Page 21 of Love, the Duke (Say I Do #3)

C HAPTER 21

MAN’S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF

SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK

Don’t worry as you speculate, write a list of plausible culprits.

By the time they’d made the quiet walk back to the house, half of the afternoon had passed. Ophelia appreciated that Hurst hadn’t engaged her in idle talk. She knew all the things he would have said, including that historical sacraments were often copied with thin lightweight metals. Much in the same way prized pieces of jewelry were reproduced and made with colored glass stones rather than precious gems. She needn’t hear him say it happened all the time. She knew it and it didn’t matter to her. Her goal hadn’t changed. She would leave no cup, no stone, no possibility unturned in her quest to find the chalice. She would not rest until she found it and returned it.

Ophelia walked through the front door, still marveling at the expansive Duke of Hurstbourne’s foyer and all the elegant comforts surrounding her. She had gone from modest to richly elegant overnight. The feeling of nobility hadn’t fully settled in as she stripped off her gloves and pelisse and placed them on a nearby chair.

While taking off her straw bonnet, she glanced at the silver tray that stayed on the side table at the entryway. Its absence of notes, letters, and calling cards or anything else made her feel even more empty inside.

Suddenly the resolve she’d carried with her all the way home seemed to evaporate like warm breath on cold air—was she destined to fail, to resign herself to the fact that she couldn’t save Winston’s reputation? A different sadness seemed to settle over her as well. She wished Winston could have seen this house and have known his wish had come true. He had wanted her to live here as the duke’s wife. More disappointment wove through her as she wished her brother could have known that she loved the duke, and he loved her.

Hurst ran a hand through his hair, momentarily distracting Ophelia from the jumble of thoughts mounting in her mind. She favored that quality about him, that at times it didn’t matter if his hair wasn’t in perfect order just because he was a man of wealth and title.

Unbidden, an image came to her mind of how Winston must have looked combing his hair in such a way after coming in from the fishing pond where he and Hurst swam and whiled away the daylight. When a boy, the mussy hair gave her brother a rapscallion kind of look, one that endeared him to her to this day. She never saw it that way the entire time he was the vicar. Not a hair was ever out of place.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Gilbert quietly coming into the vestibule, but he suddenly turned and walked away. Hurst must have given him the sign not to intrude. She was thankful for that courtesy as well, and silently commiserated with Hurst as he too made an obvious study of the empty silver tray.

There had been plenty of time for the dowager’s friend to reply to her note, and for a note to have been sent to Hurst. Unless, of course, the friend was out for the day with family or appointments. Maybe out of town or just not sensing an urgency to answer. But it didn’t matter why there was no message from the dowager; it remained, there was no answer from her. It was too frustrating to even think about.

After removing his hat and gloves and placing them aside, Hurst turned to Ophelia and gently took hold of her upper arms so she stood facing him. He placed a warm kiss on her forehead, letting his lips linger for a few seconds before whispering, “I’m sorry it wasn’t the chalice.”

“I know,” she answered just as softly, allowing the weight of her weary head to lean against his lips. “It’s just that time grows shorter by the hour. My hope was so high for a few seconds it was euphoric.”

Hurst leaned away and gave her a teasing grin. “I don’t want anything or anyone making you euphoric but me.”

She huffed out an unsteady laugh and lifted her chin. By the look in his beautiful green eyes, he knew her heart was aching badly. Loving Hurst in peace, without the constant tension that was always on guard, was what she wanted, but she couldn’t bear the thought of letting her mother and brother down.

“I don’t have to tell you how I feel, Hurst. You know my hopes have been high since I came to London. Even before then. I knew I was going to find the sacrament in time and in a titled man’s home. I felt it in my heart, and my whole being,” she said earnestly.

“I know. It’s very hard to give up on a powerful feeling that seems to rest in your soul. And you don’t have to. We haven’t heard the vicar has arrived. It might still be days before he does. And what if he has a disposition like the last one and can’t or doesn’t do the inventory for days? There is still time, Ophelia,” he said encouragingly. “If the chalice is in London, it will be found.”

“I think I am losing hope.”

“No. I won’t let you do that. I’ll send Mr. Mallord to buy the reproduction chalice. It might come in handy to buy us some time. So let’s not think about that right now.”

“When should I if not now?”

“This evening,” he assured her pleasantly. “You didn’t sleep much last night. Why don’t you go up to our chambers and lie down? I will stay here and watch for the message to arrive. I’ll bring it up to you right away. I won’t even take time to open and read it for myself first.”

She smiled with weariness that settled on her shoulders. “I’m not tired or sleepy. I’m—”

“Disappointed? Worried? Frustrated?” he asked sympathetically.

“All that and much more,” Ophelia admitted. “It just seems that every time I think I’m moving forward on finding the thief, I suddenly feel as if I’ve taken three steps backward instead.”

“I want the person found as much as you do so you can focus on me and our life together.”

She could hear the same harbor of feelings in his tone. He truly did embrace her disappointment as his, clearly worried for her and frustrated not to have this matter solved and literally placed back in the locked box where it belonged.

Bringing her protectively close to him, he wrapped his strong arms around her. She pressed her cheek against his warm, comforting chest.

“What if I go up and lie down with you?”

He kissed her temple and around her cheek and eye and then intimately on the mouth. Pleasurable tingles danced within her, but she couldn’t give in to his tender kisses. “No,” she whispered. “I’d rather wait belowstairs.”

“I know for a fact that when you were in my arms last night you were not thinking about the chalice or the thief. The only thing you had on your mind was me, you and us together.”

“I can’t do that right now.”

“I only want to hold you close like this. We don’t have to talk, or kiss or caress. Just rest.”

His suggestion brought a tease of laughter from her throat. “May I remind you, that anytime you say you just want to hold me close, nothing else, the ‘nothing’ becomes something that fully distracts me from whatever it was I was in a conundrum from.”

Hurst merely curved a corner of his mouth in response. No words needed.

Ophelia was tempted to take him up on his respite, but just as she was forming her reply, her mother walked into the vestibule.

Exertion blushed a red stain on Maman’s cheeks, and her breathless words came out in a rush. “Forgive me for interrupting. I don’t mean to intrude.”

Ophelia and Hurst stepped away from each other, not that she thought there was anything amiss about a husband and wife in a loving embrace, but her mother would not appreciate seeing it. If Maman was uncomfortable, she didn’t display it. Ophelia could see her somber expression meant she had news of the utmost importance.

“You didn’t intrude, Maman. Are you all right?”

“I was reading and thought I heard you come inside, but you never made it into the drawing room,” she replied, looking neither of them in the eye. “I decided to see if you were indeed back from the fair.” She pulled something from underneath her cuffed sleeve. “I wanted to give you this. It came while you were gone, and when I saw it on the letter tray, I picked it up for safekeeping. I didn’t want anything to happen to it. It’s from the Dowager Duchess of Stonerick.”

Ophelia’s breath quickened. “Why didn’t you say so?” With haste, she reached for the letter, but her mother pulled it back.

“I’m sorry, dear. It’s addressed to the duke.”

“Yes. Of course,” she answered, rubbing her hands together, realizing just how anxious she’d become. “I wasn’t thinking properly.”

Hurst took the parchment, broke open the seal, looked down, and almost instantly back up to Ophelia again.

“What does she say?”

“She just wrote the name Lord Gagingcliffe.”

“The baron?” Ophelia asked, confusion working its way into her thoughts.

“There is no other lord by that name,” Hurst replied, reviewing the note again.

“His name isn’t in the registry. I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t remember seeing it either,” Hurst said thoughtfully. “He must have used an alias.”

“Or perhaps he somehow managed to slip by whoever was at the door and not sign the registry at all,” Ophelia suggested. “If he is the thief, this is quite shocking. He doesn’t seem to be a man who would take things that don’t belong to him.” Ophelia’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “I played several hands of whist with him at the garden party. Hurst, Georgina’s father wants her to marry the baron.”

“I’ve known him for years, Ophelia. He’s always been an upstanding man.” The firmly set tone in Hurst’s voice brooked no arguments. “He’s a quiet, mild-mannered fellow who seems to be too scared of his shadow to do anything as risky as stealing a sacrament. I don’t think he would take something from a church, and if he had, why would he play cards with you so easily when he knew your brother was the vicar at the church he stole from?”

A chill shook Ophelia.

“I met the man at the card party as well,” Maman said. “I agree with both assessments of him. He was a pleasant person to talk to and I noted nothing out of the ordinary in his mannerisms or what he said.”

“I didn’t say anything to make him think we were suspicious,” Ophelia added. “And remember no one knows it’s missing. He has reason to feel safe saying anything he wants.” Venting an exasperated huff, Ophelia pursed her lips before saying, “His name is the one the dowager wrote. I think it must be him.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Hurst shook his head. “All we know is that the woman from the Insightful Ladies group divulged he collects religious objects.”

“Objects?” In a strong statement, she restated his response. Ophelia knew Hurst was hedging in hopes to pacify her. “Religious artifacts is what she actually said.”

Hurst continued to carry on the conversation by adding, “We have to realize we are hearing this from a lady who studies superstitions, believes the alignment of the stars predicts the future, and thinks a lady with red hair and green eyes like Edwina can read your mind.”

“That’s preposterous,” Ophelia scoffed, an unpleasant taste of denial in her words.

“My point,” Hurst insisted. “We don’t know that we can trust her. We don’t know what she believes, which includes why she thinks Lord Gagingcliffe collects—” Hurst paused. “Things, objects, or artifacts.”

Defying him, Ophelia challenged her husband and stated, “Hurst, you’re being obstinate for no good reason. She gave us a name and I’m going to confront the baron.”

Throwing his hands up, he argued, “But we don’t know yet if we can believe anything she says.”

“I should excuse myself,” Ophelia’s mother said, wringing her hands. “I’ve caused you both distress. Dear me, if there is any way I can help, I’m willing to stay.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “This is as important to me as to you, Ophelia. If not more.”

“I’m sorry, Maman. We don’t know what any of us can do right now.” A dull headache had been forming at the back of her neck since she’d lunged for the fake chalice. Nothing could be done at this exact moment because she didn’t have a plan concerning how she could get into the baron’s house to look at his bookshelves. Lowering her voice a little softer, she said, “I think I’m going to take Hurst’s advice and go up to my chambers to think for a little while. You don’t mind, do you, Maman?”

“Of course not.” Her mother smiled and affectionately touched Ophelia’s shoulder. “That’s a good idea. I’m sure you’ll figure out something we can do. You always do. I’ll be in the drawing room if you need me.”

“I’ll join you, Ophelia, in our chambers,” Hurst said curtly after her mother departed.

Ophelia didn’t wait for him but started up the stairs, wondering how she was going to get into Lord Gagingcliffe’s house. The duke’s footsteps sounded behind her all the way, and until he scooted ahead of her and opened the door that led into his bedchamber. She stepped inside and turned to face him while he shut the door.

With just the two of them, the masculine room with its dark furnishings, heavily carved hearth, and the large bed with hunter’s green bedding made Ophelia feel warm and protected for a few moments. She wished she had all this upheaval settled so she could enjoy the feeling longer. Forever, if possible.

Crossing over to his dressing chest, Hurst took the stopper out of a decanter and poured a dram of brandy into two glasses. He handed one to her.

“What’s this?”

“Brandy.”

Her brow rose suspiciously. “If you’ll remember, I didn’t have a good experience the last time I tried it.”

“That’s because you were trying to drink it like the seasoned sporting men you were conversing with that evening. Take small sips,” he said patiently, and then proceeded to take a swallow like the seasoned sporting men he mentioned.

Ophelia followed his instructions and barely let the liquid touch her tongue. It went down much easier that way.

“Take another,” he encouraged in a strained tone with his eyes pinched tightly. “It will help settle you as we finish the discussion we started with your mother.”

“Gladly,” she answered as tightly as he’d spoken, trying to slow her ragged breathing. “When I played cards with the baron at the party, I quizzed him and Mr. Sawyer about anyone in their family who might be a collector.”

Concern edged his features. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“You sound as if you think there was something wrong with that. Did you think I was going to parties and balls just to enjoy myself? I was looking for anyone who could help me.”

“I don’t know how I’d forgotten, Ophelia.” He nodded, sarcasm tainting his reply. “From the night we met, you never led me to believe you were in London for anything other than your mission.”

“What I said to Mr. Sawyer and the baron made for easy conversation while trying to concentrate on the cards in my hand. I started it quite inconspicuously by mentioning the signet ring Mr. Sawyer was wearing. Both gentlemen said they didn’t know of anyone in their families who collected things. This means Lord Gagingcliffe wasn’t truthful. Perhaps Mr. Sawyer too. I have doubt about both being men of honor right now.”

“It means nothing yet,” he urged, stern resolve in his every word as he placed the empty glass on a table. “You could be condemning innocent men.”

“I am not condemning,” she answered pertly, taking umbrage at his words. “I’m considering possibilities that need to be considered. Let’s go see him and find out what kind of man he is.”

“And say what? ‘Lord Gagingcliffe, since my wife is certain you have the chalice, will you give it back? Please,’” Hurst pretended to pose a question to the allegedly guilty man.

Ophelia’s temper rose, but she managed to hold it inside. She landed her glass beside his. If this was what he had to say, she didn’t want to settle down. “Stop mocking me.”

“I wasn’t criticizing you.”

A rapid display of emotions crossed her face. “It sounded as if you were.”

“Of course not,” he insisted again. “It might have seemed to you, but I was being rational.”

“Just because you say you are rational, Hurst, doesn’t mean you always are. And I want to be successful. I know we couldn’t be so brazen as to accuse him. We can go on the pretext of a business of some kind you want to discuss. While you distract him, I will do the searching.”

“What are you saying? No.” Hurst ground out the word as if he were crushing it under his boot. “I’ve told you I won’t be a party to that kind of searching. There are other ways.”

“You won’t be doing anything you feel isn’t right. Looking around a person’s home isn’t necessarily a terrible thing to do. Especially if they invite you to do so.”

“Why are we having this discussion again, Ophelia?”

“Because people make their homes grand and filled with precious items just so guests will look at them and enjoy the bounty. In reality that is all I will be doing. To make you happy I will seek an invitation from the baron before I look around. It appears you want to dismiss this without even looking into it because you’ve known him so long.”

“I’m not saying that,” he insisted, his voice rising a little. “Let me think about this and I’ll come up with a plan.”

She gave him a level gaze. “Think about it? Make a plan? I already have a plan.”

“You know the phrase ‘Don’t rush where angels wouldn’t dare to tread,’ Ophelia,” Hurst cautioned.

A gasp passed her lips. “Are you calling me foolish?”

“Of course not.” His back stiffened. “Don’t put words I didn’t say into my mouth.”

“It sounded to me as if you did. It’s true you only said part of the quote, but I know the beginning of it. You think I am being foolish to help a brother who helped raise me and loved me and my mother devotedly. You have always thought I was on a fool’s errand.”

The frown on his brow tightened. “I didn’t mean it that way.” He took a step toward her. “I said the part that was accurate concerning you. I don’t want you to get your hopes up again. I don’t want you to put yourself in danger again.”

“Danger? I haven’t been in any jeopardy.”

“You aren’t thinking clearly, Ophelia. You went over a table after a chalice that was a reproduction!”

“Don’t yell at me,” she answered with determination. “And it looked real.”

“I’m not yelling,” he defended, though lowering his tone considerably. “Replicas are supposed to look real. Everything you see concerning this stolen vessel looks real to you. The crests you sketched for Mrs. Turner, and the guilt you were willing to place on my cousin and every peer in London.”

“There was no harm done to anyone, including me, at the fair.”

“Only because I was able to catch up with you and stop you with my umbrella. Footpads abound at fairs and steal from the shopmongers and vendors almost at will. They keep themselves armed with a knife. That man could have assumed you were about to take something from him, pulled his blade out of instinct, and harmed you before I could get to you, and then I would have had to harm him.”

She swallowed hard. “That is rather dramatic. You are the one talking madness now about such dire consequences.”

“Know this now and forevermore, Ophelia.” He spoke low. “You are my wife. I would never let anyone put their hands on you without retaliation. I will protect you above all else.”

His words, and the passion with which he said them, chilled her, thrilled her, but not giving up, she said rashly, “I don’t need protection to check out a man you say is a pillar of the community.”

“I am on a mission to save you from yourself.” Hurst’s expression etched hard with lines of discontent. “I forbid you to go to his house.”

His declarative words astounded her; her eyes filled with shock and her heart thudded in her ears. “You can’t.”

“I am your husband. When we married, I didn’t take a vow giving up my rights as your husband.”

“And I didn’t give up mine. You said you would not forbid me to do anything until after the theft of the chalice was settled. You can’t go back on your word.”

“Listen to me, dam—” He bit off the last half of the word and swore under his breath instead, before saying, “Ophelia, I love you. I have from the moment I saw you even though I doubted my own feelings at the time. I love your courage, loyalty, and your determination. But at some point, you must give up your reckless ways.”

“You want me to give up?” The thought sent chills over her again and made tears surprisingly spring to her eyes. She quickly blinked them away before one should happen to escape the corner of her eye. He knew how important this was to her.

“No. Not give up. Think. Plan. Let me help you my way. We can’t accuse Gagingcliffe, Sawyer, or any other man. If any of them have it, we could tip them off and the chalice could be hidden so that it will never be found. We start with Gagingcliffe and will work together to see if he is the person we are looking for.”

“If he has it, it’s on a bookshelf and we will see it,” she argued again.

“Do you think he’s going to let you just walk into his house and see it?” His voice rose. “He knows you are the sister to the vicar he stole it from. Be reasonable about this.”

“I am always reasonable,” she countered, her voice raised too and her chest heaving.

“You came to my house dressed as a man twice. How are you always reasonable, Ophelia?”

“I had good, reasonable motives for doing it both times.”

“Just do it my way this time.” Hurst mumbled several curses under his breath and looked away.

He wouldn’t be swayed, but neither would she. Perhaps the sip or two of brandy she had consumed was helping calm her after all. She suddenly felt calmer. “I believe you have said that to me before, Your Grace.” She swallowed hard. “Don’t ask it of me again. I believe you know that my answer is still the same. It is not in my nature. I wish you had known before we married that I cannot change my nature. You would have saved us both a lot of heartache.”

Despair pushed from her aching lungs. Ophelia opened the door that joined their rooms and shut herself inside her chambers.