He heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “Of course not, my lady.” He paused. “Will there be any others? Are there any additional family members unaccounted for?” His voice rose. “Shall there be more guests, perhaps wandering in off the roads?”

Delilah sucked in a sharp breath.

“As I did not expect these new arrivals, at this point, I really cannot say.” Camille leveled him a threatening look. “However, I am certain you are more than capable of handling this new development as you have so ably handled everything else thus far!”

“Mr. Fortesque.” Mother’s eyes widened with feigned surprise. “You’re not a real butler then? You are one of the actors?”

He drew a calming breath. “Yes, my lady.”

“Why, I never would have known.” Admiration sounded in her voice. “You’re very good.”

“Oh.” He paused, then smiled modestly. “Thank you, my lady. I do work hard at my craft.”

“And it’s obvious.” She studied him for a moment. “Have I seen you on stage before? In a London theater, perhaps?”

“Well, I have had a few roles—”

“How fascinating. I want to hear all about it.” She favored him with a brilliant smile. “Why don’t you arrange to have our bags brought up and we will show you what rooms we’ll be staying in. And while we do, you shall tell me all about your theatrical credits. I have always been fascinated by the theater.”

“As you wish.” He glanced at Camille. “If there is nothing more?”

“Dear Lord, I hope not,” Camille murmured.

“Now then, Mr. Fortesque . . .” Mother escorted him out the door, tossing a conspiratorial smile back at Camille. “Do tell me . . .”

“For whatever absurd reason, and God knows what goes on in her head, Mother has obviously decided to embrace this deception of yours fully. I shall do my part as well, as there seems to be no other way to save us all from scandal.” Delilah’s eyes narrowed. “But I am most distressed about it, Camille, most distressed.”

Camille stared at her sister for a long moment; then adopted her brightest smile. “And Happy Christmas to you too, dear sister.”

Fury blazed in Delilah’s eyes. “I would not—”

“Prudence, dear, come along,” Mother called from the hall.

Delilah sent a last, scathing look toward her sister, turned to Grayson and smiled apologetically. “Do forgive me, Grayson. I do not deal well with unexpected developments like, oh, discovering my family has been replaced by actors, and having to sleep in a cold, drafty room, and, oh yes, being called Prudence.”

“To be expected, of course,” Grayson said with a smile.

“Thank you.” Delilah raised her chin and marched out of the room, like the brave little soldier she was.

“She doesn’t seem to like you very much.” Grayson studied Camille.

“She never has.” Camille sighed. “She’s not fond of Beryl either.”

“That I can understand.” He chuckled. “It must be difficult for her, though.”