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studding its white tablecloth.
    â€œI’m certain my staff will locate it once they’ve had a chance to straighten up. Meanwhile,” he said, almost before thinking, “since you mentioned it, would you and your sisters and their husbands like to come for dinner one night this week? I would be glad to have a mother’s opinion on my charge and her governess. It would obviously be a small party, given the circumstances.”
    â€œThat would be nice, thank you.” Smithfield’s expression turned rueful. “I apologize in advance if my sisters are dumbstruck by your presence—
they’ve never been within spitting distance of a duke, much less dined with one.”
    He hoped it wouldn’t come to spitting. “Wednesday, then? Eight o’clock? Hopefully we’ll have located your snuffbox by then.”
    â€œYes, thank you.” Smithfield unfolded his rangy body from the chair and stood, holding his hand out to shake Marcus’s hand. “I admire what you are doing with regard to the child. It isn’t every man in your position who’d take on that responsibility.” He sounded genuinely impressed.
    â€œMmph, yes,” Marcus agreed, feeling uncomfortable. When was the last time he’d been praised for something other than his ability to hold his liquor or play a hand of cards?
    Never sprung to mind.
    Did he really wish to change that?

It is not possible for a duke not to know all that is required of a duke; he is, by definition, the epitome of his title. How he is, is what a duke should be. But if a duke should happen upon a situation in which he feels as though he does not know all, he must never let on that he is less than completely competent. By assuming the mantle of knowledge, he becomes the knowledge. He is the knowledge .
    â€”T HE D UKE ’ S G UIDE TO C ORRECT B EHAVIOR

Chapter 5
    â€œW hat has happened?” Lily hurried across the thick carpet to kneel and clasp Rose in her arms. The girl was stiff against her body, and Lily fought against holding her tighter—that might only scare her. She could feel the warm tears falling onto the shabby lace that trimmed her gown.
    â€œHe left,” Rose wailed, finally unbending her body and clutching Lily in a death grip.
    â€œWho?” Lily asked, gently trying to pry Rose’s fingers loose. A nonbreathing governess would not be helpful toward ensuring the agency’s future. To say nothing of her own, she thought.
    â€œMmphhmph Smthph,” the girl replied, sobbing more furiously into Lily’s shoulder.
    Lily slowly drew away and looked at Rose, who stared back with an anguished look in her eyes. “Who, dear? I couldn’t quite hear that. I want to help.”
    â€œMr. Snuffles,” Rose said, as though Lily knew who that was.
    â€œWho is that?”
    Rose’s expression changed from anguish to
exasperation. “The kitty! He was here, and I was petting him, and then he left. Bad kitty. Make him come back.”
    A cat. Thank goodness it was only a cat. “What does Mr. Snuffles look like?”
    â€œHe looks like a cat.” Rose’s tone made it clear she believed her new governess was an idiot for not knowing what a cat looked like. And, to be fair, if Lily didn’t actually know, she would be one.
    Lily pulled her handkerchief out and dabbed Rose’s face. “What color is his fur?”
    â€œAll black, with white spots.” So therefore not all black, but Lily was not going to point that out to the sad child. There was enough time later for pedantry of a feline nature.
    â€œShould we go ask the duke?”
    Rose’s face brightened. “Yes, it must be his cat. He has to be a nice man if he has a nice cat.”
    Now was also not the time to point out that judging people by their animal ownership was not an acceptable way of gauging personality.
    â€œShall we go together?”
    At that, Rose withdrew, crossing her arms on