My Fake Rake

No wonder she liked it so much better in the field. No one judged her. No one expected her to be someone she was not, or change to fit an ideal she didn’t value. There was only dispassionate Nature, who didn’t give a fig about things like ladies’ accomplishments.

“Fredericks, the naturalist?” Rotherby asked.

“The same, Your Grace,” she said.

“Not a bad fellow,” the duke mused. “So that . . . display I just witnessed . . . that’s what you’ve determined a Society gentleman and rake does?”

“We found it in a book,” Sebastian said.

“Was it by chance the Domesday Book?”

“It belonged to my father when he was making his entrée into Society,” Grace replied curtly. “Given the wear on its pages, it appears that he’d made good use of it. Surely manners cannot change so much in that time.”

“Forty years in London Society is a millennium. But neither of you understand that.” Rotherby looked back and forth between her and Sebastian, an expression of disbelief writ plainly on his face. “It’s the blind leading the bespectacled.”

“We can find other books,” Sebastian said, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Recent ones. Surely McKinnon’s has an ample stock. All we need to do is a bit more research.”

Grace nodded in agreement. “Research solves everything.”

The duke pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Good. God.” He exhaled jaggedly before lowering his hand and opening his eyes. “I’ll just have to clear my schedule. That way we can get to work as soon as possible. Time’s slipping away.”

Grace shot Sebastian a befuddled look. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but what do you mean by ‘We can get to work’?”

“It’s patently obvious,” Rotherby said with deliberate patience. “You both are extremely intelligent when it comes to scholarly knowledge, but utter naïfs when it comes to navigating the treacherous London social scene. You need a guide. Someone who knows every twist and turn of the labyrinth.”

“You, Rotherby?” Sebastian’s mouth opened in shock. “That’s not necessary.”

“It most assuredly is necessary. You’re my friend, and like hell will I let you founder and drown.” Rotherby looked at Sebastian with wry fondness, before pulling a timepiece from his waistcoat pocket. “I’m due home to meet with my men of business. But I shall see you both tomorrow at two o’clock. Bond Street, outside Walton’s tobacconist shop.”

He said this as a command, not a request. Not much of a surprise, given his lofty status.

“Certain about this, Rotherby?” Sebastian asked.

“We’re asking quite a lot of you,” Grace noted.

“If what I witnessed today is any indicator of your trajectory,” the duke said grimly, “then it’s not a matter of certainty. It’s necessity.”

Chapter 6

As Seb approached Walton’s tobacconist shop on Bond Street, a small gathering of gentlemen and a couple of women had collected around a single individual standing outside. They all wore what they likely hoped were ingratiating smiles, all their attention focused on one man in particular.

Rotherby.

His friend gazed coolly over the heads of the people encircling him, but when he caught sight of Seb, his look brightened.

“Here now,” Rotherby said dismissively to the crowd, “find somewhere else to be.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Another time, Your Grace.” And so forth, as the group thinned, until only Seb and Rotherby remained in front of the shop’s window.

“Poor blighter.” Seb shook Rotherby’s hand. “If it wasn’t for your blinding good looks, colossal political influence, and inestimable wealth, I might pity you.”

“Complaining sounds churlish,” his friend said and exhaled. “But, God, what a massive pain in the arse. Ah, Lady Grace.”

The duke bowed as Grace emerged from the crowds thronging the street. Her maid trailed behind her, and Grace actually had to guide the servant down the sidewalk, since the maid walked with her nose buried in a book.