Page 14 of Never a Proper Lady

“Excellent, as a matter of fact.” Certainly, that was not pride ringing in his voice.

His mother gave Constantine a sharp look.

Resplendent in ivory and violet silk, the duchess reminded him of an iris in full bloom.

“I cannot leave her in Edyth’s chamber unless we pretend Miss Roth is a relative.” She put her ebony gloved finger to her chin.

“A distant cousin, perhaps?” She gave a slow nod. “Yes, that might work.”

“My dear, you worry too much about what others think.” Father gave her a tender smile and put an arm around her shoulders. “My brother will know she’s not a cousin on our side.”

Yes, Uncle Hayward knew the Kellinggrave family tree forward and back, up and down, and sideways. Constantine always suspected his father’s twin brother’s obsession with the family lineage was a façade to cover his desire to find a means to claim the duchy for his wayward, rapscallion son, Martin.

“You could claim Miss Roth is your distant cousin, I suppose, my dear.” Father patted Mother’s hand.

Shaking his head, Constantine straightened to his full height. “I plan on working while I’m here. If you claim Miss Roth is a cousin, she won’t be able to perform her duties.”

“Hmph. You should’ve thought of that. At the very least, you could’ve informed me you’d hired a female scrivener.” Lips pursed, Mother stared across the room in the manner she did when she was scheming. “Perhaps we can claim she’s a companion for Edyth now that Charlotte is moving away.”

There was a slight catch in her voice.

Mama and Charlotte were extremely close.

“Miss Roth would still be unavailable for my needs,” Constantine persisted while trying to squelch a small surge of irritation.

Father raised a sardonic eyebrow, his mouth twitching the merest bit. Again.

“Not those needs, Father.”

Mother glanced at the brass and marble ormolu mantel clock and snapped her fan shut. “La, it’s time for the supper gong.”

She speared Constantine a reproachful glance.

“We are not finished with this conversation, Constantine.”

Constantine cupped his nape.

This wasn’t going at all as he’d planned. He required Miss Roth’s scrivener skills to accomplish what he’d intended this week. Another obstacle to his plans was not acceptable.

“What is Miss Roth to do this evening?” he asked. “I assure you. She does not have a wardrobe that will convince anyone that she is a cousin.”

“She’ll have to remain in Edyth’s chamber until I have time to think this arrangement through. Though I hate fibbing, we’ll claim a headache from her travels to explain Miss Roth’s absence from supper.”

“A little fib to prevent a scandal is perfectly acceptable, my dear.” Father nodded and cast a longing glance toward the study door as he patted his stomach. He’d probably missed his midday meal again.

Constantine had inherited his absent-mindedness from his sire.

“Miss Roth can borrow your sisters’ gowns. Nita is an excellent seamstress and can make any alterations required.” Mother compressed her mouth again in contemplation. “Slippers might be an issue, but we cannot discuss this further at the moment.”

“Why not send her home tomorrow?” Father suggested as he adjusted a cuff. “Not all the house guests have arrived. Miss Roth went directly to Edyth’s chamber, and Edyth said they didn’t encounter anyone on the way up. I doubt anyone knows Miss Roth is here.”

“No!” Constantine shook his head and eased the sharpness of his refusal with an apologetic upward sweep of his mouth. “She suffered terrible malaise on the entire trip here. I could not in good conscience make her endure another three days. It would be cruel.”

“Yes, I quite agree,” Mother conceded, giving him an odd, penetrating look. “I have suffered an unsettled stomach on long journeys. Poor dear. I’ll have mint tea and dry toast sent up.”

Constantine strode to his father’s desk. “I’ll just write Miss Roth a quick note and explain the situation.”

She wouldn’t be happy about being confined to Edyth’s chamber, and Constantine couldn’t blame her. He’d wager she would be even less happy about pretending to be a companion or distant cousin.

As he flipped the inkwell top open, a thought struck him.

Faith Roth might refuse to go along with the subterfuge.

What then?