Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After #1)(68)

Damn it, he hated that she had to pretend that. He especially hated that she had to pretend one more moment of it for his sake.

“You’re forgetting one more problem,” he said. “Which is that all these people have me mistaken for their hero. They’ll be calling me Ulric.”

“No, no. You’re the one who’s mistaken. Everyone understands that stories are just stories. These people never believed you were Ulric. They just think . . . Well, they think you’re one of them.”

“One of them?”

“Yes. Ransom, they’d gladly be your friends if you’d let them.”

Friends.

Friendship with these people was not what he needed. But the hard truth of it was, he did need servants. He couldn’t appear to be moldering in a decrepit castle alone with his valet. Even though that’s exactly what he had been doing up until a few weeks past.

“Just give them a chance,” she whispered, kissing his cheek before she descended to greet her adoring throng. “Do it for me?”

Do it for me.

The woman had no idea the trials he would suffer for her. A great deal more than this foolishness.

He’d imprisoned himself in this castle to rot. He’d cut off all contact with the outside world. And just when he thought he’d burned all his bridges, this woman—this impossible, sweet, foolish woman—arrived, determined to swim the moat. Breach his defenses. Make a home. Stay.

If not for her, this room would still be filled with rats and bats. If not for her, he’d be sitting unshaven and drunk in the great hall, morosely counting his steps to nowhere. And if not for her, he would have no reason to fight this battle at all.

Perhaps he would have no title or fortune to offer her, but he was determined to see her safe.

Everything he did, from this point forward . . .

It was all for her.

Chapter Twenty-one

Gather round, everyone. This will be our final time through the paces.”

Izzy called down from the window of the ducal chamber, addressing the assembled knights, handmaidens, servants, and friends below.

Tomorrow, the solicitors arrived. This would be their last chance to practice.

She cleared her throat, and called, “Take your places, please.”

The knights, cook, and servant-handmaidens disappeared inside, leaving only the Inquisitioners in the courtyard.

The “Inquisitioners” were Abigail and a few of the handmaidens who’d offered to pose as the visiting party. The girls had thrown themselves into the roles with enthusiasm, pulling their hair back into severe knots and donning dark, somber topcoats and beaver hats from the old vicar’s wardrobe. They’d even taken bits of kohl and drawn sideburns and moustaches on their faces.

Except for the occasional burst of giggling, they made a fair approximation of a stern-faced party of solicitors and doctors.

“Now, when the visitors arrive, Duncan will welcome them to Gostley Castle.”

Duncan opened the front door and bowed solemnly to the young ladies in costume. “Good afternoon, sirs. Welcome to Gostley Castle.”

“Excellent. And then he’ll show them into the—” Izzy turned to Ransom, who stood beside her in the upstairs room. “You’re sure you prefer the great hall? We do have the salon now. It’s a more manageable size.”

He shook his head. “It has to be the great hall. I know how the space works, how the echoes sound.”

“Then the great hall it is.” She turned and called from the window again. “Duncan will show them into the great hall.”

Duncan faced the “Inquisitioners” and tilted his head in invitation. “If the gentlemen would be so good as to follow me.”

The tittering young women followed him inside.

Izzy stepped away from the window. “This is where we wait. Once Duncan has them settled in the great hall, he’ll send one of the handmaidens up to knock.”

They lapsed into silence, just waiting. Izzy studied her shoes. She had new ones for tomorrow, but for today her old nankeen half boots would have to do.

Ransom, of course, only looked more magnificent with each passing day. Duncan had dedicated many tireless hours to the task of brushing, laundering, pressing, and polishing every item of attire in the duke’s wardrobe, and it showed.

His hair was still a touch overgrown, but she couldn’t bring herself to suggest a trim. He wore that fall of golden brown hair like a shield over his wounded brow. She worried he would feel vulnerable without it.

“Don’t be anxious about anything,” she said. “We’ve planned every moment, made alternatives for any eventuality. And if all else goes wrong, there’s a last resort. Plan E.”

“Plan E? What’s Plan E?”

“Snowdrop. If there’s an unforeseen problem, one of the handmaidens will release the ermine into the room. It will be a diversion, at least.”

His lips quirked to one side in that now-familiar manner.

She still didn’t quite know how to read the expression, but she was coming to think of it as a smile.

A knock came at the door.

“Right,” she said. “That’s our cue.”

She threaded her arm in his, and together they walked into the corridor and began heading downstairs to the great hall.

“I remember everything you told me,” she said. “Blaylock has ginger hair and spectacles. Riggett is the portly one, with narrow-set eyes. When we enter the hall, I’ll find them, and I’ll tap out their position on your arm. The first count will be Blaylock. The second, Riggett. As for the newcomers, we’ll have to rely on introductions. Duncan, should you need him, will always be just to the left of the entrance. Once you introduce me, I can take ov—”