Duncan edged away from her slightly so they were not touching then opened the letter so they might read it together. The first paragraph detailed his name and background. He was to be Duncan Smith, a footman who had served in the household of the Duke of Argyll in Edinburgh before seeking other employment to be closer to his family, a sister.
She was to be Lucy Smith, recently returned from France, where she had been nanny to a wealthy family whose children had simply outgrown her services.
Duncan could admire the simplicity of their backgrounds and Baron’s canniness in constructing them. By placing Lucy in France and his character in Scotland, the other servants wouldn’t wonder at not having come across them in London or Bath or any of the other locations where the wealthy might congregate, bringing their staff along. Duncan and Lucy could simply embellish their stories as they liked with few constraints.
And then he read the last line of the letter.
Duncan and Lucy are siblings.
“Siblings?” Lucy said, obviously having just read the same line. “We do not look anything alike.”
“People will see resemblance where they choose. You and Will do not resemble each other greatly either, but this will explain why we are traveling together.”
“Will looks like my father, and I look more like my mother,” Lucy said. “We both have the Galloway nose and brow, though.”
And they had both inherited their parents’ skill at covert operations.
“I suppose we must pretend to like each other,” Lucy said. “As we are siblings, and you left your post to spend more time with me. Shall we say our parents have died and we are all the family the other has left? I think that has a dramatic feel to it, which will surely endear us to the other members of the staff.”
“More importantly,” he interrupted before she embellished the story further, “no one will question why we meet together for a walk or to take tea. I will work primarily with the lower staff while you will work with the upper staff and be near the family a great deal. We should plan to meet regularly to discuss our observations and any suspicions or concerns we have.”
“Good idea. Perhaps we could meet after my charge has gone to bed.”
“Yes. If we need to speak privately, we can walk the grounds or take tea in your room. I am unlikely to have my own chamber.”
“I may have to share with the nurse.” Lucy sat back. “I think it best if we have a sister,” she said.
“Why?”
“So we might pretend any letters we receive from Baron are from her.”
Duncan nodded. Lucy was certainly clever. He should focus on her mind, not how pretty her cheeks looked now that she was awake and animated, and her face had some color in it. He had known she would be late to wake this morning. He might have taken his time in walking to the farmhouse, but he anticipated she would do something amusing, and she had not disappointed. She’d been adorably tousled and clumsy coming down the stairs and attempting to leave the farmhouse. Her hair had been, and still was, an untamed riot of curls. He supposed he’d have to remind her that no servant would present herself to a new employer in such a state, but they had time yet and he liked seeing her in disarray. He particularly liked having to assist her with her boot this morning. The buttons had not been easy to secure. He was inclined to agree with her about the male conspiracy to keep women dependent after struggling with them. His own boots only needed to be pulled on.
And yet, he had enjoyed holding her foot in his lap and having a peek at her slim ankle as he secured the boot over it. Her brother would probably punch him if he knew he’d been lusting after Lucy’s ankle. Duncan had sisters of his own—real sisters, not those fabricated by Baron—and he would think any man aroused by buttoning one of his sisters’ shoes somewhat depraved.
Thank God Lucy thought he was as intent on competing with her as she was with him. She didn’t question his attentions. But the staff at Pembroke Lodge might if Duncan were not careful to hide his feelings. It would certainly not do for the staff to watch them together and conclude he liked Lucy—his supposed sister—just a bittoomuch.
“What do you think of Katherine?” Lucy asked, and Duncan realized she’d been speaking for some time. He’d been looking at her but not listening.
“Katherine?”
“As a name for our sister. Or would you rather Mary?”
“Katherine is perfect. We will say she lives in the north of England.”
“And we can say she is married, and her husband and she have two children. No, three. One girl and two boys. Or do you think two boys and one girl?”
Duncan knew from experience that Lucy could go on like this for hours. Normally, he loved to listen to her and would relish the opportunity to converse with her as long as she would have him. Except he had a mission and the life of the son of the prime minister to consider now. If anything happened to the boy, it could set off a panic in the country, not to mention affect the health and happiness of the most important political figure in all of England, the prime minister. Duncan couldn’t allow his feelings for Lucy to interfere with his duty. And so as much as it pained him, he did what he knew he must.
“Miss Galloway,” he interrupted.
“You should get in the habit of referring to me as Miss Smith orDear Sister.”
“Dear Sister,” he said, testing it out, “I am exhausted. Might I have an hour or two to close my eyes?”
“Oh, of course. I suppose we might discuss the Smith family later.”
He nodded and then gave her vacant seat a pointed look.
