German, in fact, if Cook was to be believed.
Helen was practical to a fault. Entertaining the notion that there might be someone else in the world who looked exactly like you as ridiculous. But Cook had left a book sitting on the kitchen worktable, a collection of tales with ghosts, creatures and other curiosities. Wanting to take her mind off matters, Helen had leafed through the book while drizzling honey over her toast and settled onWilliam Wilson, written by an American, Edgar Allen Poe.
“Ah,” Cook peered over her shoulder. “That’s a good one. Lad sees hisdoppelgangerwhile away at school.” She gave a terrified shiver. “Quite disturbing.”
“Doppelganger?” Helen had asked. “I’m not familiar.”
“Your twin, but you don’t know it.” Cook winked. “Got that from Lady Emerson’s cook.” She nodded to the leather tome. “Says her mistress reads all sorts of macabre stories and such. Ghosts and monsters. Which I suppose makes a great deal of sense given Lady Emerson likes to make those wax masks of her servants.”
“Indeed.” Cook had mentioned the oddness of Lady Emerson more than once. Helen didn’t know much about Lord Emerson and his wife, only that the countess was considered a bit odd.
“Leave the book on the table when you’re done,” Cook said to her. “I’m enjoying a bit here and there while I work. Don’t dare read those tales at night. Wouldn’t sleep a wink.”
William Wilsonunsettled Helen to a great degree. Could such a thing as a doppelganger be true? It could be a possible explanation for another man looking so much like Roxboro.
She paused on the path winding through the garden, to look out over the manicured beds. Everything here, especially the roses, was tended carefully. Galway liked roses a great deal. Also, ostentatious fountains, one of which she was approaching. The sound of water spewing tickled her ears and Helen wandered closer.
The fountain, despite how garish it happened to be with Poseidon in the middle surrounded by bare-breasted mermaids all fawning over him, gave off a soothing rhythm, helping to calm her nerves.
Galway was suspicious of Helen’s acquaintance with the Duchess of Roxboro. The discussion on the ride home from the theater confirmed to her that not only didn’t he believe the wild tale of meeting the duchess at Madame Laurent’s, he was convinced Helen had somehow maligned him. Her employer didn’t think much of Roxboro, but he was a duke and the son-in-law of the Lord Speaker of Parliament. Galway would extract his pound of flesh from Helen at some point for the imagined insult.
There was also the matter of the second Roxboro. What would she do when he appeared?
Convince him to return the pendant.
He must, or Kate would suffer for it. Helen could not count on the duchess to render aid, not when she was reluctant for anyone to know the duke had a twin, of sorts. And without her support, Galway was unlikely to believe a man resembling the duke had stolen the pendant, even if Helen broke her word and told him.
I cannot. I promised the duchess.
She’d agreed, though she hadn’t a choice, to bring the second Roxboro close to the duke so that they might question him. The duchess and her comments about walking with him in the park behind Roxboro’s home left no doubt as to what she expected. Helen worried they meant to have him arrested.
Honestly, I should give a fig. He’s a thief.
True. There was no telling how long he’d been pretending to be Roxboro while simultaneously stealing from theton. As a criminal, he deserved to be punished. Prison…. or worse would be his fate. That was the eventual end to all of this. Roxboro was unlikely to simply let him go. Her Roxboro would end up in chains, sitting in some dank cell, waiting to be hung or transported halfway across the globe with other criminals. Helen would never see him again.
Her heart clenched like a fist.
He might not be therealRoxboro, but Helen’s affection for him was not false. Worrisome and unwise, but true, nonetheless.
He must return the pendant.
“I’ll ask to borrow two of the footmen to search the gardens,” she said quietly, laying out her plan. “Once I have the pendant back, I’ll convince Parker I saw Cerise wearing it while enjoying the roses. I will also say I recently found one of Cerise’s bracelets among the peonies when it went missing.” She bit her lip, deep in thought over how she must save Kate, because not having the girl’s life ruined was far more important than Galway’s pettiness, the duchess and her own, misplaced affections.
“You look quite distressed, little gnat.”
The raspy low rumble curled over Helen’s skin like smoke, producing a delicious hum that the real Roxboro could not. Now that she’d spoken to the duke, the differences in their speech were all the more glaring. Even with the false, patrician accent, the inflection was completely incorrect. How anyone,after speaking to the second Roxboro could think him a duke, was astonishing. But if you had a glass or two of champagne and were struck dumb by his looks, you probably wouldn’t question it too much. Cerise certainly hadn’t.
Yes, but she’s a nitwit.
Attraction buzzed between them, a sensation completely absent from Helen’s meeting the real Roxboro. Her heart fluttered gently, until she remembered what she had promised to do.
“Your skirts are in a twist. I can tell by the look on your face.”
The words came from the other side of the fountain, just behind Poseidon’s tale. A dark head popped up a moment later, the green of his eyes shimmering in the sunlight of the garden. He must have been laying in the grass because there was a blade or two stuck in his hair.
Good lord but he was….beautiful, no matter who he happened to be.
Her gaze darted to the freckle at the end of his nose; the only physical evidence he wasn’t the duke. Were he dressed expensively, cut his hair, and his speech matched the duke’s accent, the pair could march into any gathering in London and no one, except possibly the duchess, could tell them apart.
