“I think...” Here, she did indeed take a moment to think, biting her lower lip in a maddening way. “I think such a charade would forestall Mr. Robinson for a moment. But perhaps not long enough for me to meet the real Duke of Avon, who may very well turn me away. And what if Mr. Robinson were to meet with His Grace through his own means and discover my deception?”
“Do yousincerelythink that is likely to pass?” Nicholas asked, cocking his head to the side. “You described the man as a miserly demon. What I know of the Duke of Avon suggests he would never grant Mr. Robinson the time of day—certainly not if I put myownword in.”
His plot was thickening by the second. Nicholas was no stranger to a prank, a lie. But if he agreed to play the part of the Duke of Avon, the woman would surely discover the truth one day.
Perhaps it did not matter, he reasoned, so long as they could trick her cruel landlord for a time, and he could have some of that sought-aftercountry entertainment.
“Would you also put a word in about a donation?” Miss Tate asked, looking up at him prettily.
Nicholas laughed.
“Now you are asking too much,” he warned in good humor. Of course, he could afford a donation. But what reason did he have for supporting this woman’s orphanage? “Let us begin by getting this letter off your back, then we may discuss what else my friend… theduke,can provide for you.”
Miss Tate nodded, with less enthusiasm than he expected. “But will your friend not be quite cross with you for pretending to be him? What assurance do I have that you know His Grace at all? I do not even know your name.”
She was a picky charlatan, certainly. But Nicholas could see how much fun this might be and decided to reassure her.
“My name is…Mr. Moore,” he said, coming up with a story. “I am a gentleman recently returned to this area who has known Nicholas Whitmore since our days at the university of this town.Even if you do not believe me, you need only a man fitting the part of the elusive Nicholas Whitmore to charm your landlord. Do you not believe me to be as handsome and charming as they claim the Duke of Avon to be?”
Raising her brows, the young woman looked him up and down. He tingled a little under her scrutinizing gaze, extending his arms to provide her a good look at him and his attire.
“Perhaps notquiteas handsome nor charming,” she said teasingly. “But I will work with what I’m given.”
CHAPTER THREE
“When I saw your carriage yesterday, I wondered whether you had been sent to me by the Lord himself,” Amelia whispered, leading Mr. Moore up the steps to the orphanage the following morning.
“A touching, ifblasphemous, hypothesis,” Mr. Moore replied behind her, casting his eyes to the autumnal, heavily overcast sky above them. “Unfortunately, I merely parked there as it was closest to the club where I took my luncheon. Has Cornmarket always been so busy?”
Amelia glanced over her shoulder at him, smiling. She found herself smiling often around the curious man. “As long as I have lived here, yes.”
“And how long has that been, exactly?”
“In Oxford proper? Three years, thereabout.”
Amelia paused at the top of the steps, and the gentleman came to an abrupt halt behind her. She looked down at him, observing him, impressed by her ability to have remembered all the finer details about him from yesterday.
Am I truly surprised? I cannot recall having ever met a gentleman so handsome in my life. Those warm brown eyes, the richness of his hair… He haunted my dreams, which were far from unpleasant—far from ladylike too…
She cleared her throat, a flush creeping to her cheeks. “Did you manage to speak with His Grace yestereve, as you intended?”
Mr. Moore—damningly dashing Mr. Moore, with his soft hair and aquiline nose—returned her look defiantly.
“I am a man of my word, Miss Tate. I wrote to the duke soon after. He was positively tickled by the idea that I should play the part of him today. He might have come himself, if he had not been otherwise engaged elsewhere in the country...”
Amelia did not know whether to believe him. This man could have been lying through his teeth for all she knew.
She had asked her aunt and uncle over dinner the night prior whether they had heard of a Mr. Moore recently returned to town. Her aunt Beatrice kept abreast of all the social news in the county but had heard nothing of the sort.
What does it matter who he is, or how he makes me feel just being near him?Amelia thought to herself, turning to open the door.All I need is for him to convince Mr. Robinson that he is the Duke of Avon. After that point, I may try to contact the real Duke personally, with or without Mr. Moore’s help.
Stepping aside to admit Mr. Moore indoors, Amelia watched his face darken slightly at the interior of the orphanage. So confident before, he took a few hesitant steps inside before stopping.
“Something the matter?” Amelia asked, closing the door behind her.
Mr. Moore looked around, pursing his lips. “How did you say this place was financed? When did you establish this house?” he asked.
“Two years ago,” Amelia explained. “My uncle previously sat on the board of the hospital here in Oxford, where he learned that they were struggling to house the sick children who came in for treatment.”
