‘In Staffordshire,’ the duke said with a smile. ‘Once you are wed, you will be living on a farm there.’
‘With Thomas Smith,’ she said as she took a sip of the chocolate.
‘I will tell you all about him today,’ the duke said, unbothered.
‘There is nothing to know. He is not real.’
‘Do not be so negative,’ he countered. ‘No one will believe in him if you don’t. That is why I came here, this morning. To tell you about our courtship.’
‘Our…’ He meant hers and Thomas Smith’s. If he could not keep the story straight, how was she supposed to? She was not ready to handle this before she’d had a slice of toast. ‘I thought Percy said the two of you would do all the talking.’
‘So he hopes,’ the duke said, reaching across the table to grab a muffin from the plate in front of her. ‘But it would not do for you to seem surprised when we are talking about your plans for the future.’
As always, he smelled of spice and pine. She had to pretend that she was inhaling the steam from her cup to hide the scent of him that she’d captured as he leaned close to her. A whiff of his cologne could send her mind wandering down moonlit paths for half the day if she was not careful. If he thought he was going to rearrange her life to align with the fiction he’d created, she had best not lose the thread of this conversation. ‘I have no plans for the future,’ she said firmly.
‘Not real ones, perhaps. But you and Tom Smith…’
‘Are moving to a farm in Staffordshire,’ she replied.
He nodded in approval. ‘Technically, Smith did not have to move. He has lived there for some time.’
‘I see. And if Grandfather asks you about this farm, what do you grow there?’
‘Flax. And I have a small herd of cattle, as well.’
‘Or, rather, Smith does,’ she pointed out.
He shrugged and smiled. ‘You must learn to think of me and him as if we are one and the same.’
‘Of course.’ She smiled a little nervously. She’d always taken care to keep the real Thomas Carew separate from the one she’d liked to imagine. Now, he expected her to merge the two and pull them apart again later, as if it were some simple thing.
‘I have been working on my part of our little performance,’ the duke said, still smiling as if they were not steering straight for the rocks. ‘The courtship needed some detail forverisimilitude.’ He reached into his coat, removed a sheaf of paper and handed half of it to her. ‘I made you a copy as well.’
She scanned the pages. ‘This seems very thorough.’ And rather disconcerting. It was as if he’d taken her daydreams, written them down and offered them back to her. ‘I particularly like the account of our trip to Vauxhall Gardens. Ham sandwiches and Madame Saqui dancing on the tightrope.’
‘We could not go without seeing her,’ the duke said.
Since she had never been, she did not know. The Louisa in the duke’s story had a much more interesting life than she ever would. She wondered if Mr Smith had taken her to the back of the park and the dark walks where lovers stole away from the crowds to be alone.
She turned to the next page and was disappointed to see she had visited a book shop.
‘What do you think of it?’ the duke said, eager for her to approve his work.
‘It will be very helpful,’ she said, slipping the pages off the table and tucking them into her pocket. ‘I will read it all again when I am alone and can give it my full attention.’ In her bedroom. During the time usually allotted for imagining what it would be like to be courted by the Duke of Bonham.
She smiled harder, praying he could not read her mind to see her plans. It was embarrassing enough to have an imaginary lover instead of a real one. She had never expected the man in question would encourage the habit.
‘I might write a few of our letters as well,’ he added. ‘You would likely keep those as mementos of our courtship.’
‘I will put them in my jewellery box and read them over and over,’ she said, knowing this was exactly what she would do if they were real. But these notes would be signed Tom Smith. They would be nothing but a fiction created to fool hergrandfather. As her Thomas Carew was also nothing but a fiction it was probably appropriate.
‘Tie them with your favourite hair ribbon,’ he suggested, as if reading her mind.
‘A courtship and engagement, complete withbillet doux, all in a handy packet. You have left nothing out.’ Lord help her, this must be hell. She’d never been so mortified in her life.
‘Perhaps when you have your money, I shall give up being a duke and hire myself out to lovelorn ladies of the ton,’ he said. ‘I could start a subscription service of some kind.’
‘I suspect that would be very popular,’ she agreed.
