“YOUR EGGNOG,” THE BUTLER said.

He placed steaming goblets of goodness before them. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg, vanilla and rum, flooded Celia’s nostrils.

“How delightful,” she murmured.

“Yes, I believe my son has caught the Christmas spirit,” the duchess said. “It’s about time.”

The duke flushed, as if his mother might also be referring to something else, but he kept his chin steady.

Not for the first time, Celia was struck by his manliness.

Celia had imagined the dinner would be awkward. And though there were moments when she was conscious of her lower status, both the duke and the duchess were gracious, even musing over the rigidity of the class system. They were conscious of the limitations of her birth, though she was surprised they’d addressed her mother’s status directly.

“Oh, I believe the storm has arrived,” the duchess said.

Celia followed her gaze to the window.

Heavy snowflakes, illuminated by the candles on the windowsill descended downward at a quick pace.

“I doubt the other guests will be able to arrive,” the duke said.

“Surely they turned around in time to go to Lord and Lady Somerville’s home,” the duchess said. “It will be a quiet Christmas after all.”

Celia’s smile wobbled. It was one thing to spend an evening with a duke and duchess. But she could hardly spend more days with them.

She’d already overstayed their hospitality. Evidently the duchess was still reminded of her less lofty lineage and indulged in eccentricity that would be forbidden in larger circles, but that didn’t mean they wanted to spend the next week with Celia. Tomorrow Lady Theodosia might announce they would return to London.

It had been a lovely evening.

But now it was time to leave.

Celia swallowed the last of her eggnog and rose to her feet. “I should go. It has been a delightful evening.”

The duke had the graciousness to look almost confused, but he lowered his torso into a bow, and she curtsied. 

“It was our pleasure,” the duke said. “Allow me to escort you to your room.”

Oh.

She glanced at the duchess. “But perhaps your mother...”

“After thirty years here, I am quite adept at finding my room,” the duchess said. “Go with him. The corridors can be tricky.”

“Very well,” Celia said.

The duke rose and led Celia from the room.

The air seemed to have vanished, replaced by tension.

“You really do have a lovely home,” Celia said.

The duke smiled. “I’m certain you have many nice things on your estate and townhome in London.”

“Indeed. The family has collected many nice things. I’m fortunate. All the servants are.”

He tilted his head. “I confess I haven’t given much thought to the servants.”

Her smile wobbled, but she shrugged. “I suppose you are not unique in that.”

“So what interests you? Besides the opinions of servants.”

She smiled, grateful he had changed the subject. “I would like to manage a household.”

She didn’t hesitate. It had been her dream for so long. She longed to be a housekeeper.

“Oh.” For some reason he seemed disappointed. “There’s no other secret passion?” His eyes glimmered.

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re not a budding archaeologist—and really, the dust from yesterday’s explosion confirmed that I have no interest in doing anything lengthy with dirt either, then perhaps you have another secret passion? Ichthyology perhaps?”

She blinked. “I’m not familiar with that.”

He shrugged. “Oh, well, I suppose that’s not your secret passion. Another duchess is quite fond of the discipline. She was supposed to be one of the guests. She’s often studying fish in the Caribbean.”

Celia’s smile wobbled.

“And you might have a deep interest in writing or even art criticism. The Marchioness of Bancroft used to reside near here. We were all quite surprised to discover that she’d become a famous art critic under another name. So you see, I promise I won’t laugh when you tell me your interest.”

Celia blinked, and despite herself a surge of anger prickled her skin. She didn’t possess any money. She didn’t even possess time. Maids were up early in the morning and worked well into the night. She might manage to read the latest Loretta Van Lochen, but she was not able to do anything else, much less to become an expert in some unknown field.

She directed her gaze at him. “You seem incognizant of the fact that you just did.”

“What do you mean?” The man had the audacity to laugh.

“I want to manage a household,” she repeated. “It might not be the most glamorous thing to do, and it’s not the most unique thing. But it is still my greatest desire. It’s what I’ve wanted to do my whole life. I want to help select dinner choices and work with a large staff to make certain they are happy and are fulfilling their duties well. I want to create efficient systems and a pleasant environment. If the servants are bitter, that can affect everybody. I want to coordinate with outside deliveries, and work with the butler and other key household members to ensure the operation runs smoothly. A large house, one such as this, requires a great deal of work. You might not recognize it, but it’s true.”

He was silent.

“Forgive me... I’ve said too much.” Celia’s voice wobbled, and she blinked rapidly. The temptation to cry was too close.

This was the very kindest person she’d ever met, and she’d just launched into a tirade. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’ve been blind.” The duke traced his fingers through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear, and her heartbeat quickened. His fingers shouldn’t feel so warm, as if they were life itself. “And of course your interests are important. You are quite the woman.”

“I’m just me,” she squeaked.

“And the world is better for having you in it,” the duke said solemnly. “Regretfully this is your room.”

Celia held onto the doorknob. “Thank you for the dinner. It was the loveliest meal I ever had. I will always remember your mother’s and your kindness.”

“You are nothing what I imagined,” the duke said.

“You are not either,” Celia confessed.

He smiled, and she entered the room, shutting the door behind her.

Likely Celia was not actually floating, but if her feet were three feet off the ground, she would not have been surprised.

“Did you have a good time?” Theodosia’s soprano voice sailed toward Celia from the adjourning room.

“You’re back.” Celia strode toward the voice.

Theodosia and the vicomte were lying on the bed. Their hair looked rumpled, and their skin seemed flushed.

Celia blinked.

“You needn’t look so shocked,” Theodosia said. “We are betrothed.”

“Er—yes.” Celia strove to not think about how upset Lady Fitzroy would be.

The vicomte might be a French aristocrat, but his estate had been pummeled in the revolution. Theodosia had the opportunity to charm a duke in possession of an intact estate.

“But it seems you may have had an even more exciting time.” Theodosia narrowed her eyes, and Celia remembered that though they might share the same father, they were in no manner equals.

The vicomte whispered something to Theodosia. The gesture was so sweet, so tender and something seemed to catch in Celia’s throat.

Theodosia smiled. “Did you have dinner with the duke?”

“But only because he invited me. One doesn’t say no to a duke.” Heat seemed to flood her face, and she halted, conscious she was on the verge of rambling.

“That’s correct,” Theodosia said thoughtfully. “But did he know he was asking the maid to dinner?”

Celia frowned. That couldn’t be right. “He had me sewing for him. He had to have known. Besides. He already met you. When we arrived.”

“Yes, but I’m not certain he knew which of us was which. How did he address you?”

My lady.

Heat flooded Celia’s face, but Theodosia lifted her hand in a magnanimous gesture. “You need not worry. This is good. You can continue to be me. I can spend more time with Pierre.”

Celia blinked. Dread filled her. “And where will you go?”

The question seemed superfluous.

She’d seen the proposal.

She knew a marriage was against Lady Fitzroy’s wishes.

If they intended to marry, it would have to be in secret—

“Marry me now,” the vicomte said to Theodosia. “I have traveled night and day for you. But my only dream now is to carry you off with me to Gretna Greene.”

“To elope!”

Celia was unsure how Theodosia would feel about eloping. She’d remembered Theodosia and Amaryllis sketching the gowns they would marry in, confident they would receive glorious weddings and marriages.

“Will you accept?” Pierre’s voice seemed to wobble in emotion.

Celia stiffened.

An elopement?

This was not good.

“Your mother won’t like it,” she told Theodosia.

“Oh, darling. You know that’s an understatement. She’ll be utterly furious. Devastated.” Theodosia’s lips twitched. “With any luck beyond words.”

It was outrageous.

For some reason Theodosia was smiling and nodding, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“That’s it,” Theodosia said. “So simple.”

“I-I can’t do that,” Celia said. “I’m your maid. I work for Lady Fitzroy.”

Theodosia’s face sobered. “We both know you’re more than that.”

Celia swallowed hard.

She did know.

They both knew.

Anybody who ever saw them together could remark on their resemblance, though most of them were too polite and too wary of Theodosia’s mother’s response.

She could pass as Theodosia...

“It will only be a short while,” Theodosia said. “For Christmas.”

Impersonating an aristocrat must be a crime.

If it wasn’t she was certain the ton would be happy to make it one and crown her its first criminal for the act.

“But my vocabulary...I don’t know all the things you do,” Celia muttered.

Theodosia smiled again, but this time Celia was certain the expression was tinged with bitterness.

“I think you overestimate the knowledge you need to have,” Theodosia said. “We had the same governess. You know as much as I do. Besides, this is Yorkshire. No one will be here. And if the duke proposes—all you need to do is say no.”

She nodded.

The duke had treated her so well. He was...kind.

But Theodosia was her sister.

And she was in love.

How could Celia stand against that? Her mother had also loved an inappropriate man, and Pierre at least was unattached. He seemed to truly adore Theodosia.

She knew what Lady Fitzroy’s actions would be, how quick she would be to reject the marriage.

She wavered, uncertain.

Theodosia tilted her head. “And naturally, once I am married I will send for you so that you can be my maid. Perhaps eventually housekeeper. I would want you by my side.”

“But...could I not come with you now? Perhaps...my presence would make the travel more respectable?” She hated the hope in her voice.

“Perhaps,” Theodosia said. “But then the duke will notify the magistrate that we are missing. We might be found. And what will happen then to our dream?”

Celia’s heartbeat quickened.

Theodosia was correct.

She knew that.

“Please,” Theodosia asked again.

Celia nodded slowly. “Very well.”

Celia regretted the words at once, but the joy on Theodosia’s face was evident.

“You magnificent woman,” the vicomte said.

“What about your things?” Celia asked.

“They’re all yours now,” Theodosia said. “Enjoy them. Enjoy Christmas.”

Theodosia grabbed Celia’s bag. “I will take your things.” Theodosia enveloped Celia in a tight embrace. “I am ever so thankful.”

And then the vicomte opened the balcony door, and Theodosia and he crept out again.

Celia was alone.

And posing as an aristocrat.