He turned with a smile. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Do not claim you do not know me, Your Grace,’ the countess said with her usual, high-pitched laugh. ‘You drove my daughter twice on Rotten Row, last Season. And danced with her at least three times at Almack’s.’ She turned to Skeffington. ‘It was his loss that she chose another. The Earl of Lapham. A fine man.’
‘I am sure,’ Skeffington muttered, looking past her at Thomas.
‘I knew you were a friend of young Skeffington,’ the countess said, casting a glance back to Percy, who was standing frozen in the doorway. ‘But I had no idea I would see you here when I came to congratulate Miss Skeffington on her engagement.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Thomas said, summoning up a baffled smile. ‘But I have never seen you before in my life.’
The countess’s unctuous smile changed to astonishment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Louisa, eyes blazing, silently mouthing what was probably a blistering critique of his latest plan.
He ignored her and smiled back at the countess. ‘But I understand the mistake. There is a perfectly logical explanation for it.’
‘There is?’ she said, confused.
The Skeffingtons were staring at him, as eager to hear what that was as he was himself. Louisa had stopped her silent scolding and was standing as still as a garden statue, holding her breath.
‘I am related to the duke, of course,’ he said. ‘That explains the resemblance. We are…’ His mind raced.
Brothers? Twins?
Impossible.
Half-brothers?
That would make his father an adulterer. No one would believe that.
‘…cousins,’ he announced. ‘My father is, or rather was, the duke’s uncle Maurice.’ Anyone who’d met Maurice would have no trouble believing that he had a bastard or two. ‘Unacknowledged, of course,’ he said with a modest dip of his head. ‘It is not commonly known.’ As he warmed to the subject, the words came easier. ‘My name is Tom Smith.’
‘The mysterious Mr Smith who offered for Miss Skeffington?’ the countess said, eyes wide.
‘The same,’ he replied with a bow. ‘And to whom do I have the honour of speaking?’
‘May I present the Countess of Rinwood,’ Percy said in a choked voice.
‘The resemblance is quite astonishing,’ the countess said, stepping closer and raising a quizzing glass that dangled from her bodice by a ribbon. She examined his hairstyle and his clothing, not to mention his less-than-perfect shave, as he was without his valet. ‘But now that you have explained, the differences are quite clear. You look nothing like him at all.’
‘Of course not,’ Louisa said softly.
‘I generally do not come to London. Because it would be awkward for His Grace and myself to be seen in the same place. Questions would arise.’
‘I can see that they might,’ the countess said with a dutiful nod.
‘But my father was kind enough to provide me with an education and set me up with land and a settlement. I have made the most of it, of course.’
‘And how did you meet Miss Skeffington? I read of her engagement in the papers and stopped here on my way to Brighton, hoping to learn more.’
Apparently, their plan to leave London without notice had failed to deter the most stubborn of tale chasers. He segued to the story he’d already created when preparing for this moment. When he stopped, Lord Skeffington turned to his grandson. ‘It surprises me that you did not remark on the resemblance, Percival. You are friends with the duke, are you not?’
‘We are friends,’ Percy said, his mind working furiously. ‘But having met them both? As the countess said, the differences between them are obvious.’
Everyone looked at Louisa, who managed a wide-eyed nod.
‘I see,’ Lord Skeffington said, as if they’d handed him both ammunition and matches. Then, he turned to the countess with a cold smile. ‘And to think I might never have heard this story, if you had not come to visit.’
‘Did we not tell you about Tom’s family connections?’ Percy said with a laugh that was almost as odd as the countess’s. ‘An oversight, nothing more.’
‘Of course,’ Skeffington said. Then, he offered his arm to the countess. ‘Enough of this claptrap, Your Ladyship. Let me show you the roses. Then we will go in for tea.’
