SHE WAS HAVING TEA ALONE—UNTIL THE DUKE’S MOTHER WHISPERED: “PRETEND YOU’RE MY SON’S FIANCÉE”

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The drawing room of Ashford House hummed with the polite chatter of London’s finest ladies, all gathered for the quarterly charitable society meeting. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over silk gowns and elaborate coiffures, while servants glided between clusters of women bearing silver trays laden with tea and delicate pastries.

Lady Eugenie Weatherstone had positioned herself in what she considered the most advantageous spot in the room, a small settee near the window, partially obscured by an enormous potted fern. From there she could observe the proceedings without being drawn into tedious conversations about the latest bonnet styles or which gentleman had danced with whom at last week’s ball.

At 26, Eugenie had perfected the art of social invisibility. Not that she was unattractive. Quite the contrary. Her dark auburn hair and intelligent gray eyes had caught enough attention during her first season 9 years earlier. But after her father’s investments had gone catastrophically wrong, leaving the Weatherstone family teetering on the edge of financial ruin, suitors had evaporated like morning mist. Pride had prevented her from accepting offers from men who viewed her solely as a pretty ornament, and practicality had kept her from pursuing romantic fantasies when her family needed her dowry money for more pressing matters, like keeping their ancestral home from falling into complete disrepair.

She sipped her tea and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. This was perfectly pleasant, observing humanity from a safe distance, contributing her required attendance to the charitable cause, and avoiding the pitying glances that inevitably came when unmarried women of a certain age gathered together.

“That one,” a crisp, aristocratic voice declared from somewhere behind the fern.

Eugenie froze, her teacup halfway to her lips.

“I beg your pardon, your grace,” came another voice, Mrs. Pemberton’s, if Eugenie was not mistaken.

“That young woman by the window. Who is she?”

Eugenie’s heart sank as she realized they were discussing her. She considered standing up to announce her presence, but something in the tone of the first voice, imperious, calculating, and utterly confident, kept her seated.

“That is Lady Eugenie Weatherstone, your grace, Lord Weatherstone’s daughter. A perfectly respectable family, though I understand they’ve had some difficulties in recent years.”

“Difficulties.” The aristocratic voice, definitely belonging to someone titled, Eugenie noted with growing alarm, sounded intrigued rather than dismissive.

“Financial troubles, I’m afraid. Nothing scandalous, mind you. Poor investments. Her father is too trusting by half. But Lady Eugenie is quite proper. She’s been out for years, though she never took. Too bookish, some say. Too opinionated, others claim. Personally, I think she simply never found anyone worthy of her notice.”

“Or perhaps no one worthy gave her the attention she deserved,” the first voice said thoughtfully. “Tell me, is she desperate to marry?”

Eugenie nearly choked on her tea. The audacity.

“Desperate? I wouldn’t say desperate, your grace, but she must be aware that her prospects diminish with each passing season. At her age, she cannot afford to be too particular.”

“Perfect,” the voice declared with satisfaction. “Absolutely perfect.”

Before Eugenie could process this alarming statement, a woman swept around the fern with the force of a small hurricane. She was perhaps 60 years of age, dressed in an exquisite lavender silk gown that screamed both wealth and impeccable taste. Her silver hair was arranged in an elaborate style that must have taken her lady’s maid hours to complete, and she wore diamonds that could probably feed a small village for a year. Most notably, she wore an expression of absolute determination.

“Lady Eugenie Weatherstone,” the woman announced, settling herself onto the settee with the authority of someone accustomed to having her smallest wish obeyed. “I am Winifred Merrow, Dowager Duchess of Silverley, and I have a proposition for you that will sound utterly mad.”

Eugenie blinked at her, acutely aware that several other ladies had noticed the Dowager Duchess’s sudden interest and were now watching their corner with unconcealed curiosity.

“Your grace,” Eugenie managed, setting down her teacup before she dropped it. “I’m honored by your attention, but I’m not certain—”

“You’re unmarried,” Winifred interrupted with characteristic bluntness. “26 years old, intelligent, and from what I’ve observed, entirely too sensible to waste your time with the nonsense these other ladies consider conversation. You also desperately need money, though you’re too proud to show it. Am I correct thus far?”

Eugenie felt her cheeks flush. “Your grace, I hardly think—”

“Your gloves,” Winifred continued, gesturing to her hands. “Beautifully made, but you’ve turned them twice. I can see the faint marks where the original stitching was. Your gown is at least 3 years old, though you’ve disguised it cleverly with new ribbon, and unless I’m very much mistaken, those are paste pearls at your throat, not the genuine Weatherstone pearls your grandmother was famous for wearing. Your family has sold the real ones, haven’t they?”

The frank assessment, delivered without malice but with absolute certainty, left Eugenie momentarily speechless. She had spent years perfecting her façade of genteel normalcy, and this woman had seen through it in seconds.

“I mean no offense,” Winifred said more gently, though her eyes remained sharp. “I merely need to ensure you’ll understand the value of what I’m about to propose. You see, I have a son.”

“Congratulations,” Eugenie offered weakly.

Winifred’s lips twitched. “Callum Merrow, Duke of Silverley, 32 years old, devastatingly handsome, if I do say so myself, wealthy beyond measure, and possessing absolutely no interest whatsoever in finding a wife. Do you know how many debutantes I’ve paraded before him over the past decade? Dozens. Beautiful, accomplished young ladies from the finest families in England. He treats them all with perfect courtesy and complete indifference.”

“I’m sorry for your difficulty, your grace, but I fail to see how this concerns me.”

“Because,” Winifred leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow carried more weight than a shout, “you are going to pretend to be his fiancée, starting immediately.”

Eugenie stared at her. “I beg your pardon.”

“Just for this afternoon,” Winifred continued as if she had not just suggested something completely insane. “You see, there are several particularly odious women at this gathering who have been hounding me mercilessly about Callum’s unmarried state. Lady Cromwell actually had the audacity to suggest that perhaps my son prefers unconventional companionship. I need to silence them, and you, my dear, are the perfect solution.”

“Your grace, I cannot possibly—”

“You can, and you will,” Winifred said firmly, “because I am going to make it worth your while. Stand up.”

Somewhere in Eugenie’s sensible mind, a voice was screaming at her to refuse, to make her excuses, and leave immediately. But another part of her, the part that had spent years watching her father’s worry lines deepen, that had seen her mother quietly sell family heirlooms piece by piece, that had lain awake at night calculating how many more months they could maintain appearances before the creditors came calling, that part of her stood up.

“Excellent.” Winifred rose as well, linking her arm through Eugenie’s with proprietary satisfaction. “Now smile as if I’ve just shared delightful news. That’s right. And for heaven’s sake, try to look like a woman in love.”

“I don’t even know your son.”

“Minor detail. Now hold your head high. You’re about to become the most talked about woman in London.”

Before Eugenie could protest further, Winifred had steered her into the center of the drawing room, where the gathered ladies turned to observe them with varying degrees of interest.

“Ladies,” Winifred announced in a voice that carried effortlessly across the room, bringing all conversation to an immediate halt, “I have the most wonderful news. May I present my son’s fiancée, Lady Eugenie Weatherstone. The wedding will be in 3 months at St. George’s. We are keeping it small, only 500 guests or so.”

The room erupted. Women surged forward with congratulations and questions, their voices blending into an incomprehensible cacophony. Eugenie felt herself being pulled into embraces by people she barely knew, heard herself murmuring responses that she couldn’t quite process, and caught glimpses of faces ranging from delighted to devastatingly envious. Through it all, Winifred remained at her side, a small smile of triumph playing about her lips.

“Your grace,” Eugenie hissed under her breath during a brief lull in the onslaught. “This is madness. When your son discovers what you’ve done—”

“Oh, Callum will be furious,” Winifred agreed cheerfully. “Absolutely apoplectic. It will be magnificent. He’s been far too complacent lately. This will do him good.”

“Do him good? You’ve just announced to all of London society that we’re engaged.”

“Indeed, I have. And now you have a choice, my dear. You can publicly humiliate both yourself and me by denying it in front of all these witnesses, ensuring that neither of our reputations ever recovers. Or,” Winifred’s voice took on a steely quality, “you can play along for the remainder of this afternoon, and tomorrow morning you and I will have a proper discussion about compensating you for your trouble.”

“Compensating me?”

“You mean?” Winifred’s eyes sharpened. “I mean that I am prepared to be exceedingly generous to the woman who helps me solve my problem. Your family’s financial difficulties could become a thing of the past, Lady Eugenie. All you need do is pretend to be in love with my son for 1 afternoon. Surely that’s not too high a price.”

Eugenie looked at the faces surrounding her, women she had known for years but who had never particularly noticed her before. They were looking at her now, though, looking at her with interest, with envy, with the kind of attention that came from being associated with 1 of the most eligible men in England.

She thought of her father’s tired eyes, her mother’s brave smile when she had sold her grandmother’s brooch last month, her younger brother’s education hanging in the balance because they couldn’t afford the fees.

“What do I need to know about him?” she heard herself ask.

Winifred’s smile widened. “Ah, splendid. Well, let me see. Callum is brilliant. Cambridge, first in his class. He manages our estates with impressive competence and takes his duties in the House of Lords seriously, unlike most of his peers. He’s an excellent horseman, a fair shot, and he detests dancing despite being quite good at it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eugenie said. “I meant what will convince people we’re actually engaged. What are his habits, his preferences? Does he have a sense of humor?”

Winifred looked at her with something approaching respect. “Very practical. Yes, he has a quite wonderful sense of humor, though he hides it behind that ducal reserve he’s perfected. He’s sardonic rather than jovial, wit over warmth, if you take my meaning. He reads voraciously, particularly philosophy and political theory. He takes his coffee black, his whiskey neat, and his privacy seriously. He’s loyal to those he cares about, but slow to trust.” She added with a significant look, “He has very little patience for dishonesty or manipulation.”

“Then he’s going to absolutely despise this,” Eugenie said flatly.

“Oh, undoubtedly. But by the time he discovers it, you’ll have made such an impression on London society that breaking the engagement will be far more trouble than maintaining the fiction, at least for a short while.”

“A short while.”

“3 months should suffice. Long enough to satisfy the gossips and get everyone accustomed to the idea that Callum is finally settling down. After that, we can arrange a quiet dissolution of the engagement. Mutual decision, no scandal, everyone parts as friends.”

“And the compensation you mentioned.”

“We’ll discuss specific terms tomorrow,” Winifred said. “But I assure you, it will be more than adequate to resolve your family’s financial concerns. Shall we say enough to pay off your father’s debts and provide a comfortable settlement? Besides…”

Eugenie’s breath caught. That kind of money would change everything. Her father could stop selling off pieces of their heritage. Her mother could hold her head high in society again. Her brother could finish his education.

All she had to do was pretend to love a man she had never met for 1 afternoon and then apparently continue the pretense for 3 months.

It was mad. Completely, utterly mad.

“Very well,” Eugenie said. “But tomorrow morning we discuss terms properly, and if your son wishes to end this charade immediately, I’ll support whatever explanation he prefers.”

“Excellent,” Winifred said, “though I doubt Callum will want to end it once he thinks through the implications. He’s far too clever for that. Now smile. Lady Cromwell is approaching, and she’s the worst gossip in London. Whatever you tell her will be repeated in every drawing room by evening.”

Lady Cromwell was a formidable woman in pewter satin, her expression hovering between congratulation and calculation. “Lady Eugenie, my dear girl, I had no idea you even knew the Duke of Silverley. How delightfully secretive you’ve been.”

“The Duke and Lady Eugenie preferred to keep their understanding private,” Winifred answered before Eugenie could speak. “Young love, you know. They wanted time to know each other without society’s scrutiny.”

“How romantic.” Lady Cromwell’s eyes narrowed with interest. “And where did you meet, if I may ask?”

Eugenie’s mind went blank. Where would a duke and an impoverished lady even cross paths? She opened her mouth, desperately grasping for a plausible explanation.

“At the British Museum,” Winifred supplied smoothly. “They both have a passion for ancient Greek philosophy. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Yes,” Eugenie seized on the lie gratefully. “We discovered we were both examining the same collection of manuscripts. We struck up a conversation about Aristotle’s ethics, and,” she gestured vaguely, “1 thing led to another.”

It sounded absurd, even to her own ears, but Lady Cromwell seemed to accept it.

“How very intellectual. I suppose that explains why the Duke hasn’t been seen courting anyone. He was too busy courting you in secret.”

“Precisely,” Winifred said with satisfaction.

The afternoon continued in much the same vein. Eugenie found herself repeating variations of the museum story, accepting congratulations from women who had barely acknowledged her existence before, and feeling increasingly like she had been swept up in a theatrical production without being given her lines.

By the time the charitable society meeting concluded, her face ached from forced smiling, and her mind reeled from the sheer audacity of what she had just done.

As the ladies began to depart, Winifred squeezed her arm. “You did beautifully. My carriage will collect you tomorrow morning at 10:00. We’ll discuss everything properly then.”

“Your grace,” Eugenie said quietly. “What happens when your son finds out what we’ve done?”

Winifred’s expression turned thoughtful. “Callum has spent the last decade avoiding his responsibilities where marriage is concerned. Perhaps this will remind him that a duke has duties beyond managing estates and attending Parliament. Sometimes, my dear, we must be forced into recognizing what we truly need.”

“And what if what he truly needs isn’t me?”

“Then we’ll have 3 months to discover that, won’t we?” Winifred patted her hand. “But I have a feeling you’re going to surprise us both. There’s more to you than a pretty face and good breeding, Lady Eugenie. I saw it the moment you started asking practical questions instead of swooning over the honor of becoming a duchess. Callum needs someone with intelligence and spine, not another simpering debutante. You might be exactly what he requires.”

With that cryptic statement, the Dowager Duchess swept away, leaving Eugenie standing in the emptying drawing room, wondering what on earth she had just agreed to.

She was supposed to pretend to be the Duke of Silverley’s fiancée, a man she had never met, a man who, according to his mother, despised dishonesty and manipulation.

This was without question the most ridiculous situation she had ever found herself in.

And yet, as she made her way home in the Weatherstone shabby carriage, another reminder of their reduced circumstances, Eugenie couldn’t quite suppress a flutter of something that might have been anticipation.

For the first time in years, something interesting was happening to her. Something unexpected and absurd and potentially disastrous, but also possibly something that could save her family.

She arrived home to find her mother in the drawing room mending curtains that should have been replaced 2 years ago.

“Eugenie, darling, how was the charitable society meeting?”

Eugenie looked at her mother, still beautiful despite the lines of worry around her eyes, still maintaining the graceful dignity that had made her 1 of the most admired women of her generation, still pretending that everything was perfectly fine even as their world crumbled piece by piece.

“Actually, mother,” Eugenie said slowly, “something rather extraordinary happened. I appear to have gotten engaged.”

Her mother’s needle stopped mid-stitch. “You what?”

“To the Duke of Silverley. His mother announced it to the entire charitable society. The wedding is to be in 3 months at St. George’s.”

There was a long, profound silence. Then her mother set down her mending with great care.

“Eugenie Charlotte Weatherstone, sit down and explain yourself this instant.”

As Eugenie recounted the afternoon’s events, she watched her mother’s expression cycle through disbelief, horror, and finally cautious calculation.

“Let me understand this correctly,” her mother said when Eugenie had finished. “The Dowager Duchess of Silverley has promised to compensate you, us, for participating in a false engagement to her son.”

“Yes. An engagement that will last 3 months and then be quietly dissolved. That’s what she proposed.”

“And you believe she’ll actually pay what she’s promised?”

“The Dowager Duchess didn’t become 1 of the most influential women in London by breaking her word, mother. If anything, her reputation for keeping promises is fearsome.”

Her mother was quiet for a long moment. “Do you know what this could mean for us if she keeps her word?”

“I know. Your father could hold his head up again. We could repair the roof. Edward could finish his education properly. I know, mother.”

Another silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken implications.

“You’ll have to meet him eventually,” her mother said finally. “The Duke. He’ll undoubtedly have thoughts about his mother announcing his engagement without his knowledge or consent.”

Eugenie felt her stomach twist with apprehension. “Yes. I imagine he will.”

“Is the Dowager Duchess certain he won’t simply denounce the engagement immediately?”

“She seems to think he’ll be practical about it once he considers the implications. A public scandal would harm his reputation as much as ours.”

“Perhaps.” Her mother picked up her mending again, though her hands trembled slightly. “This is dangerous, Eugenie.”

“If it goes wrong, we’ll be no worse off than we are now,” Eugenie said firmly. “And if it goes right, we might actually have a future that doesn’t involve selling grandmother’s things piece by piece.”

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “I never wanted this for you, any of this.”

“I know.” Eugenie crossed to her mother’s chair and knelt beside it. “But this is our reality, and for once, I have a chance to actually do something about it. I’m not going to let pride or fear stop me.”

Her mother touched her cheek gently. “You’re so much braver than I ever was.”

“I learned from the best,” Eugenie said softly. “You’ve been brave every day, keeping this family together.”

They sat together in the fading afternoon light, both aware that tomorrow would bring challenges neither of them could fully anticipate. Somewhere across London, in a house Eugenie had never seen, a duke was going about his evening entirely unaware that his life was about to become complicated in ways he couldn’t possibly imagine.

The Duke of Silverley’s London residence was a masterpiece of Georgian architecture, all elegant proportions and understated magnificence. Eugenie stood before it the following morning, acutely aware of how inadequate her second-best morning dress appeared in comparison to such grandeur.

The Dowager Duchess’s carriage had collected her precisely at 10:00, and Winifred herself had accompanied her, keeping up a stream of cheerful chatter that did nothing to calm Eugenie’s increasingly anxious nerves.

“Remember,” Winifred said as they approached the front door, “Callum will bluster and rage. Let him. He needs to work through his temper before he can think rationally. And underneath all that ducal outrage, he’s actually quite reasonable.”

“That’s reassuring,” Eugenie said faintly.

“Also, he may say some rather cutting things. Don’t take them personally. He has a tongue like a razor when he’s angry, but he’s never deliberately cruel.”

“Your grace, you’re not actually helping.”

Winifred laughed. “Sorry, dear. I’m simply excited. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened in years.”

They were admitted by a butler whose expression suggested he had witnessed many interesting things in his time and been impressed by none of them. He led them through an entrance hall that made Eugenie’s breath catch, marble floors, soaring ceilings, artwork that belonged in a museum, and into a study that managed to be both magnificent and oddly comfortable.

Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that actually looked read rather than decorative. A massive desk dominated 1 end of the room, covered with neat stacks of correspondence and documents. Morning sunlight streamed through tall windows overlooking a private garden.

And standing by 1 of those windows, reading what appeared to be a letter, was the Duke of Silverley.

Eugenie’s first thought was that Winifred had not exaggerated about her son being devastatingly handsome. Callum Merrow was tall and lean, with dark hair that fell across his forehead in a way that suggested he had been running his hands through it. His profile was all clean lines and aristocratic angles, high cheekbones, strong jaw, straight nose. He wore no coat, just shirt sleeves and a waistcoat. And even in this casual state of dress, he radiated the kind of authority that came from generations of breeding and power.

Then he turned, and Eugenie saw his eyes. Gray-green, intelligent, and absolutely furious.

“Mother,” he said in a voice of deadly calm, “would you care to explain why I’ve received 14 messages of congratulation this morning regarding an engagement I knew nothing about?”

“Good morning, darling,” Winifred said brightly. “How wonderful that word has spread so quickly. Eugenie, may I present my son, Callum Merrow, Duke of Silverley. Callum, this is Lady Eugenie Weatherstone, your fiancée.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Callum’s gaze shifted to Eugenie, and she felt herself being assessed with the same thoroughness his mother had displayed the day before, but with considerably less warmth.

“Lady Eugenie,” he said with excruciating politeness, “how unfortunate that we’re meeting under such creative circumstances.”

“Your grace,” Eugenie managed, resisting the urge to curtsy. She might be pretending to be engaged to him, but she would be damned if she would act intimidated. “I assure you, this situation is as unexpected for me as it is for you.”

1 dark eyebrow rose. “Somehow, I doubt that. Most women who claim to be my fiancée generally have at least a passing acquaintance with me first.”

“Callum, don’t be nasty,” Winifred said. “Eugenie is doing us a tremendous favor.”

“A favor.” His voice could have frozen water. “By participating in my mother’s deranged scheme to manipulate me into marriage. How charitable.”

“I’m standing right here,” Eugenie said sharply, her own temper stirring. “And I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself, your grace. So perhaps you could direct your anger where it actually belongs, at your mother rather than taking it out on me.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. Then, to Eugenie’s surprise, Callum’s lips twitched.

“Backbone. How refreshing.”

He crossed to his desk and tossed down the letter he had been holding. “Very well. Since my mother has decided to stage-manage my life without consultation, perhaps someone should explain to me exactly what happened yesterday.”

Winifred settled herself into a chair as if preparing for a pleasant chat. “It’s quite simple, really. I observed Lady Eugenie at the charitable society meeting, intelligent, composed, and clearly not interested in the usual social nonsense. Perfect wife material, I thought, so I suggested she pretend to be your fiancée for the afternoon.”

“Suggested,” Callum repeated flatly.

“Well, strongly encouraged. Lady Cromwell was being particularly odious about your unmarried state, and I needed to silence her. Eugenie here was the perfect solution.”

“Perfect.” Callum’s gaze swung back to Eugenie. “And you simply agreed without question.”

“Your mother offered compensation,” Eugenie said directly, seeing no point in dissembling. “My family has financial difficulties. She proposed a business arrangement. I pretend to be engaged to you for 3 months, and in exchange, she provides enough funds to resolve our debts. It seemed straightforward enough.”

She watched his expression carefully, trying to read his reaction. To her surprise, he looked more intrigued than insulted.

“Honest, at least,” he observed. “Most women would pretend to some romantic motive.”

“I’m not most women, your grace. And I have no interest in deceiving you about my reasons.”

“No, apparently you only have interest in deceiving all of London society.” But there was less heat in his voice now, more calculation.

“That was your mother’s idea,” Eugenie pointed out. “I was simply drinking tea and minding my own business when she dragooned me into this scheme.”

“And yet you didn’t refuse.”

“No,” Eugenie admitted. “I didn’t because my family needs help, and I’m not too proud to accept it when it’s offered, even if it comes with strings attached.”

Callum studied her for a long moment. Then he turned to his mother. “3 months?”

“3 months,” Winifred confirmed. “Long enough to satisfy society and get the gossips talking about something else. After that, you and Eugenie can have a quiet dissolution of the engagement. No scandal, no drama.”

“Except that I’ll be known as the man who broke an engagement with a respectable young woman,” Callum pointed out. “That won’t exactly enhance my reputation.”

“We’ll say it was mutual,” Winifred said. “Discovered you didn’t suit. Happens all the time.”

“And in the meantime, I’m expected to play the devoted fiancé.”

“It would be helpful,” his mother agreed serenely.

Callum was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he moved to pour himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter on his desk.

“It’s 10:00 in the morning,” Winifred observed.

“Yes, and I’ve just discovered I’m engaged to a complete stranger. I believe that warrants morning drinking.”

He downed half the glass, then looked at Eugenie again. “Tell me, Lady Eugenie, are you aware of what being engaged to a duke actually entails? The social obligations, the scrutiny, the endless parade of tedious events you’ll be expected to attend at my side.”

“I imagine it’s considerably more pleasant than watching my family’s home fall apart around us,” Eugenie said evenly.

Something flickered in his eyes, surprise, perhaps, or reluctant respect.

“You’re remarkably pragmatic about this.”

“I find pragmatism useful in difficult situations.”

“And this is a difficult situation.”

“Extraordinarily so,” Eugenie agreed. “But not insurmountable. Your mother is right about 1 thing. If you denounce the engagement now, it creates a scandal that harms both of us. Better to maintain the fiction for a short time and then end things quietly. 3 months isn’t so very long.”

Callum finished his whiskey and set down the glass with precise care. “Very well. I’ll agree to this absurd charade on 2 conditions.”

“Which are?” Winifred asked.

“First, we establish clear terms. Lady Eugenie will receive her compensation in stages. 1 third now to demonstrate good faith, 1 third at the halfway point, and the final third when the engagement ends amicably. That ensures cooperation from all parties.”

“Agreed,” Winifred said promptly. “And the second condition?”

Callum looked directly at Eugenie. “You move into this house immediately.”

“What?” Eugenie and Winifred spoke simultaneously.

“If we’re going to convince London society that this engagement is real, we need to be seen together frequently. That means dinners, events, morning rides in the park, all the tedious courtship rituals people expect. It will be far easier if you’re living under my roof with my mother as chaperone.”

“Of course, Callum, that’s highly irregular,” Winifred protested.

“So is arranging a fake engagement without my knowledge,” he countered. “Besides, plenty of engaged couples live in the same household with appropriate chaperonage. It will actually make our story more convincing.”

He had a point, Eugenie realized with dismay, and she could see the calculation in his eyes. This was a test. He expected her to refuse, to balk at such an unconventional arrangement.

“All right,” she said.

Both Merrows turned to stare at her.

“All right?” Callum repeated.

“If it makes the arrangement more practical, I see no reason to object. As long as the living situation is properly chaperoned and as long as you understand that this is purely a business arrangement.”

“Purely business,” Callum agreed. But something in his expression suggested he found her compliance surprising. “Then we have an accord. Mother, I trust you can make the financial arrangements Lady Eugenie and I have discussed.”

“Of course.” Winifred looked between them, clearly pleased with how this was unfolding. “I’ll have the first payment delivered to Lord Weatherstone this afternoon.”

“Excellent. Lady Eugenie, how soon can you relocate your belongings?”

“I…”

“Tomorrow.” Eugenie’s mind was reeling. Everything was moving so fast.

“Tomorrow it is.”

Callum moved back to his desk, already dismissing them. “Mother, please show Lady Eugenie to whatever rooms you think appropriate. And someone should probably notify the staff that we’re about to have another resident.”

“Wait,” Eugenie said. “That’s it? We’re just doing this?”

Callum looked up and for the first time she saw a hint of humor in his eyes. “Did you expect more discussion? You’ve accepted my terms. I’ve accepted yours. The arrangement is settled, unless you’re developing cold feet.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I simply thought that you’d rage and threaten and throw me out.”

His smile was sardonic. “I considered it, but as you pointed out, the damage is already done. My mother has ensured that half of London believes we’re engaged. Fighting it would only create more problems, so we might as well make the best of this farce.”

He returned his attention to the papers on his desk. “We’ll have dinner together this evening, 7:00. Please dress appropriately. If we’re going to convince people we’re madly in love, we should probably have at least 1 proper conversation.”

It was clearly a dismissal. Eugenie followed Winifred out of the study, her mind churning with everything that had just transpired. In the space of a single morning, she had gone from impoverished lady to the Duke of Silverley’s fiancée. She was moving into his house tomorrow to spend 3 months pretending to be in love with a man who clearly resented the entire situation.

What had she gotten herself into?

Part 2

Moving into the Duke of Silverley’s London residence proved to be considerably more complicated than Eugenie had anticipated. Her mother had spent the entire evening in a state of anxious excitement, alternating between concerns about propriety and relief at the promised financial assistance that had indeed arrived that afternoon, delivered in person by the Dowager Duchess’s secretary with a bank draft that had made Eugenie’s father’s hands tremble.

“This is real,” he had said quietly, staring at the paper as if it might vanish. “This is actually happening.”

“Try not to spend it all at once,” Eugenie had said, attempting levity to cover her own anxiety. “I’ve committed to 3 months of extremely awkward social theater.”

Now, watching her meager belongings being loaded into the Merrow family carriage, she felt the full weight of what she had agreed to settle over her like a physical thing.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” her mother said softly, squeezing her hand. “We could find another way.”

“There is no other way, mother. We both know that.” Eugenie returned the pressure. “3 months. I can survive 3 months of anything.”

The Duke’s residence was even more imposing by daylight. Eugenie was greeted at the door by Mrs. Thornbury, the housekeeper, a formidable woman in her 50s who radiated competent efficiency and barely concealed skepticism about this entire arrangement.

“His grace has instructed that you be given the rose suite,” Mrs. Thornbury said as she led Eugenie through marble corridors. “It’s traditionally reserved for family members. The Dowager Duchess will be staying in the adjoining rooms.”

“How convenient,” Eugenie murmured.

“Indeed.” Mrs. Thornbury’s tone suggested she had opinions about this entire situation, but was too professional to voice them. “His grace takes his breakfast in the morning room at 8:00 precisely. Luncheon is informal. Most days he’s out managing estate business. Dinner is at 7:00. Formal dress required.”

They reached a set of double doors that Mrs. Thornbury opened with a flourish. The rose suite took Eugenie’s breath away. The sitting room was decorated in shades of cream and rose with elegant furniture that looked both beautiful and comfortable. Through another door, she could see a bedroom with a 4-poster bed draped in silk hangings. It was easily 3 times the size of her bedroom at home.

“His grace’s private apartments are in the east wing,” Mrs. Thornbury continued. “He values his privacy greatly. The library is on the ground floor. You’re welcome to use it, though his grace requests that volumes be returned to their proper places. The music room is on the second floor, should you play. And please inform me if you require anything for your comfort.”

After Mrs. Thornbury departed, Eugenie stood in the center of her new sitting room and tried not to feel overwhelmed. This was temporary, she reminded herself. 3 months of playacting, then back to her real life, hopefully with enough money to ensure that life would be considerably more comfortable.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it to find Winifred looking delighted.

“Settling in?” the Dowager Duchess asked, sweeping past her without waiting for invitation. “Excellent. Now we need to discuss strategy. Strategy for convincing society that you and Callum are genuinely in love. It won’t be easy. My son has never shown interest in anyone before. People will be scrutinizing every interaction.”

Eugenie sank into 1 of the chairs. “Wonderful. More pressure.”

“Don’t be dramatic, dear. I have complete faith in your abilities.” Winifred settled across from her. “Now, there’s a dinner party at Lady Hatheraway’s tomorrow evening. Excellent opportunity to be seen together in public. Callum will need to be attentive, holding your chair, fetching refreshments, that sort of thing. And you’ll need to look at him as if he’s utterly fascinating.”

“That might be challenging given that he looks at me as if I’m a particularly irritating inconvenience.”

“Oh, he’s simply sulking. He’ll come around.” Winifred waved a dismissive hand. “Beneath that ducal frost, Callum is actually quite capable of charm. He just rarely bothers with it.”

“How reassuring.”

“Trust me, dear. My son is many things, stubborn, proud, occasionally insufferably arrogant, but he’s not stupid. He knows this arrangement benefits him as much as you. Once he stops being annoyed about being outmaneuvered, he’ll commit properly to the performance.”

Eugenie hoped she was right. The thought of spending 3 months with a man who resented her presence was exhausting to contemplate.

Dinner that evening was precisely as uncomfortable as Eugenie had feared. She had chosen her best evening gown, emerald silk that had been beautiful 4 years ago and was merely presentable now, and arrived in the formal dining room at exactly 7:00.

Callum was already there, dressed impeccably in black evening clothes that made him look like something from a Renaissance painting, devastatingly handsome and completely unapproachable. He rose when she entered, which was proper, but the gesture felt mechanical rather than courteous.

“Lady Eugenie. Punctual. I appreciate that in a person.”

“I try not to waste other people’s time,” she replied, taking the seat the footman held for her, “even when I’m being forced into their company through maternal scheming.”

His lips twitched. “At least we agree on something.”

The first course was served, a delicate soup that Eugenie barely tasted. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the quiet clink of silver on china. Finally, Callum spoke.

“We should probably establish some ground rules.”

“Beyond moving in with you and pretending to be madly in love?”

“Beyond those, yes.” He set down his spoon with precise care. “First, I expect discretion. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen within these walls stays private. No gossiping with friends, no confiding in family beyond what’s necessary.”

“Agreed.”

“Second, we’ll need to coordinate our schedules. I have obligations that can’t be avoided. Parliamentary sessions, estate business, social events that I’ve already committed to. You’ll need to accompany me to at least some of them.”

“I expected that.”

“Third,” he paused, studying her, “we should probably make an effort to actually know each other. People in love generally have conversations.”

“What a revolutionary concept,” Eugenie said dryly. “Engaged couples talking to each other.”

“Don’t be sarcastic.”

“Then don’t state the obvious.”

They glared at each other across the table. Then unexpectedly, Callum laughed, a genuine sound of amusement that transformed his face entirely.

“You’re not what I expected,” he admitted.

“What did you expect?”

“Someone more compliant. Simpering, perhaps. Most women confronted by a duke’s displeasure would be apologizing profusely by now.”

“I’m not most women, and I didn’t actually do anything wrong. Your mother did. If you want apologies, direct them appropriately.”

“Fair point.” He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with new interest. “Tell me about yourself, Lady Eugenie. Beyond the financial difficulties that brought you into this mess.”

It was the first time he had asked her anything personal. Eugenie considered how much to reveal.

“I’m 26 years old. I had 1 season 9 years ago that was moderately successful until my father’s investments collapsed. I enjoy reading, philosophy mostly, and history. I’m reasonably competent at watercolors, though I have no particular talent. I speak French adequately and Italian poorly. I’m better at mathematics than is considered appropriate for a lady, and I strongly dislike gossip, which has made me rather unpopular in society circles.”

“Philosophy.” Callum’s interest sharpened. “My mother said something about that. What do you read?”

“Currently working through Locke’s essays. Before that, Hume. I find epistemology fascinating. The question of what we can truly know versus what we merely believe.”

“Most ladies I’ve met consider philosophy tedious.”

“Most gentlemen I’ve met consider ladies tedious, so perhaps we’re even.”

He laughed again, clearly surprised by her response. “Touché. And the mathematics?”

“My father taught me when I was young before he realized it wasn’t proper. I’ve kept studying on my own. There’s something satisfying about problems with definite solutions, unlike most of life.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Callum reached for his wine glass. “All right, my turn. I’m 32. Cambridge, as my mother mentioned. I take my seat in the House of Lords seriously. Currently involved in reform discussions about poor laws and factory working conditions. I collect first edition philosophy texts, which probably makes me tedious. I fence regularly because I enjoy the discipline. And I despise dancing despite being adequately skilled.”

“Why do you hate dancing?”

“Because it requires making small talk with simpering debutantes while their mothers evaluate me like prize livestock.” He grimaced. “Though I suppose I’ll have to dance with you now to maintain appearances.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky us,” he corrected. “We’re both stuck in this ridiculous situation.”

The main course arrived, roasted duck with vegetables, and they ate in more comfortable silence. Eugenie found herself relaxing slightly. Callum Merrow might be arrogant and clearly resentful of this engagement, but he was also intelligent and surprisingly honest. There were worse qualities in a temporary fiancé.

“Lady Hatheraway’s dinner party tomorrow,” Callum said after a while. “Are you prepared for that? It will be your first proper appearance as my fiancée.”

“As prepared as 1 can be for public deception.”

“You’ll need to stay close to me. Answer questions about our courtship consistently. Stick to the British Museum story my mother invented, and for heaven’s sake, try to look at me occasionally as if I’m not completely insufferable.”

“That might require considerable acting skill.”

“I have complete faith in your abilities,” he said, echoing his mother’s earlier words with obvious sarcasm.

“Likewise, your grace. I’m sure you can manage to look besotted for a few hours.”

“I’m a duke. I can manage anything when necessary.”

“What a humble attitude.”

“I prefer confident.”

They finished the meal with increasingly comfortable banter, and Eugenie realized with some surprise that she was actually enjoying herself. Callum Merrow was sharp-witted and had a bone-dry sense of humor that appealed to her. When he wasn’t being coldly formal, he was actually rather likable.

Dangerous thought. This was a business arrangement, nothing more. She couldn’t afford to forget that.

After dinner, Callum escorted her to the library, an enormous room that made her gasp with delight. Books lined every wall, floor to ceiling, more volumes than she had ever seen outside of a university.

“You’re welcome to read anything here,” Callum said, watching her reaction with amusement, “though I’d appreciate volumes being returned properly. They’re organized by subject and author.”

“Of course.” Eugenie moved along the shelves, reading titles with growing excitement. “You have Aristotle’s complete works, and Plato. And is that a first edition of Descartes?”

“It is.” He pulled the volume down and handed it to her, careful with it. “Yes, you may borrow it.”

Their fingers brushed as she took the book, and Eugenie felt an unexpected jolt of awareness. She pulled back quickly, clutching the volume like a shield.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” If he had noticed her reaction, he gave no sign. “I generally spend evenings here when I’m not required elsewhere. Feel free to join me or not as you prefer. I don’t expect us to be constantly in each other’s company. That would be exhausting.”

“Agreed.”

He moved toward the door, then paused. “Lady Eugenie, for what it’s worth, you’re handling this situation with considerably more grace than I expected. I apologize if I was unduly harsh this morning.”

It was unexpected enough to leave her momentarily speechless. “Thank you… your grace.”

“Callum,” he said. “If we’re supposed to be engaged, you should probably use my given name, at least in private.”

“Callum, then. You should call me Eugenie.”

“Very well. Good night, Eugenie.”

“Good night.”

After he left, she sank into 1 of the library chairs and released a shaky breath. This was going to be more complicated than she had anticipated, because against all reason and common sense, she was beginning to like Callum Merrow, and that was absolutely the last thing she needed.

Lady Hatheraway’s dinner party was exactly the sort of glittering social event that Eugenie had avoided for years. The drawing room blazed with candlelight, reflecting off jewels and silk gowns. London’s most influential families had gathered, ostensibly for dinner, but really to observe the Duke of Silverley and his mysterious new fiancée.

Eugenie could feel their eyes on her the moment she entered on Callum’s arm. He had called for her earlier, looking devastatingly handsome in his evening clothes, and offered his arm with formal courtesy that somehow still managed to convey reluctance.

“Remember,” he had murmured as they descended to the carriage, “stay close, smile occasionally, and try not to look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“I’ll do my best not to embarrass you.”

“I’m more concerned about you being devoured by the social piranhas. They’re going to circle the moment we enter.”

He wasn’t wrong. The moment Lady Hatheraway finished her effusive greetings, they were surrounded by curious guests, all asking variations of the same questions. How did you meet? When did you realize you were in love? When is the wedding?

Callum handled it with practiced ease, his hand at the small of Eugenie’s back, a gesture that appeared possessive, but felt oddly protective. “Lady Eugenie and I discovered we share intellectual interests,” he said smoothly. “Everything else followed naturally.”

“How romantic,” Lady Peyton cooed. “And so unlike you, your grace. We’d quite given up hope of you ever settling down.”

“Apparently, I simply needed the right motivation.”

His tone was perfect, warm enough to suggest genuine affection, but not so effusive as to be unbelievable. Eugenie found herself impressed despite herself.

Throughout dinner, Callum played his role flawlessly. He held her chair, ensured her wine glass was filled, and engaged her in conversation about philosophy that was actually interesting rather than merely performative. To any observer, they appeared to be a couple genuinely fascinated by each other.

“You’re quite good at this,” Eugenie murmured during a lull in conversation.

“Years of practice at social deception,” he replied quietly. “Every duke learns early how to appear charming while feeling nothing whatsoever.”

“How exhausting.”

“Exceedingly.” His eyes met hers, and something flickered in them, sympathy perhaps. “Though I suspect you understand that, playing roles for society’s benefit.”

Before she could respond, Lady Cromwell descended on them with her daughter in tow, a pretty blonde girl who looked barely 18 and absolutely miserable.

“Your grace, Lady Eugenie, how delightful to see you both. May I present my daughter, Miss Arabella Cromwell. Bella, dear, say hello to the Duke.”

Arabella curtsied prettily, but with visible reluctance. “Your grace.”

“Miss Cromwell.”

Callum’s courtesy was impeccable, but Eugenie noticed his slight withdrawal, the way he had positioned himself closer to her, as if using their engagement as a shield.

“Bella has been so looking forward to this season,” Lady Cromwell continued obliviously. “Though, of course, now that your grace is engaged…”

“Mother,” Arabella hissed, clearly mortified.

Eugenie felt a surge of sympathy for the girl. “Miss Cromwell, that’s a lovely gown. The color suits you beautifully.”

Arabella’s expression brightened. “Thank you, Lady Eugenie. I chose it myself. Mother wanted me in white, but I insisted on the blue.”

“Quite right. White is so insipid.”

They chatted for a few moments about fashion, and Eugenie noticed Callum watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. When Lady Cromwell finally dragged her daughter away to meet other potential suitors, he leaned closer.

“That was kind of you. She looked uncomfortable.”

“I remember what it was like being paraded around like livestock.”

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