Page 13 of Love, the Duke (Say I Do #3)
C HAPTER 13
MAN’S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF
SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK
When one plan goes awry, make another.
Once inside, Ophelia shut the back door and leaned against it, shaking as she clutched the book about catching a thief, the book Hurst gave her, the shawl, and the note Maman’s friend sent. Closing her eyes to catch her breath, the first thing she wanted to do was relive the precious moments in the duke’s arms.
Her skin had pebbled with delicious, shivery bumps just thinking about Hurst’s kisses skimmed all the way down to the hollow of her throat. The feeling was so extraordinary and like nothing she’d ever felt before. His touch, taste, and the sounds of his labored breathing were heady. She felt as if their bodies were melting into one. It was so thrilling she had no comparison to the experience.
For the first time in her life, she had known what it was like to desire a man and for him to desire her. It was exhilarating and she wanted to put it to memory for fear she’d never experience it again, though her body already ached for more.
There were too many things to think about all at once. Not only the ethereal feeling. The duke wanted her to marry him. Give him a son. That wasn’t too much to ask of a lady. It was expected of her. Her problem was trusting Hurst that once they married, he wouldn’t try to force her to stop looking for the chalice. It was a wife’s duty to obey her husband and she wasn’t sure she could do that. Right now, she couldn’t put anything above making sure Winston’s legacy wasn’t tainted. A new vicar could be on his way to Wickenhamden by tomorrow or the next day. So yes, she would look in Lord Swillingwill’s house and every other house she could get inside.
The duke was right; they were attracted to each other. How could she not be torn about her adamant decision? Was refusing the duke the right thing to do, or was she being foolish? There was passion between them that the kiss confirmed. It had been difficult to say no, but there couldn’t be any other answer for her.
What was wrong with Hurst? Why did he think it was so wrong to simply look around someone’s book room? Especially when you weren’t trying to steal anything. Well, only if there was something there that had already been stolen and all you wanted to do was return it to the rightful owner. It wasn’t like she wanted to go into someone’s bedchamber and look through their personal belongings. Just a room of books. Mostly books. Why did he think that was so horrible?
She’d never pretended to understand Hurst. And this idea of marrying him made it doubly so. Like most young ladies, she’d always believed she’d marry one day, but not a duke. A desirous and handsome one at that. At times, she felt shaky and somewhat out of control when she was talking to him. The feelings he evoked were always immediate, demanding, and confusing.
Ophelia closed her eyes tightly and huffed. Why were things like that even entering her mind? Kisses, marriage, and the duke. Her feelings or wants didn’t matter. Only what was right for Winston and her mother. Her brother didn’t deserve to be labeled a thief, and her mother didn’t deserve to bear the shame of it for the rest of her life.
Hurst agreed that once she married, she was duly bound to submit to her husband’s will, and she wasn’t prepared to do that. Though she didn’t know what to do about how he made her feel. The feelings were there inside her, whether he was with her or she was alone.
A smile briefly touched her lips. She liked hearing him say her name. Saying his. There were many things to recommend to him other than the desirous attraction connecting them. He was a good man who wanted her to do the proper things—even when she couldn’t.
“Is that you, Ophelia?” her mother called from the drawing room.
“Yes, Maman.” She’d had enough thinking about starry-eyed romantic notions. All they were good for was keeping her from her goal. Those thoughts and considerations could be dealt with later. There were more important things to do now. “I’ll be right there.”
She headed toward the dining room to put the books on the table and almost ran into the footman coming out.
“Begging your pardon, miss.” He stepped aside to allow her entry.
“Here, Mr. Mallord, take these for me,” she said, barely slowing down as she stuffed the books and shawl into his arms, but making sure to hold on to the letter from her mother’s friend in Wickenhamden. “Place them on the dining table. Light all the lamps bright and push the draperies aside wide. Find Mrs. Turner and ask her to come to the dining room. I’ll join her there shortly. I’ll also need paper, ink, and quill.”
“Yes, miss.”
Ophelia rushed into the drawing room but stopped short when she saw her mother sitting in a chair by the window holding a cup and saucer.
“I’m glad you came inside,” she said without looking at her daughter. “I think rain is on the way again.”
“I do too.” Ophelia hadn’t noticed the sky had darkened and the wind had kicked up while she was with the duke. When he was around, her attention was only on him. “Are you feeling better now that you’ve had a little rest and warmth from the fire?”
“Oh, yes. I’m fine.”
Roberta smiled, but she didn’t look or sound fine. Her voice had a slight tremble, and her face seemed pale and drawn. Ophelia decided she would go to an apothecary tomorrow to see about purchasing a tonic to invigorate her mother’s health.
“This letter from your friend—would you like for me to put it with the others for you?”
“Would you, dearest? I don’t need to read it again. I’ll never forget what it says but I think will wait until morning to answer and thank her for continuing to keep us updated.”
Ophelia walked over to the secretary, opened the drawer she’d put the sketches in, took them out, and then tucked the letter away in its appropriate place. “Yes, it’s kind of her to take the time.”
Her mother whispered a tired laugh. “It is, but she loves the gossip of it all, and you know that. But I don’t mind. It helps us, and you are trying so hard, I know you are going be successful before a new vicar arrives.”
Ophelia’s heart squeezed. Yes, she believed that too. She had to, but she knew time was slipping by quickly. Was a runner from Bow Street the answer or would he, as she’d suspected, only stir up questions about what Ophelia had been able to keep hidden so far?
Trying to encourage herself, she answered, “We do have more help now, Maman.”
“Do we?” She rose and placed her cup on a nearby table. “What is it you’ve done that I don’t know about?”
“The Duke of Hurstbourne stopped by.”
She gave Ophelia a curious look. “When and why didn’t you tell me? How did I miss him?”
“Because it was just now when I was outside. He only stayed a moment—or two,” she fibbed with guilt shooting daggers into her chest for the untruth. “That is, he didn’t stay very long,” she amended, and hoped the correction was enough to assuage her guilt. “He saw me in the garden and decided to join me there rather than come inside.”
“Why would he do that?” she asked with a bit of a huff.
“Because he does what he wants, Maman.” At least that was the truth. “He likes to pick and choose which rules he follows.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s allowed, now that he is a duke.” She looked down at the sketches Ophelia was holding. “You’ve looked at those a hundred times, dear. They are not going to change, and they haven’t helped us, even though you did beautiful work in your renderings.”
Ophelia smiled a little sadly. Suddenly torn about her decision not to marry the duke. Was it possible his way was best? “No, they haven’t, but on the other hand.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Thanks to the duke, I now have the book we’ve needed to compare these crests to names.”
Roberta’s eyes brightened. “ Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage ? He brought it to you?”
“Yes, Maman.” Her heart warmed just thinking about the duke’s kindness, even if it went against his will to help her. “So, I think you can forgive him for not taking the time to come inside to say a proper hello to you.”
“Indeed, I can. This is such wonderful news. I always knew he was a fine boy, and now it appears he is a finer man, even if his father wasn’t.”
Her mother’s comment sparked Ophelia’s interest. Hurst had mentioned his father wasn’t good with finances or the amount of drink he consumed and just today he referenced the sentiment again that his father wasn’t a good man. Wanting to know more about him, she asked, “What do you know about his papa, Maman?”
“Nothing really.” She pulled a lace-trimmed handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and lightly touched her forehead. “I never met him. I don’t think your father did either.”
“But you heard something?” Ophelia asked, wishing she’d been old enough to remember Hurst.
Her mother gave her a placating smile as she had so often when Ophelia was growing up. “Only that his father often left him with relatives for months at a time and longer. I’m not sure what the problem was, dear. I would never question anyone, and you know your father wouldn’t either. Not even a child. And he would never betray a confidence should anyone place trust in him.”
And neither would her mother. As was usually the case, Ophelia was the only one in the family who wasn’t above reproach.
“Oh,” Roberta added. “I do remember Winston once saying that Drake had mentioned that he and his father didn’t get along, so it hadn’t mattered his father was weeks late in coming to get him.”
If Ophelia wanted to know more about the duke, she was going to have to ask Hurst. She had always sensed an innate pride and integrity in him and admired that and was drawn to it. And while she loved talking about her family, Hurst was reluctant to talk about his.
“I have no idea if Drake—I mean the duke—ever spoke with your father about anything personal. I do know the duke’s mother passed when he was a little boy and his father didn’t seem to take much interest in him. He was living with one of his mother’s relatives when we met him. But he was a fine young lad, with all the proper manners, so someone had taught him well.”
“I agree.” And then before Ophelia knew what she was going to say, she added, “He asked me to marry him.”
Her mother’s eyes and mouth went wide. “The duke?” Not waiting for an answer, Roberta rushed to Ophelia, almost knocking her over. “Is this the truth? Why didn’t you tell me when you first came in?” She grabbed Ophelia and kissed both her cheeks twice. “It’s terrible of you to keep such remarkable news from me while I prattle on about things of no consequence.”
“No. It doesn’t matter. I said no.”
Her mother’s hands stilled on Ophelia’s shoulders as she studied her daughter’s face with first curiosity, and then disbelief. “What do you mean? That can’t be true.” She continued smiling but not as broadly.
Ophelia nodded. “I can’t marry him.”
Taking her hands off her daughter’s shoulders, Roberta clasped them together on her chest and took a step back. “Bother and balderdash. You can too. It appears I’ve let you make the decisions for the two of us far too long. This one, my dear, is foolish, and I won’t let it stand. If he wants to marry you, it’s because he believes you are the one woman who can make him a better man and help him enjoy life.”
“It would be a marriage of convenience,” she admitted. “He needs an heir for the title and in return he will help search for the thief.”
“That’s perfect! Why not say yes? If it’s love you want, that will come if you allow it to blossom and flourish. We need him. You wanted his help when we came to London. Your refusal doesn’t make sense. Something must be wrong with you.” She put her palm to Ophelia’s forehead.
“I am not sick, Maman.”
“You have to be.” Concern etched lines around her forehead, eyes, and mouth.
Ophelia slowly shook her head.
“Don’t worry, dearest.” Maman backed away and brushed her hands down the sides of her skirts. “It doesn’t matter what you said. You were in shock. Totally understandable and acceptable for a lady when she receives a proposal. He should have never asked you first. He should have come to me. I’ll go see him and tell him you didn’t know what you were saying and that you now agree to marriage.” She turned away. “I’ll go right away before he has a chance to ask anyone else.”
“I can’t marry him because I couldn’t remain true to my wedding vows.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say. Of course you can hold fast to your vows. You were raised to do so. You are not thinking clearly, Ophelia. We can’t pass on an opportunity like this.”
“If I marry him, I vow to obey him. He said he wanted me to stop looking for the Chatham’s chalice and I couldn’t do it.”
“Why would he? You said he would help you find it.”
“He says that now, but I don’t know that I trust him to keep his word.”
“Why would you say that, dearest?”
“For one, he never came to see Winston when he said he would. I just don’t want to take the chance he will forbid me to look for the chalice the way I think is best.”
Roberta went still except for her lashes, blinked slowly, and whispered, “But he knows if it isn’t found Winston will be considered responsible because it went missing under his tenure.”
“He’s offered to just make restitution and make sure the authorities don’t place blame on Winston.”
A puzzled expression appeared on Roberta’s face. “Perhaps he could do that, but what about the history of the chalice itself? That can’t be restored by money or just another sacrament. And what about the members of the parish, the neighbors, and townspeople? Could he make sure they won’t place guilt on Winston as well?”
“We both know he can’t. That’s why I can’t turn complete control of this search over to him. I want his help but I’m also fearful.”
Her mother folded her arms over her chest, turned away, and stared out the window.
Ophelia swallowed a lump that had clogged her throat. It hurt to see her mother so distressed.
“Maman, we knew this would be difficult when we started, but we had no choice but to try. Right?”
“Right,” she answered softly without turning around. “He’s probably a scoundrel in duke’s clothing. Far better for my lamb to stay away from a wolf.”
Her mother’s words saddened her more. Roberta had said far too many nice things about Hurst for Ophelia to hear what she was saying now.
“We’re not going to stop searching, Maman. I asked Mr. Mallord to get Mrs. Turner and to wait in the dining room so we can start going through the book. Do you want to join us for a little while?”
She turned and faced Ophelia, a solemn set to her pale lips and sorrowful eyes that seemed to look but not see. “Of course, I do. The sooner we find the family name that belongs to the crest, the sooner we can figure out which relative rides around in a fancy carriage and devise a way to get the chalice from him. We’ll do it even if I must dress as a servant and sneak into the house and do it myself.”
“Please, Maman. You know I would never let you do that,” Ophelia said, smiling that her circumspect mother would even suggest such an option.
“We will do what we must, young lady. As you said, we started this and we will finish it.”
“I’m sure having the book will help us.” It hurt knowing she’d had to pull her mother into her scheme to find the thief, but she was rising to the occasion. “So, no reason for you to worry anymore about this. All right?”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, my dear. I haven’t been worrying.” Though her mother’s voice wasn’t much stronger, her words and smile were. “My faith in you hasn’t wavered.”
Ophelia gripped the sketches tighter and inhaled a long deep breath, readying herself for the task at hand. “Neither has mine. Let’s go look at that book and get started.”
But as is so often the case, sometimes things don’t turn out as easily as one thinks they will. Ophelia was smart enough to know this. However, knowing it and being aware of it as it was happening were altogether two different things. In retrospect, she should have done things very differently in her search through Debrett’s book. Especially where it concerned Mrs. Turner.
The book had many pages and, though they started late in the afternoon, Ophelia was determined they would look at every one of them before the night was over. At the time, she didn’t realize that her stamina and excitement were not at equal levels with Maman’s and the maid’s. Along the tedious way, Ophelia made copious notes but only on pages where the crests were similar to what Mrs. Turner remembered.
When Ophelia was finished with the laborious task, the number of possibilities was extensive, so she trimmed down the ones she had doubts about but had added just in case. And then trimmed again. The truth was that the process took much longer than expected.
Later, when Ophelia reflected on this, she realized going through the entire book and working until late in the night was too much for Mrs. Turner—and quite possibly herself too. Only after she’d brought the poor woman to tears and stuttering about how sorry she was had Ophelia realized she was not being sensible about the pressure she’d put on the maid. She probably never had been sensible about the reasonable outcome of her search. How could she be? The stakes of the possible outcomes were too high.
Well after midnight, more than two dozen possibilities remained. Reality hit her hard, and in the cold dark of the midnight hours, the shock of it was disheartening. Mrs. Turner simply hadn’t seen enough of it, and Ophelia had been tempted to throw out the book, her sketches, and all the notes she’d made during the marathon search, with the morning’s rubbish.
She was doing exactly what the duke had told her she would be doing. Looking for her hairpin in a stack of hay.