Page 65 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
Ava now remembered full well what had happened—but she wanted to hear Lady Georgiana's version of events. It was possible that Boris had already revealed her identity to Lady Georgiana and the duke.
The relief that Ava felt as she thought this came as something of a shock to her—she had not thought how liberating it would feel to be free of the guilt which burdened her.
"Well," Lady Georgiana began, "You were rushing across the road to me, when a strange man shouted out and distracted you, causing you to slip. You fell backwards into the path of an oncoming carriage, but luckily the driver was able to swerve to avoid you, though you did hit your head off the ground."
"And the man?" Ava probed, "The one who distracted me?"
"Well, he quite vanished," Georgiana replied with a little laugh, "And I don't blame him; I have never seen my Uncle so fearsomely angry."
So, Boris had not revealed her identity; Ava heaved a sigh of disappointment. What a relief it would have been to have had someone else explain the whole torrid situation.
"He's been waiting all day for you to wake up," Georgiana continued blithely, "Shall I fetch him? He's desperate to see you."
Ava looked helplessly at Mary; surely, a man would not be permitted into her bedchamber, but the Irish woman was studiously avoiding her gaze. Georgiana, having heard no protest, leapt to her feet and rushed off in search of the duke.
"Imagine you had died," Mary said, the moment that the door closed behind Georgiana, "And you and Lady Emily would have been parted again, forever. I've had enough of this charade, Missy; my poor heart cannot handle it."
"Nor can mine," Ava confessed, as a knock came upon the bedroom door.
"Excuse me for disturbing you," Kilbride said as he stepped into the room, "I just wanted to..."
His face, Ava saw, was deathly pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes from worry. Not for the first time, guilt pierced her heart at the sight of him. How much would he regret worrying for her, she wondered, once he realised that she had been lying to him this whole time?
"I am quite well," Ava said, offering him a wan smile, "Thank you kindly, Your Grace, for your concern."
"Concern?" Kilbride gave a rueful grin, "That is rather an understatement; I was out of my mind with worry. To think of what could have happened to you, I would never have recovered. I have never felt this way about anyone—"
"Please," Ava held up a hand to silence him, "I cannot let you continue. I have something to confess."
There was a sharp intake of breath as poor Mary realised what was coming. The Irish woman looked from Ava, to the towering duke, and turned rather red in the face.
"Excuse me," Mary whispered frantically, "I have to go check on the chickens..."
Coward, Ava thought, as her lady's maid vanished quicker than a bottle of wine on Prince George's table. The door shut, with a soft click behind Mary, leaving Ava and Kilbride alone.
"A confession?" Kilbride cocked an eyebrow in question. He looked so intimidating—tall, austere, dangerously handsome—that Ava felt herself gulp in fear.
"I am not who you think I am," she said, wishing that she was dressed so that she could stand and face him, rather than looking up at him from her bed, "I am not Emily Fairfax; I have been lying to you this whole time."
The reaction that Kilbride gave was not the one that Ava had expected. Instead of snarling at her in anger, Kilbride took a few steps forward, concern etched across his face.
"You hit your head," he said soothingly, reaching out to take her hand, "I'm sure that it's all a little confusing, but let me fetch Dr Philips and see what he has to say."
"No," Ava wrenched her hand from him, shaking her head stubbornly, "You have to believe me; my name is Ava Smith. I am no lady, just an orphan girl from the Lambeth Asylum—I used to see you in Mr Hobbs', when I worked there as his assistant. I didn't mean to hurt anyone, but then when the chance came to live—just for a month—the life of a lady I couldn't refuse. I did not think that I would fall in love, or that I would end up hurting you. I am so sorry; please, believe me."
"Hush," Kilbride replied soothingly, though his eyes were troubled.
"You have to believe me—I am sorry for lying to you," Ava continued on, hot tears stinging her eyes, "I am not Lady Emily, I am her twin."
"I think," Kilbride murmured, "That your fall must have been worse than we suspected; you are terribly, terribly confused."
"She's not."
A voice from the door interrupted them; Ava did not have to look to see who it was, for the shock on Kilbride's face told her exactly who had spoken.
"Ava speaks the truth, we are twins, separated at birth. When we found each other, we decided to swap lives," Emily said, stepping forward into the room. She was dressed in one of Ava's prim work-dresses, with her hair pulled back from her face in a severe bun, but there was no denying who she was.
"You—you?" Kilbride stuttered in shock.
