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Our family has recently received information that leads us to believe a nefarious relative absconded with our dear sister many years ago and placed her in the foundling home and school you oversee. We are hopeful that Bernadette is alive and well and that we can be reunited.

This relative was named John Smith and would have told you that she was orphaned, and her relatives did not want to be responsible for her care as she’d been born out of wedlock. The latter is untrue.

Do you know where Bernadette is, what name she goes by now, and how we may contact her? We so want to find her.

~Mr. Aloysius Petheringham, in a letter to Mrs. Hester Shepherd

Dovetonwick Court dining room

Thirty minutes later

Smoothing her monogrammed serviette over her lap while commanding her frolicking stomach to settle, Faith surreptitiously examined either side of the long, elaborate formal dining table. She had no fewer than four forks and three knives, but thanks to Mrs. Shepherd’s thorough deportment education, Faith knew what each was used for.

Accustomed to such lavish displays, the other guests laughed and chatted as they settled into their assigned seats or took a sip of wine.

In truth, a glass of wine might help take the edge off Faith’s nerves, but she didn’t tolerate spirits. Within minutes of partaking, she acquired a stuffy nose and became flushed and nauseous.

An ostrich egg in a canary nest would be less out of place than she felt at the moment.

A stately woman halfway down the table smiled in her direction. The groom’s widowed aunt, Mrs. Eustasia Peagilly, if Faith recalled correctly from their introduction several minutes before. Mrs. Peagilly had lived a colorful and exotic life, traveling the world with her three husbands.

Despite the pretense of acceptance by the Landriths’ guests and family, Faith wasn’t a naive debutante and didn’t fool herself. She’d seen the astonished expressions, the swift whispers behind hands and fans, and even now, the calculating or speculative glances aimed toward her and Constantine, who was seated to her right.

She could practically hear them.

Who is she?

Is she an aristocrat?

I’ve never seen her before.

Who are her connections?

You don’t think Lord Constantine is marrying a…nobody? A commoner?

At the duchess’s insistence, Faith must address Constantine by his given name to lend credence to their little charade.

Little?

Perhaps trivial or inconsequential to the Kellinggraves.

But for Faith, this was a life-altering situation. In truth, she feared the consequences would not be for the better. How could it be for a woman of her station?

For a few heartbeats, nerves overcame her, and she fisted the fine linen serviette. Drawing a steadying breath, she willed her equanimity to return as she deliberately relaxed each finger grasping the cloth in turn. She, Faith Stephanie Hannah Shephard Roth, had made a commitment and would see her part through.

Faith might be a lowborn orphan, but she was a woman of integrity and honor.

The duchess had put aside custom and seated Constantine beside Faith. Likely, advancing the ruse and not a kind demonstration of benevolence had motivated the duchess.

Regardless, having him near bolstered Faith’s confidence. Peculiar how a man that had her at sixes and sevens most days had become a source of security.

Seemingly of its own volition, her focus shifted to the Duchess of Landrith, only to find the imperious lady regarding her with a contemplative, but not calculating, expression. Her Grace tilted her chin the merest fraction—in approval?—before signaling for the soup to be served.

A subtle aroma of sandalwood, cedar, and cloves wafted to Faith, and she lowered her chin as a secret, nascent smile pulled her mouth upward at the corners.

For the first time that she was aware, Constantine wore cologne.

Very pleasant cologne too.