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“L et us introduce ourselves, my lady. I am Mr. Harry Walters, and this is Mr. Gus Rutland. We work for the O’Brien Investigative Services in London.

Our client, the Viscount Wickton, is the great-nephew of the Duke of Shackerley.

” He nodded at Gwen. “I’m sorry to have created an unpleasant situation. ”

Gwen noticed the slight gray at the man’s temples and, in the back of her mind, registered him as handsome. “ Who is the Duke of Shackerley?”

“He was your grandfather.” Her mother took Gwen’s hand, tears brightening her green eyes. “He and your father had a falling out over… me. We left for Quebec, and they never spoke again.”

“My name isn’t Bernard?” Her throat swelled; she couldn’t breathe. “Who am I?”

“The granddaughter of a duke. And a very wealthy one,” said the mammoth across from her.

She hadn’t noticed his longer hair before, pulled back by a leather tie at his nape.

He looked more fur trapper than investigator and good-looking in a brawny sort of way.

“Our client does not want to assume the title if there is a possibility of a grandson.”

“We traced you from Quebec to Boston. The name change put us off for a bit until we realized it was your maiden name, but we’ve found you. Do you know where your son is?”

Mama shook her head. “ Non , he left over a year ago to purchase land in Canada. He wants to start a timber business like his father hoped to do. But we haven’t heard from him in months.”

Mr. Rutland gave Gwen an empathetic look, which seemed odd for a man so big and burly. “That’s why you thought we came with bad news.”

She nodded, her mind a whirlwind with this news. She wasn’t Gwendolyn Bernard. Her mother wasn’t Mrs. Bernard. Her father had been heir to a dukedom? She blew out a loud breath and fell back against the settee.

“Why don’t we give you time to discuss this with your daughter, my lady,” said Mr. Walters.

“I will leave the packets from the viscount and the solicitor for you to read at your leisure. We’ll return tomorrow and discuss your situation further.

I need to ascertain what you know about your son’s direction when he left. ”

Gwen looked at her mother, slack-jawed. My lady?

When the Englishmen left, Gwen turned on her mother. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

Her mother studied her clasped hands resting in her lap. “There is.”

Dread skittered down Gwen’s spine. Could it get any worse? Silly question.

“I heard from my brother-in-law, your uncle,” she said quietly. “You know we’ve been living here rent-free since my sister died, and he left for… who knows where. He’s decided to continue traveling and will need funds, so he is selling the house. We will need to find another place to live.”

Yes, it could always get worse. “So we must not only find a way to survive, but also pay rent?” Gwen’s stomach churned. “The tutoring will not cover that. We are barely getting by as it is. How long do we have?”

“The solicitor’s instructions gave us at least a month. He will let us know when there is a prospective buyer.” Mama took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. “So really, this revelation about the inheritance is good news.”

The next morning

Gwen paced the worn parlor rug, still trying to come to grips with the news her mother was a marchioness and her brother a duke. According to Mama, she was Lady Gwendolyn Beaumaris. She was at once thrilled, relieved, and angry.

“Does Graham know?” she asked, turning to her mother who was calmly reading a book and enjoying undiluted sweet tea, courtesy of Mr. Barnaby.

Her mother nodded. “ Oui , he does. He had to know for his own safety. I didn’t trust the duke not to kidnap him. Shackerley was a spiteful old man.”

A knock at the door sent Gwen’s heart racing. The investigators were back. She answered the door, watching them with suspicion as her mother seated them in the parlor. She listened as her mother explained the last known destination of her son.

“So when Harry—Lord Greywood—died, I was certain that nasty Englishman would come after my son. What was I to do? Just let him?” huffed her mother. “So I took back my family name of Bernard and found my sister in Boston. We’ve been here ever since.”

“Lady Greywood,” said Mr. Walters, “our client is most anxious to see his relatives in their rightful place. He has no other motive.”

“If your son is alive,” added Mr. Rutland, then giving the ladies a sheepish look of apology.

“Wouldn’t I be the heir if my brother is…” Gwen swallowed. “I should be next in line.”

“It doesn’t work that way, dear,” intervened her mother. “Only males can inherit.”

Gwen huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s ridiculous. What about Queen Elizabeth?”

“Different scenario, my lady,” said Mr. Walters. “When we find your son—because we will—the viscount will want you on the first ship to Liverpool.”

“We assume both of you will want to accompany the duke.” Mr. Rutland gave his companion a side-glance. “This must be a shock. We apologize for the abruptness of our visit.”

Mr. Walters added, “You may take the time while we are away to make arrangements for the house and gather what belongings you would like to bring to England.”

“I’m afraid we have few matters to take care of,” said her mother. “We have no funds, and this house does not belong to us. It belongs to my brother-in-law.”

“And he is… where?” asked Mr. Walters quietly.

“I have no idea. My sister died three years ago. He was distraught, of course. The home he’d made with his wife held too many memories.

After a year of mourning, he decided he would travel and left, allowing us to stay in the house.

” Mama pressed her lips together into a thin line.

“We hadn’t heard from him until a letter telling us he is selling this property. ”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Mr. Walters, sincere sympathy in his dark-brown eyes. “Perhaps our timing is not so bad?”

“And I’m sure Lord Wickton will provide the funds needed for your passage,” said Mr. Rutland.

Gwen’s foot was tapping, and an idea was stirring around in her brain. She smiled at the gargantuan. “But what if my brother arrives while you are looking for him? Would it be wise to leave a bit with us, so we can be on our way? We could leave word here if that happened.”

Mr. Walters and Mr. Rutland shared a look. The bigger man shrugged.

“You wouldn’t snatch a pouch of coin and run with it, now would you?” asked Mr. Walters, his grin transforming his face. He was indeed a handsome man in a mature way. Oh, if only Mr. Barnaby had his looks.

Gwen shook her head in earnest. How dare he suggest she was a thief! “Oh no, it would only be used for passage to England. Or rent if we must move sooner than expected.”

“Or whatever your mother decides is a necessity,” added Mr. Walters gently, letting them know he was not averse to the ladies using some of the funds.

Before the gentlemen left, they left a leather pouch of coin for emergency or if Graham returned before they did.

Her mother explained if they were not at the house when the investigators’ return, to inquire at Barnaby’s Dry Goods Store.

Mr. Barnaby would know their address. Gwen had also purposely steered any conversation away from the fact that she and her brother were twins.

As soon as the door closed, Gwen twirled to face her mother.

“Start packing, Mama. We aren’t waiting for Graham.

This is fate telling us we have a new home, and I don’t have to marry a man my father’s age.

I will be the Duke of Shackerley until Graham returns. ”

* * *

Early June

Onboard the Amity, docking at Liverpool

Gwen wiped the salty spray from her face with a grin, squinting at the vague shoreline.

She was thankful she didn’t have to try to tame her wild curls, now kept in a tight tail and tucked down her back.

The cravat—how did men tolerate the suffocating neck cloth?

—hiding the rest of her mane. But the trousers were heaven, and the long strides she was able to take in the boots.

However, her first thrill at foregoing her corset had been dampened with the cloth that now bound her breasts.

“Oh, Mama, I never thought I would enjoy the sea this much. It’s so… freeing!”

“I’m happy for you,” her mother mumbled, who’d had a bout of seasickness for the entire journey. “My feet are anxious for dry land after a month of this swaying.”

Poor Mama. She had tried to maintain propriety, keeping her toilette every day and her clothing and hair neat.

Gwen was now a man, so she didn’t bother.

She loved the possibilities of being male, not being told what to do, not being put down or ignored only because of her sex.

This was the adventure of a lifetime, and she would enjoy every moment of it while it lasted.

“So what is your plan if… if the worst happens,” asked Mama. “If you are convincing, do you plan to remain a duke for the rest of your days?”

Gwen hadn’t thought that far. It didn’t matter.

In her heart, she knew Graham was alive.

She always knew when he was in danger; it was like they were two people yet one.

“He’s fine, though I cannot foretell the future and know when he will return.

But Mr. Walters and Mr. Rutland seemed very confident of their skills to find him. ”

“I don’t like this ruse,” said her mother stubbornly.

“You didn’t have to come,” Gwen reminded her.

“And let you cross the ocean by yourself? We don’t even have a servant to send with you,” huffed Mama. “What kind of mother would I be if I allowed you to go off to another country alone?”

“Is it better that you lied to me most of my life?” She was still hurt that her mother had kept the truth from her and told her brother. And how had Graham kept it a secret from her when they had no secrets? But the pain in Mama’s eyes gave her pause.

“I’m sorry. It’s just such a shock,” she said finally, giving her mother a tight hug.

“I was alone and terrified the duke would steal your brother. I did what I had to in order to keep my children safe. I have no regrets.” She kissed the top of Gwen’s head. “I would give up anything for you and Graham.”

Land came into view, and Gwen squealed, caught herself, and cleared her throat.

“You’re fortunate you have a husky voice for a woman. Take care with your mannerisms,” warned her mother. “It was bad enough being destitute in Boston with friends close by. I don’t relish being alone in this godforsaken country without a soul to help us.”

It was true. Gwen hadn’t considered that risk until the sails had set, and they couldn’t change their minds.

She straightened her waistcoat, thinking of the notes they’d left behind.

If Mr. Walters and Mr. Rutland found Graham, her brother would also find the letter explaining where they were once the men returned to Boston.

Her mother had sent off a hurried note to Mr. Barnaby, so the kind man wouldn’t worry, also including copies of the letters to Graham and the investigators.

Then to ensure their safety once in England, Gwen used the viscount’s address from one of the packets to inform him of their arrival.

“I’m like Graham’s second skin. Unless someone sees me bathing, there is no way for us to be found out.

” Gwen gazed out over the water, breathing in the spicy air, enjoying the cool breeze against her skin.

In her heart, she knew she was on the right path.

Her brain, however, liked to poke holes in her plan.

After counting the coin in the pouch left by the investigators, they had decided to play their parts as beau monde and booked a well-appointed cabin. It had a skylight and enough room to dress with a small table for meals if they chose to eat in their room.

Her mother had cried the first day, remembering her last voyage with Gwen’s father. “So much hope. Harry and I were so young and foolish. We didn’t understand what the world was truly like,” she’d sobbed on Gwen’s shoulder. “How I loved that man.”

By that evening, Mama was so nauseated she couldn’t leave the cabin. Though she improved by the end of the voyage, she never ventured far from a dish or a rail she could lean over. Even with her seasickness, anticipation grew as they neared England.

Now as the ship neared the dock, they both looked to the future and Gwen’s first glimpse of the English shore.

The harbor was hectic with smaller boats, wagons, and crews loading and unloading shipments; Gwen’s heart raced with excitement as she watched the activity.

She belonged here, felt it deep in her soul.

Satisfaction filled her at the possibilities that lay before them.

Until Lord Wickton met them at the dock.

As they disembarked, Gwen spotted the same crest on a carriage that she’d seen on the envelope.

A gold W engraved on a silver shield, flanked by two peregrine falcons.

It made her wonder what the Shackerley coat of arms looked like.

A broad-shouldered man wearing a great coat of derby brown and a beaver hat stood near the gangway, peering at the departing occupants.

Somehow, she knew it was the viscount. His dark-brown hair had hints of gold, as if sun-kissed, combed back and cut just at the collar, above which was a square chin.

She waved at him, certain it was Lord Wickton, and their eyes met.

His were light-brown, almost the color of a good brandy.

Then he smiled and her world turned upside down.