Seth stared at the empty doorway broodingly.
“He knows how much power he holds over me, Elliot, and revels in it.”
“Then blast the fellow’s eyes. Marry and then dismiss him from your service for his insolence,” Elliot muttered.
“I should like nothing better,” Seth sighed, discarding his now damp shirt and fetching another from the wardrobe in the other room. “If only I could hold onto a woman long enough to marry.”
“Well, you do not help yourself, but I will not say more. The Lord moves his wonders to perform in mysterious ways.” His friend tossed him a towel. “That is why he brought us together all those years ago at school. I will help you overcome the baser side of your nature. I recommend letting this place go to start with, and living like a proper Christian gentleman. But first things first. We must go to Hyde Park. You have an engagement to keep.”
“And an engagement to save!” Seth said with enthusiasm that he hoped was convincing.
I have tried to sink that same engagement without being seen to, just as I did with those other two forced betrothals. But now there is a legitimate alternative to me as Duke of Redmaine. I must take great care, or I may lose everything!
CHAPTER 3
PRESCOTT ESTATE, LONDON
Amonth after receiving the letter from Amelia and Charlotte found herself standing at the gates of the Prescott Estate.
She had forgotten how large it was.
Behind her, Brook Street bustled with carriages and pedestrians. The sun was bright, and Hanover Square was verdant. Ladies and gentlemen walked there or sat on its benches in the shade of trees. Charlotte knew that she was Amelia Nightingale to anyone looking at her, anyone who knew the Willoughby family. It only felt to Charlotte that everyone must be staring and wondering who the stranger was that stood at the gates of the Prescott Estate.
She took a deep breath and stepped through the gates, beginning the long way up the winding drive to the house. Along the way, a baker’s cart passed her, its driver tipping his cap.
“Mornin’, Lady Nightingale!” he boomed in a cheery voice.
Charlotte jumped, but then remembered to smile brightly as Amelia would when passing the time of day.
“Good morning to you!” she replied.
Good Lord, but I wish we had kept this up as regularly as we did as youths. I am quite out of practice. It does not seem nearly as much fun as it once was.
As Charlotte approached the house, a gardener was hard at work scything the grass of the park. He gave her a nod of the head and a greeting, to which she replied as she hoped Amelia was accustomed to.
So far, two people have greeted me as though they know who I am, which I must take as a good sign. Amelia is my identical twin, after all. Our own parents sometimes could not tell us apart, and our governess never could. Have some confidence, Charlotte!
Prescott House was a five-story house of red brick and white plaster, set in its own grounds amid the clutter of London’s buildings. Its park was screened from the rest of the city by tall trees and hedges, creating an oasis within the cold stone of the city.
Charlotte did not recognize the gardener and could not remember a name. She hoped that Amelia’s notes would act asan aide to memory, as she would not be able to keep up the pretense of being her sister if she could not remember the names of any of the household.
She opened the front door and found herself in a busy hall. Servants were at work, dusting and sweeping. With a sense of dread, Charlotte realized that she did not recognize any of them. They all seemed to know her, though, falling into bows or curtsies as she walked through the house to the stairs.
“Claire, did you borrow my good bonnet again?” came a female voice from the stairs, just ahead.
Charlotte stopped, recognizing the voice of her cousin Francis. She was ascending when Francis Willoughby appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Amelia, I thought you were Claire! Have you seen my sister? I cannot find my new bonnet.”
Francis was slender and petite with brown hair and a button nose.
“I have not. I have just returned from a walk, taking the air,” Charlotte replied, haltingly.
Francis turned to go back up the stairs and then glanced back.
“A walk? Odd time is it not?”
Charlotte was at a loss, not knowing what made it seem an odd time to go for a walk.
