The Counterfeit Lady

“It doesn’t feel so warm today.” Had I gotten used to sweltering?

“The weather has been pleasant the last two days. I hope it keeps up,” Grace told us, turning back to the books she’d been shelving.

“Come, Sumner. We need to be about our business, and Georgia and her friends need to reacquaint themselves with their books,” the duke said.

Sumner gave Frances and Grace a bow, turned a heated look on Emma, and walked out of the store.

“Georgia, walk outside with me.” I moved to where the duke stood, and he gave me his arm. Once we stepped outside the door, he faced me and said, “I won’t wait so long to see you again, Georgia.”

“You think you’ll have another case for the Archivist Society soon?” I hurried to say, staring at the sidewalk.

When I glanced up, his expression said he didn’t find my nervous response worthy of either of us. “As long as we have the Georgina Monthalf identity in place, why don’t we go out to the theater or the opera on occasion? I enjoy your company.”

“No, Your Grace. As people at the house party kept reminding me, you need to find a duchess. And since, with your help, I now know his name—”

“Names,” he reminded me.

“I need to find my parents’ killer.”

He gave me a rueful smile. “I’m not certain I like coming in second to a murderer. Blast it, Georgia, you’ve ruined me for vapid misses and afternoons spent in my club without any purpose but making money. I find I like seeking justice and serving my country. You’ve brought a change in my outlook.”

“You could help me locate Count Farkas.”

He searched my face, hope in his eyes. “Anything, if it means I see you more often. You have indeed become habit-forming.”

I held his gaze. “I’m flattered, Your Grace. I will never forget waltzing with you. But we both know you won’t marry a middle-class bookseller. And after my experience as Georgina Monthalf, I’ve realized I won’t accept any close acquaintance with you that’s less than marriage. I am so sorry. If it’s any consolation, it’s breaking my heart.”

He opened his mouth and shut it without making a sound. He then studied the sky and looked at the ground before he lifted his head and said, “I wish it could be otherwise. But if you won’t accept anything else, then I’ll have to settle for seeing you on another investigation very soon.”

He understood I’d never be his mistress. The thought that all we’d ever have were investigations bruised my heart.

“Von Steubfeld is still in England and trying to steal our secrets. The Russians have arrived, followed by intrigue and anarchists. And now we can search for your parents’ killer by name. It will be a turbulent autumn. Georgia, whenever you need to, send for me. And if your country can use your help, I will call on you.” He bowed to kiss my hand and walked off to join Sumner in his tall antique carriage.

As soon as his coach began to roll away, I bit my lip and struggled to smooth my ragged breathing. I caught myself clutching the back of my glove where he’d kissed me and pulled my other hand away. Once I had my emotions under control, I walked inside my shop. I glanced around, marveling at it once again. The shop was mine, and my friends had taken good care of things. I needn’t have worried.

Frances walked over to me, a letter in her hand. “This came in the afternoon post yesterday. Since it was marked private, I set it aside for you.”

The handwriting on the envelope reminded me of the hand on the letter I’d hidden away a few months before. I ripped open the envelope and read the note inside.

Dear Georgia, or should I call you Georgina Monthalf,

Congratulations on catching a spy and rescuing blueprints the British navy finds so important. By now you must know my name and that I am Hungarian. I did not tell Sir Wallace not to tell you my name, but I made certain he couldn’t tell you where I am traveling next.

Do not waste your time looking for me. I have left England and do not know when, if ever, I will return. Give up your dreams of revenge and live your life. It is what I wish for you, and I’m sure it is what your parents would have wanted for you, as well.

Your friend,

V. Farkas

Friend? I would have torn up the single sheet of good writing paper in a fury if I hadn’t stopped myself. I tucked it away under the counter with the other note, the deep blue of the ink burning the words into my brain long after I could no longer see them.

I now knew his name. With that information, the Archivist Society could come up with more. A great deal more. I was not about to give up my quest to see V. Farkas hang for murder.