“An affair? That isn’t what I meant. What if that colonial upstart tries to steal him away from Ellen right under our noses?”

“Bah, he’d never marry a woman so far beneath him. Miss Fanshawe is beautiful, I’ll grant you. She’s precisely the brazen sort that a man looks for in a mistress. Since Clayton dismissed his latest chère-amie some weeks ago, it’s likely he’s merely seeking to replace her.”

Priscilla frowned as the duke and Miss Fanshawe collected the boy and then disappeared into the house. Despite her husband’s nonchalance, she felt a cold prickle. Noblemen did make mésalliances from time to time. Only look at the duke’s own mother.

“We mustn’t underestimate Miss Fanshawe,” Priscilla insisted. “I’ve seen how she puts on airs. When I met her in the corridor earlier, one would have thought she was the lady of the manor. You don’t suppose…”

“What?”

The nagging thought took shape in her mind. “There’s something familiar about her dark hair and green eyes. And it just now struck me. You don’t suppose she’s related to those dreadful Lincolnshire Fanshawes, do you?”

“Balderdash. She’s an American.”

“Well, I believe she has designs on Clayton. Pray recall that she’s already trying to trick us about the boy.”

He scowled. “We don’t know that for certain.”

His continued refusal to denounce the child worried Priscilla. She had the sinking suspicion her husband believed it was not a hoax, that Leo truly was Audrey’s son. That must be why he was behaving even more tight-lipped than usual. He’d been deeply distraught over his daughter’s elopement all those years ago, and the sudden appearance of a possible grandchild had ripped open the old wound.

It would have been better for everyone if Leo had never come here at all.

Besides, Priscilla had brought a considerable dowry to her marriage many years ago, and she didn’t wish to see a penny of it go to a boy not of her blood. Nor did she intend for such a rich matrimonial prize as the Duke of Clayton to slip out of her fingers.

She sidled closer and stroked her husband’s sleeve. “I’m only trying to help, darling. Pray keep in mind that Miss Fanshawe isn’t to be trusted. She may well be scheming to nab the duke as an alternate plan to placing her son in this house.”

Godwin’s expression hardened in spite of her effort to charm him. “Enough with these useless speculations! Until my solicitor arrives, I will hear no more about this matter.”

Turning, he marched to the table and picked up his glass, tossing back a drink. Priscilla glared at her husband. Men! At times they were too stubbornly blind to see what must be done. It would be up to her to find a way to discredit Miss Fanshawe.

To force the woman to take that bothersome boy back to America where he belonged.

Chapter 11

“Do you enjoy poetry?” Hadrian asked Lady Ellen at dinner.

Seated directly across the linen-draped table, she looked up, her blue eyes wide and startled. Gainsborough himself could not have painted a lovelier image of a young lady. In the softness of candlelight, Ellen had delicate features, rosy lips, and golden curls. A strand of seed pearls adorned her slender throat as was proper for a girl just out of the schoolroom.