“I’m helping people. I was helping you and everyone else I corresponded with. You took my advice, superficial though it may have been. Do not deny it.”

“Fortunately none of your advice has killed anyone . . . that we are aware.”

“It has not,” she replied in outrage. “I have not killed anyone!”

“How many?” he pressed again, returning to his earlier question. “How many others have you been corresponding with whilst pretending to be your father?”

“Oh.” Several moments slid by before she finally, reluctantly, answered. “Three.” Then, she grudgingly added, “Maybe ten.”

“Ten?” His incredulity succeeded in embarrassing her, despite her personal avowal to not let this man shame her. “This madness must stop, Miss Langley.”

She nodded once, petulantly, despising the way he pronounced her name—so very crisply and correctly. As though he were an exasperated schoolmaster or aggrieved governess.

And yet he was correct. She knew that now.

It had to stop. No more corresponding as Papa.

She had never considered that it would come back around to plague her. Perhaps it was shortsighted and foolish, but she had not imagined any adverse consequences to her actions. She saw only that she was able to help people beyond Brambledon. She’d never had that kind of reach before, and it had gone to her head.

She did not want someone else showing up on her doorstep. She would have to content herself with treating the denizens of Brambledon. At least that did not involve duplicity.

He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Do not count on me to keep your deception and trickery a secret.”

She canted her head, wariness creeping over her. “What are you saying?”

“I referred you to several of my fellow officers. Durham? He’s an army surgeon.”

She nodded once, recalling him. “Yes.”

“Do you correspond with him?”

“Yes,” she admitted, dragging the word out slowly. “We have exchanged a few letters over the years.”

“Of course. I am responsible for that. You’ve made me complicit in your deceit. I must write to all and sundry and inform them that they’ve been receiving advice from a charlatan.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Why, you—you spiteful—”

“If I am full of spite, Miss Langley,” he cut in, his voice sharp as a whip, “it is because I have been duped by a fraud.” He stepped close, invading her space with all his crackling anger. “I have wasted precious time to come here and see you when I could have been locating someone who could actually help the Duchess of Birchwood and ease her suffering.”

“If you would only tell me what ails her, I could be that someone to help her. Perhaps you could take me to see her and—”

“Are you mad?” He let loose one harsh burst of laughter.

“You know I’m not ignorant when it comes to medical matters. Think back on our letters. Did I never once supply you with useful information?” she challenged.