“As I was saying, just to make certain, I should do that before making any decision, although I doubt it would make much difference.” Camille stopped in midstep and met her sister’s gaze directly. “If Nikolai proposes and I turn him down, and he knows this was all a massive deception, who knows who he might tell? Men who have been rejected are not especially trustworthy. No one would ever believe I turned him down. Gossips would be positively giddy over this. Being a rather impressive gossip yourself—”

“I do try,” Beryl said modestly.

“You know full well the story of the measures Lady Lydingham went to in an effort to trap a prince, the futile measures, would be all over London—no, all over England in no time at all.”

“It is rather juicy,” Beryl said under her breath.

“The scandal would be enormous. I would be the subject of jokes for the rest of my life.” She pinned her sister with a pointed look. “And you and Lionel would be tarnished with the same brush.”

Beryl paled. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“No, to save us all, we have to carry on exactly as planned,” Camille said. “First the perfect Christmas. Then the day after, he shall be called back to his country—”

Beryl snorted.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Beryl said quickly. “Just thinking about the monetary crisis.”

“Are we agreed, then?”

“Absolutely.” Beryl nodded. “What can I do?”

“Nothing comes to mind.” Camille thought for a minute. “Although you could distract the prince for me.”

“Distract him how?” Suspicion sounded in Beryl’s voice.

“I don’t know. Keep him occupied. Flirt with him.”

“I should say not! I have given up flirting with men who are not my husband,” she said in a lofty manner. “Besides, I don’t want to. And it wouldn’t be at all proper, would it?”

“It wouldn’t be especially improper if,” Camille said slowly, “he thought you were me.”

Beryl stared. “What?”

“I’m not suggesting you allow him to seduce you,” she said quickly. “Just pretend to be me. You can wear some of my clothes—”

“You do have some lovely things.”

“Why, you needn’t even say anything specific. Goodness, Beryl, it’s not as if the man will ask if you’re you or you’re me. Simply let him assume that you’re me.”

“And what if he proposes to me?”

“Then you’ll smile and say while you’re quite flattered, he has apparently confused one sister with the other.” She cast her sister a pleading smile. “And then, at least, I shall be forewarned that a proposal is imminent and can take steps to avoid it.”

“I could, as well, discourage him,” Beryl said thoughtfully.

“Excellent.”

“I won’t fling myself at him,” Beryl warned.

“Nor am I asking you to.”

“Although . . . there is someone who would.”

“Someone . . .” Camille shook her head, then gasped. “Miss Murdock?”