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“Lies, mostly.” Bull’s fingers were beating a complex rhythm against the arm of the sofa now, a sure sign of his agitation. “We dinnae go to the shore together, although I’d like to. We made it all up.”

“Except the bit about Bull playing piano,” Marcia explained. “And we made up that Papa juggled, but he has been learning. We should ask him to demonstrate, though we’d need to find his ball-sacks—”

“And the Christmas memories?” Duncan quavered.

“All fake. Sorry.” Bull shrugged sheepishly.

The Duke was looking at each of them with a shocked expression. Finally, he shook his head. “Nay, I refuse to believe it.”

“It’s true, Yer Grace,” Griffin admitted.

“Nay! We are family.”

“I am yer cousin, aye, but—”

The Duke’s free hand slammed atop the arm of his bathchair. “Nay, I’ll no’ accept this ridiculous claim. Ye two”—he pointed to Bull and Marcia—“fight just like siblings, but ye also support one another. And although ye both tease puir Rupert, ye care about him too. And ye two…” He swung his gaze to Felicity and Griffin, holding hands on the sofa. “It’s clear ye love one another.”

Before she could protest that no matter her feelings for Griffin, he was only pretending for the mission, the Duke shook his head even more violently. “Ye are the perfect family. Yer children are allowed to be themselves, no’ to have to be something primped and polished and fake.”

“He doesnae think I’m primped and polished?” Bull whispered to Marcia, but luckily Duncan didn’t seem to hear.

“Ye respect one another—that is so important,” he continued, his passion fading. “Ye love one another and ye show that love. Ye—all of ye! Ye are exactly what I’ve always wanted in a family.”

The last had sounded like a plea, and when he trailed into silence, the rest of them glanced guiltily at one another.

Rupert—dear Rupert—was the one to break the tension. “But we’re not, really. Not really a family.”

“Are ye certain?” asked the Duke of Peasgoode quietly.

Certain

Certain

Certain

Certain.

The word—the question—seemed to ring through the silent room, and Felicity would wager she wasn’t the only one holding her breath as they each glanced from one to another.

When Griffin finally spoke, his sudden, “We are,” was loud enough to startle Grumpy into bolting to his feet. Felicity gasped at the sensation of the kitten’s claws digging into her legs, before Griffin turned on her.

The cat yowled and bolted for the door. She would have followed, had she not seen Griffin’s expression.

“We are a family,” he repeated sternly, reaching for Felicity’s hands. “Flick, I love ye.”

“No you do not,” she blurted, still distracted by the cat’s escape. “You cannot. I irritate you, I anger you.” When he tugged at her hands, she shifted her attention to him. “For Heaven’s sake, Griffin, I blackmailed you into making love to me!”

As Bull snorted, Rupert groaned, “Disguuuuuusting.”

Griffin grinned. “That, perhaps, would’ve been the opportunity to spell something, my love.”

“I am not your love!”

“Ye’re a scientist, aye? Let me respond with the facts.” Why was he being so calm? “Aye, ye can be infuriating when ye refuse to do what I demand, and aye, ye angered me, before I understood that ye were right about the whole secret door thing. But, while ye might think ye had to blackmail me into making love to ye, I’d been looking for the excuse since ye declared ye needed a man and asked me to dance with ye.”

This time it was Marcia who groaned, as Rupert made little vomiting noises. Vaguely, Felicity considered rebuking their rudeness, but she couldn’t drag her gaze away from the man who held it.

“You—I mean, really?”