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Griffin’s father’s father had been John Calderbank, and his mother’s father had been an Oliphant. He’d never heard of a McSnorkle.

“Are you aright, Papa?” Marcia asked from behind him.

Griffin waved his hand, trying to refrain from growling. They named the imaginary octopus after his father?

Nay, they named him after yer imaginary grandfather. Dinnae get confused.

Too late.

Mr. Armstrong toasted Marcia as she slid back into her seat. “Bravo, my dear!” As the lass preened, the older man continued with a proud smile. “Of course, I suppose you owe your father, after he saved your life, correct?”

Griffin saw his daughter freeze and shoot a frantic look across the table to Bull—could she not remember their lies? She swallowed, then guessed, “Yes?” When Bull nodded, she exhaled in relief. “Yes, Papa saved my life. When I was…drowning?” Bull nodded again. “Drowning, yes. In a river.”

Oh for fook’s sake.

“And he jumped in to save you?” Armstrong shook his head. “Just remarkable, especially considering your letter claimed he didn’t know how to swim. Of course, I would expect nothing less from a man who once fought off two bandits with a broken arm. I mean, he had a broken arm while he fought them off, not that he picked up an arm which had been broken, and used it to fight off—oh dear, I lost my thought. What was I…? He was a brave man, I think was my point.”

Griffin fixed his gaze on the drapes across the room. It was the only way he could keep from growling.

The fact that Felicity looked to be one twitch away from laughter didn’t help, either.

“And dinnae forget the time he saved Rupert’s life, eh?” prompted Bull with a smirk.

“Yes,” the lad intoned seriously. “Were it not for my father’s swift action with a penknife, two chickens, and that rubber hose, I might never have walked again.”

“Just remarkable,” repeated the secretary in a murmur. Then he shook his head once more and sat back in his chair. “I have to say, I think your family is quite remarkable. The Duke and I were intrigued by the level of detail your children included in the letter. Not just bragging about you, yourself, Mr. Calderbank—may I call you Griffin?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Most of our applications were full of men praising themselves and touting the qualities they felt a future duke would need.”

Marcia hurried to say, “All of which Papa has, of course.”

Lies.

“Of course,” the secretary said with an indulging smile. “But so few of the letters actually included information and details about the family, which is of course what we were most interested to read about. Your letter highlighted a family where each member was free to be themselves, and you all value one another and your time together.”

By now, Griffin was squirming in his seat, uncomfortable as hell.

“So few of the applicants even mentioned their children,” Armstrong continued. “Whereas here you are, taking your family to the shore each summer!”

His words echoed in the sudden silence.

Felicity pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh, and Griffin had to shut his eyes, so as not to see her. Because he had no idea what he would do if she began to laugh, but he didn’t want to find out.

Bull deadpanned, “Which is even more remarkable considering he doesnae ken how to swim.”

Laughter.

That was the unfamiliar, unfortunate feeling burbling in Griffin’s chest. If Felicity laughed, he was going to laugh, and then the ruse would be over.

When was the last time he’d laughed? When was the last time he’d let himself laugh?

Armstrong seemed delighted. “A father who puts aside his own preferences for the sake of his children’s leisure! How delightful. What beach was it you said you visited?”

“Torbay,” blurted Marcia, at the same time Bull said, “Brighton,” and Felicity offered, “Whitstable.”

The three of them looked wide-eyed at each other, then changed their answers.

“Brighton.”

“Whitstable, I’d forgotten.”