The Counterfeit Lady

He smacked the armrests of his wheelchair and looked away. The only sound in the room was the crackle from the fireplace. I could have cried in shame for bringing up his affliction, especially since he’d sustained his injury in helping me attempt to rescue my parents.

He’d been in partnership with my father in the bookshop, viewing it as an investment where he could indulge his passion for antiquarian books. I ran to him when I escaped the madman who had held my parents hostage over the matter of a Gutenberg Bible we didn’t possess.

Arriving ahead of the police, we saw the cottage where my parents had been taken burst into flame. We entered, trying to save them from the inferno. A roof beam collapsed on Sir Broderick.

My lengthy struggle to drag Sir Broderick to safety meant the house collapsed before I could reenter and release my parents. My failure as a seventeen-year-old girl left Sir Broderick crippled and my parents dead. As angry as I was at myself, I was angrier at the duke for forcing me to point out Sir Broderick’s life-altering injury.

“I could pop over and bring the book to Sir Broderick, and he could send me back with instructions.” Jacob, Sir Broderick’s assistant, glanced from Sir Broderick to me.

“How would you know to ‘pop over’? Sir Broderick can’t do without you all day.” Only Blackford could create such a disaster and then sit listening to us with an expressionless face.

“Use the telephone.” Jacob pointed to the shiny black object now sitting on Sir Broderick’s specially designed desk.

“I don’t have one in the shop.”

“I’ll put in the order in the morning,” the duke said.

“It takes weeks—”

“I’m a director of the company. It won’t take weeks.” Blackford permitted me to see a brief smile. Smug cad. He appeared to be enjoying the trouble he’d started.

“This is going to cost a lot of money. Where are Phyllida and I going to stay while we’re playing our roles? We’ll need new clothes. And servants. We don’t have time to set this up properly.” Even as I gave the reasons why this plan of the duke’s wouldn’t work, I felt defeat looming above me.

“Lady Phyllida and I will set up the house and begin ordering the clothes. My housekeeper will arrange for your servants. Miss Keyes”—the duke turned to Emma—“it would help us immensely if you’d play lady’s maid to Lady Phyllida and Lady Georgina. That way you’ll be present to run messages and can question servants without arousing suspicion.”

“Do lady’s maids carry knives?” Emma asked.

“This one will,” Blackford assured her.

“Shouldn’t Emma play the aristocrat and I play the lady’s maid?” Despite her childhood in the East End, Emma was a beautiful blonde who had every man she met groveling at her feet. My looks let me fade into the background, like a good maid should.

“Only a scullery maid would have your unruly mass of auburn hair,” Emma said with a grin, and I immediately reached up to see how much my hairdo had slipped in the humidity despite a fistful of pins.

“Won’t the aristocracy we’ve dealt with in previous cases recognize me?” Not too long before, I had acted the part of Lady Westover’s country cousin and met the duke. Besides my curly reddish hair, I had freckles, violet eyes, and a long, graceful neck. The combination made my looks stand out in London society.

“Lady Westover is in the country with the Dutton-Cox family trying to nurse Lady Dutton-Cox back to health. Lord Waxpool is failing, and his family is staying close by his side, also in the country. Daisy Hancock is in France with her mother’s family. Lord Naylard is on the racing circuit, and his sister never goes out in society. The Mervilles are at their country estate. Most of society has left London. You have nothing to fear,” Blackford assured me.

I glanced at Sir Broderick. “You can’t think of anyone I’d meet in the course of this investigation who would know my association with the Archivist Society?”

Sir Broderick shook his head.

“There’s no one.” Blackford looked at me in satisfaction. “I plan to immediately and publicly take the widowed Georgina as my paramour, ensuring her inclusion in all invitations, and smooth the way for Lady Phyllida to also receive invitations from biddies who want to press her for gossip.”

I jumped off the sofa. “And I suppose this widowed Georgina is my role?”

“I don’t want to use your real name. Georgina is close enough we won’t make a mistake, and it sounds more regal.” The duke looked up at me, and I could see laughter in his eyes. Eyes I could have cheerfully scratched out.

“Paramour? Publicly?” I remained standing, glaring down at him. The philistine remained seated in the presence of a lady. Well, me, but he should have stood. He was showing bad ma

“Miss Emma is a young lady. You, on the other hand, are a mature woman. Easily passed off as a widow. One more likely to tempt a duke. And the ‘publicly’ part just calls for a bit of flirtation, some hand holding, a few glances where you don’t look like you’re measuring me for a coffin.”

Mature woman? “You might stand when you address me.” My words sizzled when they passed my lips.

The duke rose, lifted one ungloved hand, and trapped my chin on top of his forefinger. “Ah, Georgia. Now you begin to sound like an aristocrat. You’re the one best suited to play this role. Britain’s mastery of the seas and our safety as a nation are at stake. We can recapture those plans and keep your bookshop ru

I thought about jerking my head back so I could bite his forefinger. “Mature woman?”

“A youngster fresh out of the schoolroom is hardly going to tempt me. A woman with some substance is much more alluring.” His eyes glowed with lust.

“Paramour?” I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t buying his act.

He took a deep breath. The glow left his eyes and his tone became businesslike again. “Easily faked. People see what they expect to see, if you can refrain from looking daggers at me.”

“I hope I’m that good an actress.”

Someone in the room snorted.

“Are you on board with this plan, Georgia?” Sir Broderick asked.

“I don’t seem to have a choice.” I sat down and glared at Blackford. Only then did the duke resume sitting, his legs crossed at the knee, a faint smirk on his lips.

“Wise girl. Get everything in order in the bookshop. Bring me any paperwork or bookkeeping that you need me to help with after work tomorrow. As soon as possible during the day, you and Emma need to take off at different times for fittings for new wardrobes. Madame Leclerc can be speedy and discreet with the right amount of incentive.” Sir Broderick nodded as he ticked off his instructions.

“Cash being her incentive?” I asked and glanced at the duke.

“Of course. Lady Phyllida, if you would assist me in selecting the most appropriate property, I’ll escort you to your fitting.” Blackford nodded to her in a sort of seated bow.

“You realize I’m doing this not for Britain but for justice for Clara,” Phyllida said, staring at the duke.

“I am, too,” I told her, taking her hand. Not precisely for Clara but for Phyllida and those few in her family who treated her decently.

“Your nation and your sovereign appreciate it, no matter what reason you have for helping us,” Blackford said to Phyllida.

“You speak for all of Britain and the queen now, Your Grace?” My feelings were hurt by how the duke used Sir Broderick to force me into playing my part in his plan. A part that would keep me out of my bookshop far too much.

“Yes.”

And they’d been so busy pushing me into my role that they’d overlooked Ken Gattenger’s part. “I think we’re missing a part of this investigation.”

“What are we missing?”

“If we’re right about the plans being stolen from the Gattengers’ house on the only night they’d have been available, the baron has bought the loyalty of someone in the Admiralty office where the drawings are kept. We need someone in that office to find out which clerk told the burglar, or the Germans, when to break into the Gattengers’ house.”