“She’s here,” Philip said as he laid out a freshly pressed shirt.
“She is,” Lucien agreed, having no doubt who his friend and valet meant. He was seated at the small writing desk in his bedroom and composing a letter. He felt Philip study him but offered no more detail.
“You told me she was dead.”
“I thought she was, on account of her death having been recorded in the parish register.” Lucien signed the missive and folded it.
“So, they traded places.”
“Evidently.” Lucien sealed the letter and rose to his feet.
“And what do you mean to do now?”
Lucien offered the letter to a wary Philip. “The same as I planned before. You will depart here on the second, with or without me, and deliver this to my solicitor in London.”
Philip regarded the letter with suspicion, as if it might bite. “W
