“Stop fidgeting, Ophelia,” Luci scolded as they arrived at the Abercorn townhouse stoop. “We have yet to even knock on his door. He will see through our ruse if you keep that up.”

The girl was a nervous Nellie if she’d ever seen one, afraid of her own shadow, and prone to picking at the stitching of her gowns. Despite all that, Ophelia was Luci’s dearest friend since Tilda’s passing, and she loathed putting her in this predicament; however, they all needed to confront Abercorn.

Edith patted Ophelia’s shoulder. “Everything will be all right, do not worry.”

“There is no need to coddle her,” Luci hissed. “If the pair of you would have agreed to expose Abercorn in the Gazette months ago, none of us would be here right now.”

“You cannot possibly know that,” Edith snipped.

“Oh, I most certainly do know that.”

A whistle sounded behind them, letting Luci know that Roderick and Lord Torrington were in place, keeping a close eye on the trio from the shadows of Torrington’s father’s townhouse, directly neighboring the duke’s property.

It reassured her to know Roderick was close and would allow nothing to happen to her. He didn’t have to say it. After their time together the day before, Luci was confident Roderick had more in common with Lord Torrington than her father. He was not guilty of what she’d accused him of—escorting his mistress to the opera while betrothed to another. She would do what she could to polish his tarnished reputation. But right now, she had to keep her focus on Abercorn.

“Is this the best place to speak with him?” Ophelia tugged at her gown. “We saw what happened the last time we were in his home.”

“There is no other place the man will be as complacent—feel as secure—as in his own surroundings.” Edith and Luci had heavily debated this part of the plan, deciding that approaching the duke in a crowded ballroom or at the opera would not lead him to speak freely. “Besides, we have all agreed to remain downstairs.”

Luci was confident in their decision to confront Abercorn, even though Ophelia appeared so nervous she’d likely fall over at the littlest breath of trouble.

“Are we ready?” Edith asked, plastering a smile on her face, ever the fearless one since she’d fallen in love with Torrington.

“As ready as we will ever be.” Ophelia fanned her reddening cheeks.

“Remember”—Luci eyed both of her friends—“we are here to speak with Abercorn about his generous offer of marriage. This is a purely social visit with you both serving as my chaperones. Everything is above reproach.”

“Until we get our feet in the door,” Edith whispered.

“Exactly.” Lucianna grinned.

Their plan was as solid as it could be. After they had entered Abercorn’s townhouse and were led to a receiving salon, the women would make certain the drapes were pulled back, allowing Roderick and Torrington a clear view to keep watch over the trio.

If anything went awry, they would kick in Abercorn’s front door, if necessary, to reach the women.

Luci knocked on the door, and footsteps were instantly heard from within.

An elderly butler pulled the door wide, his eyes scrutinizing the trio.

“Lady Lucianna Constantine, accompanied by Lady Edith Pelton and Lady Ophelia Fletcher, here to see Lord Abercorn.” Luci handed the butler her calling card, determined that they not be turned away. “Is the duke receiving visitors?”

At the butler’s continued silence, Luci worried Abercorn was not in residence at all and their carefully crafted plan would be thwarted by their own mistake.

The servant finally stepped back, holding the door for them to enter.

Edith and Ophelia both sighed with relief.

Luci glanced over her shoulder as the two women entered the Abercorn townhouse. Roderick gave her a reassuring nod.

Their idea may very well be harebrained and without chance of success, but at least Roderick had enough faith in her to allow her the opportunity to lure the truth from Abercorn. There was no doubt Roderick had his own secrets. She’d be a fool not to notice the way his shoulders appeared to hold the weight of a thousand pounds or the hard lines around his eyes, a product of sorrow and loss. Or the way he analyzed everyone as if outlining every way they could injure him if he allowed them close.

Luci shuddered to think she’d caused some of that burden with her piece in the Gazette.

“My lady?” the butler asked when she remained on the stoop. “This way, please.”

Putting Roderick from her mind, Luci entered the foyer, surprised by the many candles lighting the area. It was certainly a waste of coins to burn this amount of wax on a daily basis.

The servant shuffled, his feet never actually leaving the floor as he walked across the foyer and opened the room to a similarly lit salon. Upon entering, Luci was pleased to see the drapes were open, and a clear view of Lord Torrington’s father’s townhouse was in sight.

“I will let Lord Abercorn know of your presence. His Grace will be with you momentarily.” He bowed stiffly as the women glanced about the room. “I will ring for tea. Do have a seat.”

He pulled the door closed on well-oiled hinges, leaving Luci to inspect the room as Edith hurried to the window and waved in Torrington’s and Roderick’s direction.

The salon was decorated in bold shades of yellow and blue, complete with striped drapes, polka dot pillows, and matching plaid lounge and stuffed chairs. The obnoxious sight had Luci’s head swirling at the odd pattern contrast and color combination. Upon closer inspection, the pieces in the room, including the tables, lamps, and wing-backed chairs close to the hearth appeared fairly dated. Even the pillow on the lounge was frayed at the edges.

This room had been appointed long ago, likely before Abercorn was out of the schoolroom.

Edith and Ophelia selected a low-slung sofa in sight of the large, arched window, remaining visible to the men outside, while Luci continued to stand. She was unsure why, but something told her standing was the best way to face the opposition.

And Abercorn was most certainly their opponent.

Luci would not allow herself to be fooled into a false sense of security based on her friends being near and Roderick being just outside the window. That was exactly what had happened to Tilda. The duke had presented himself as an honorable, kind, and worthy lord when he held none of those traits.

If she were utterly honest, the man might have duped any of them into marriage.

A shiver went down her spine to think it could have been her lying at the bottom of those stairs—or Ophelia, who would have been even less likely to defend herself than Tilda.

No, Abercorn would not remain free to harm another woman, especially Luci.

She would take Lord Torrington’s suggestion and run off to Gretna Green before she’d allow her name to be forever linked to Abercorn. Though wasn’t it already? She’d caused the scene at the duke’s country manor, demanding the magistrate investigate Tilda’s fall and pointing the finger at her friend’s new husband.

Luci crossed her arms in defiance. She would sound the alarm again without a second thought—only this time, she would protest louder…and longer. Until Abercorn was removed from polite society and never given another opportunity to harm someone.

Tears stung her eyes.

Poor Tilda.

Again, they should have noted something not quite right about her bridegroom.

But Luci hadn’t…and her friend had suffered the consequences.

“Lady Lucianna, my dear. What a charming surprise.”

She pivoted in time to see Abercorn enter the room and close the door behind himself.

“And Ladies Edith and Ophelia?” He paused, his stare widening on the women sitting close to the window. “I must say, this is very unexpected—but in a good way, nonetheless.”

“Your Grace,” Luci said, dipping into a curtsey. “My father spoke of your betrothal offer, and I thought it time I pay you a social visit.”

Both Edith and Ophelia sprang to their feet and dipped low in greeting. Luci couldn’t help but notice the duke’s eyes stray to Edith’s bosom as she curtseyed.

“No matter the reason.” He waved his hand, dismissing her words. “It is a pleasure to have you all in my home. I know there is much in our past; however, I am certain it can all be discussed with time—and a measure of patience. Please, do have a seat.”

Edith and Ophelia looked to Luci with hesitation, but she nodded, and the pair regained their seats by the window. She noted Edith glance toward Torrington with a weak smile. Blessedly, Abercorn seemed preoccupied and didn’t appear to notice Edith’s fascination with the landscape beyond the windowpane.

Luci followed suit and sat upon the lounge, facing her friends and hoping the duke would take the seat across from her. That would put his back to the window and allow her friends’ attention to go unnoticed.

She crossed her feet at the ankles and arranged her skirts, biding some time before it became necessary to speak. The cushion crackled with disuse beneath her when she shifted to tuck her feet under the lounge.

“Your home…” Luci paused, debating how to continue. She was loath to insult Abercorn before he’d even begun speaking. “It is very antiquated.”

Outdated and in need of renovation was what she’d been thinking; however, antiquated was the best she could do.

“Yes, well,” Abercorn sighed. “My mother renovated this townhouse, selecting every piece from the wall sconces to the rugs, even hand-stitching the pillows in this room, and I am hesitant to undo all her hard work.” He glanced around the room, obviously attached to the yellow and royal blue trimmings with many years of fond memories. Finally, he returned to the present. “Of course, once I take a wife, she will have control over the entire household, and an unlimited purse to make any changes she deems necessary to make this her home.”

Abercorn sat a bit straighter in his chair as if expecting her to applaud his generosity and kind nature. His lips pulled back in a wide grin, showing off his stained teeth, yellowed almost to match the furniture his mother had selected decades before. Could she have guessed what the man would be reduced to in his old age?

“It would please me greatly if you’d accept my courtship, Lady Lucianna—or may I call you Lucianna? Mayhap Luci, as Tilda was fond of calling you?” The man appeared a hound waiting for a well-deserved treat.

A pain stabbed deep at her middle, as if the man had used his words to stake her. The duke did not deserve to utter Tilda’s name—not today and not ever.

Abercorn would receive no reward from her. “Lady Lucianna will do fine.”

“Very well, but you have leave to call me Francis.” Reclining in his seat, the duke glanced at the door. “My apologies for my staff’s inadequacies. I thought tea would have been delivered long before now. You all must be parched.” He stood, pulling the servants’ bell cord several times. “Another item my wife will be charged with rectifying.”

“Tea is not necessary, Your Grace,” Ophelia chimed in from her seat by the window.

“Of course, tea is necessary, far more than that, it is expected.” He tugged at the cord several more times before returning to his seat, avoiding her wrinkled nose and pinched lips. “It will not be long now.”

The charade was wearing thin on Luci, and the tension was growing thick—it seemed only Abercorn hadn’t noticed the unease in the room.

“Lord Abercorn, may I speak freely?”

He broke eye contact as he smoothed his necktie with a chuckle. “Lady Lucianna, England has known several female monarchs. No matter what the colonists spout, our country is a progressive state. Women have the right to speak of what they wish, just as men, especially with a man who—with luck—will one day be your husband.”

Edith burst into laughter, drawing Abercorn’s attention as if he’d been so absorbed with Luci he’d failed to remember they were not alone.

At Luci’s scowl, Edith clamped her mouth shut and stared at her lap, but her blonde curls bobbed with silent mirth.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Luci said with a grin, luring the duke’s attention back to her. “It is only I wonder why you seek to wed me.”

His expression grew pensive as if even he hadn’t thought about why he desired to court his dead wife’s best friend. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced at the door once more, but there would be no reprieve from her question.

The door remained solidly shut.

And her question hung openly between them.

“You see, while Tilda and I were very close, we are also exceedingly different people.” Luci couldn’t help but acknowledge the many dissimilarities between them. Tilda was sweet, caring, and compassionate—a true English rose of pure innocence. In contrast, Lucianna was, admittedly, jaded, cynical, and not the least bit demure. Not to mention, Luci’s insistence that he had pushed his new wife to her death. But all Luci could verbalize was, “She was petite with hair of the softest brown and eyes that matched, while I…well, we can all see I am nothing like Tilda with my midnight locks and moss-green eyes.”

It was almost insulting to both women to reduce their differences to the purely physical—meaningless, skin-deep, external attributes.

The duke cleared his throat, the direction of the conversation causing a gleam of perspiration to break out across his forehead. “It is, well, that is a rather difficult question to answer; however, I will endeavor to do my best.” His hand twitched, and he reached out to smooth the fringe on the side of his seat.

“It is not a difficult question at all, Your Grace.” She bit the inside of her cheek to hold back further comment.

“You are quite stunning in a dark, exotic way. Also, well-connected with the grace and poise I seek in my future wife and duchess,” Abercorn declared with a satisfied grin, as if comparing her to a bird trapped in a gilded cage was a future any women would seek out. “You are witty, intelligent, and possess a strong will I admire greatly. We would make a fine match—the marriage-minded mothers will be envious of your ability to catch a duke, as it were.”

Luci swallowed back a smart retort. The man certainly was daft if he thought she would pay any mind to his flowery words.

A fine match, indeed.

She forced an innocent smile, relishing the spark of unease that lit his face.