The Lady in Disguise

Prologue

Douglass Hall, Scotland

October, 1815

"Cat's on the table again," Ian, Viscount Douglass, said pointedly over supper. "Fang—"

"His name is Mr. Fancy. And it's hard for him to resist," Charity Douglass, his viscountess, cooed, petting the little dear and pouting in her husband's direction. "We are having some tasty fish, after all. Fancy dear, you'll have some later. Do get down."

"It would be tastier with less of his hair garnishing it." Ian snapped his fingers. "Fang! Down!"

The cat put his tail up, glaring at Ian, though he did jump from the table.

Charity scoffed loudly. "He doesn't like that beastly name."

"Funny, because he listened when I called him that beastly name." Ian smirked as if this meant he'd won.

Not while she had anything to say about it. "Only because you said it in that menacing tone. You could very well say his real name in the same timbre and he'd listen just as well."

"He hates that name. It makes him feel weak."

Charity smirked now. "You say that as if the two of you have talked extensively on the matter." She had often overhead Ian talking to Mr. Fancy, though he refused to admit it.

Ian flushed adorably. "No one could manage saying 'Mr. Fancy' in anything approaching a menacing tone." Ian pointed his fork across the table. "And since I already contend with animals with names like Boo-Boo, Dolly, various Henriettas, and Princess Sugar Biscuit, you could allow me just one name that doesn't drain away my manliness every time I say it."

"What utter silliness. They're just names. I'm sure your manliness is not so fragile as all that," she said, giving him a rather heated look.

"We'll talk about that later," he said, blushing even more.

She did so delight in making him blush. Even more than winning an argument.

"We have a guest," he reminded her.

Now she was blushing. She slid an apologetic gaze to Emilia Finch, grateful he had the presence of mind to remind her.

"Come on, Sticks," Ian said, "take my side." That or he was just continuing the argument, the stubborn man! He pointed his fork at poor Emilia now.

"That's not her name, either," Charity protested. Why did he insist on calling Emilia Sticks? Yes, she was a bit skinny, but she was much too pretty to suffer being compared to a batch of twigs.

Ian shrugged. "It is to me. And I know she agrees with me."

"Just because the two of you came up in service together," Charity huffed, "doesn't mean she agrees with you."

Ian Douglass might have once been her family's servant, as was Emilia, but he was now her husband and a viscount. She wasn't quite sure if he was abusing his current position or his past connection to gain Emilia's agreement but, whichever it was, it was very unfair.

And Emilia Finch might have started as Charity's maid but she was, after everything, one of Charity's most intimate friends. Why else would she come here mysteriously, in the middle of the night, crying and saying she had nowhere else to go, but without offering any other relevant details? Which was really so maddening and frustrating that Charity could burst!

No, don't ask her why, Charity reminded herself. She will tell me when she is ready. But it would help if she could find some way to hurry that along.