but will she be allowed to see him? She is his mother.”

Phyllida shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“What about Baron von Steubfeld?”

“What about him? No one is mentioning his name.” Phyllida helped pull my skirt over my head.

“He hired Snelling to steal the plans.”

“There’s no proof of that, so the duke decided Snelling must have burgled the house, found the drawings, and saw his opportunity.”

“Blackford has a lot to answer for.” I slipped on my shoes and raced for the door.

“We have to put your hair up,” Phyllida cried.

My hair didn’t look like much when we finished pushing pins into it, but everything was staying in place. Phyllida grabbed a simple hat with a wide brim to protect me from the sun and pi

“Finally.” Blackford’s voice rose from the front hall. “Are you ready to go?”

I skidded to a stop and proceeded with decorum. “Of course, Your Grace,” I said while smoothly descending the staircase. “How nice of you to escort me.”

We climbed into Lord Harwin’s carriage. Once we were settled and the horses were in motion, I asked, “What has happened to Lady Peters?”

“She was taken to London under police escort. The baron also left this morning, so the blueprints will return this afternoon under armed guard. No sense tempting fate. Lady Peters did explain about the stolen hatbox.”

“What did she say?” And what would they do about Henry at Fortier’s? He was also part of France’s spy network.

“She had taken something for her contact in a hatbox. His shop was busy, so they’d made previous arrangements under these circumstances for her contact to hire someone to take the hatbox from her and bring it to the shop. The young man grabbed the wrong hatbox.”

“He must have been shocked when Emma and I gave chase. He dropped the hatbox and tried to run when he was cornered, no doubt thinking he’d get away and continue to look for the woman who had the hatbox he was supposed to take. No one could have foreseen how many Gautier hatboxes were being carried that morning.”

Blackford smiled. “I take it Emma had her knife with her?”

“Yes. Suggest to Whitehall they keep an eye on Fortier, the jeweler. She came in with a hatbox and looked unhappy to see us in his shop, Your Grace.”

“I will.”

I looked out the window at the su

“She’s taken over the nursing duties for Sir Henry. Apparently she’s bossing the servants around unmercifully.”

“And everyone still thinks I’m Georgina Monthalf?”

Blackford lifted my gloved hand and kissed the back of it. “Yes, my love.” In a drier voice, he continued, “Although people are starting to wonder why I’m not visiting you at night. As a widow, it would be appropriate if we were discreet.”

I held his gaze. “And what does His Grace think?”

He squeezed my hand before he let it go. “His Grace is conflicted. Do you want me to visit you in your room tonight?”

I did, but my heart would be ground to dust when he chose a suitable duchess. “I appreciate you not begi

He jerked his head back. “Miss Amanda Weycross? Good God, woman, I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life with that addle-brained female for all the crown jewels and Buckingham Palace.”

“Lady A

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you met her mother?”

“Briefly.” At di

“She’ll turn into her mother. She’s already a close approximation.” He started laughing. “Georgia, are you jealous? Don’t be. There isn’t a woman in the British Isles to match you.”

“But you have to produce an heir.”

“That necessity is the curse of being a peer.” He looked out the far side window of the carriage, giving me a clear view of the short, damp curls at the nape of his neck.

I studied that stiff neck, memorizing it for the times ahead. He’d soon be gone from my life, while I’d be back in my bookshop dreaming of becoming a duchess.

And he’d said there was no other woman in England to match me.

When he faced me and said, “We’re here,” it took me a moment to remember where “here” was. It took me longer to give up on the pleasant daydream of being the Duchess of Blackford.

I was about to face my parents’ killer with a heavy heart from thinking of the man who would never be mine, while Blackford stepped out of the carriage looking completely unruffled and held out a hand to help me out.

I smoothed my afternoon dress with my palms, straightened my hat, and climbed down. I couldn’t hide the pleasure his words gave me.

Lord Harwin’s footman knocked on the front door while I looked at the house. Much smaller and older than the Harwins’ palatial block, it had a faded air from the grimy stonework to the chipped paint on the window sashes. When the door opened, Harwin’s footman a

I glanced back to see the footman saunter back to the carriage, the driver sliding over in the seat to make room for him. No doubt they pla

“If you’ll wait in the parlor, Sir Wallace will join you in a moment,” the butler said as he shut the front door and opened one off the hall.

The room was done in washed-out gold and pale blue. Sunshine didn’t seem to penetrate beyond the overgrown bushes outside the windows. The duke grabbed my hands, and I discovered I was wringing them.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, Georgina. I know how much this means to you, meeting an old friend of your father’s from India.”

Was he suggesting I pretend that was why I was here when I finally met him? It wouldn’t work. He would recognize me as surely as I’d known him the moment I saw him.

Sir Wallace Vance entered the room and we went through a round of bows and curtsies. After we were seated, he asked, “To what do I owe this honor, Your Grace?”

“Actually, I came at the request of Mrs. Monthalf. She recognized one of your guests at the ball last night as a friend of her father’s in India. She hopes to renew the acquaintance.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late. They’ve left already. Which one of my guests was it?”

“He’s a well-dressed older gentleman with silver hair.”

“That describes both my guests.”

“Tall, has a faint accent—”

“Again. Both of them.”

“He’s in the antiquarian book business.”

“Any guest who’s ever been here is interested in antiquarian books. That’s what we have in common.” Sir Wallace shifted in his chair, clearly wanting to stand and end our interview, but reluctant to upset a wealthy, antiquarian-buying duke.

I couldn’t say that the man I searched for had icy pale eyes and a cruel mouth. “He has the habit of carrying his newspaper neatly folded and tucked under one arm.”