Page 23 of Love, the Duke (Say I Do #3)

C HAPTER 23

MAN’S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF

SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK

If exposed, have a ready plan.

After returning from her brisk walk around the neighborhood, Ophelia was still anxious. Arguing with Hurst had gotten her nowhere. She wanted to find him and try reasoning with him once again about the urgent need to visit Lord Gagingcliffe. But she was too late. Maman told her he’d left the house in his carriage.

Ophelia had a strong hunch she knew where Hurst had gone. This time leaving the maid at home, she hired a carriage to take her to the baron’s house. She knew her hunch was right and her husband was inside when she saw his black gleaming barouche with its sophisticated crest on the door parked in front of Lord Gagingcliffe’s home. As she had suspected, Hurst had come without her. But why? She didn’t know for sure what he’d planned to do, but she knew what he wasn’t doing: checking the book room. Unless he’d managed to get the baron to invite him into it.

She had a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach as if something amiss was going on inside. Was Hurst there to warn the man, or had he decided to do a little digging on his own to see what he could find out? Either way, he should have waited for her.

Trying to settle her nerves, she had to keep to her own plan. She supposed she’d know the duke’s strategy as soon as she got inside. Maybe Hurst being there would be to her advantage, she rationalized. If he was busy with Lord Gagingcliffe, it was all the better for her—as long as they were not in the book room.

Hoping she would be successful this time, Ophelia gathered her skirts and made purposeful strides up the short steps to use the knocker on the front door.

It seemed a long time before the butler swung it open, his face more than slightly puzzled to see an unaccompanied lady standing before him.

“I’m Miss Stowe to see the baron,” she said, before she thought to say she was now the Duchess of Hurstbourne. But perhaps it was best he didn’t know who she really was for now.

The butler’s exterior didn’t look nearly as polished as Gilbert’s, and he seemed a little flustered by her. “He’s not available. He already has a visitor.”

“But you see I have information for him, and I know he will want to see me if you just tell him I’m here.” She smiled sweetly, but exhaling an impatient breath of air.

Resigned, the butler said, “Your calling card, if you will, miss.”

“I don’t have one.” Trying to keep annoyance out of her voice.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to speak to his lordship for you. Good night.”

He went to close the door but Ophelia put out her hand and stopped him. “Never mind all that. It’s dreadfully chilly out here and I’m without a cape. May I sit in the vestibule while you check with the baron?”

Ophelia brushed past him without giving him time to answer. Merciful saints and angels too, it would have been easier to sneak in rather than pass muster by the butler at the door and be gained entrance.

He stood tall and slim in front of her, barring her from a determined path toward a chair where guests would wait.

The butler stated, “I told you, Lord Gagingcliffe already has a visitor.”

“I understand. I’ll wait here in front of the door if you prefer I not sit down.”

The butler seemed to be torn about his decision. While he was engaged with that, Ophelia noted the line of stairs on the right and opened doors of a drawing room. She heard no voices, notably not her husband’s. Where were Hurst and the baron? Hopefully in the garden to take in the last of the bit of twilight.

The butler tugged on his sleeve cuffs, as if to right something that had not been out of order with his tidy livery, while mumbling something about it not being proper for a lady to show up at man’s door without a companion.

Face flushed and a sheen of perspiration on his brow, he finally pointed to the chair and said, “Wait there. I’ll be right back.”

But his declarative order didn’t matter to her. As soon as he was out of sight, she was out of the chair and peeking into the empty drawing room. There were two used wine glasses. She’d become accustomed to telling which way to go to look for the book room and took off. Half running down the corridor on tiptoe, hoping to make no sound. The situation wasn’t funny, yet the preposterous way she had gone about this entire search now settled on her shoulders. She had to work quickly before the butler found her gone and came looking for her.

Plunging into this scenario could be her undoing, but she must. If the two men were in the book room, she would be doomed to make a choice. Neither option she had in mind would be good: confront them or hide until they were gone, and she could conduct her search when the house was quiet for the night.

In truth, she’d been reckless and hadn’t been thinking clearly. Too focused on finding out if this man was the culprit, she’d taken chances she shouldn’t have, especially now being married to a duke and the man she loved. She wouldn’t have risked her reputation if the stakes hadn’t been so high and failure so heartbreaking.

She came to two large doors, each on its own hinges so they could swing inward upon entering, but only one door was cracked open. Soundlessly, Ophelia peeked inside to see her husband moving about in the room, lifting pieces of art and looking behind them, moving over to the bookcase shelves, pulling books out as if seeking a hidden compartment behind. It seemed an unbelievable mirage. Her chest felt heavy. He was helping her! And in the one way he said he never would. Her heart thudded with love for him.

As she quietly entered the room, her breathless pants gave away her presence.

He turned sharply toward her, anger settling on Hurst’s face as she knew it would. Even so, she was so happy to see him and wanted to rush into his arms and cover his face with kisses. Seeing him searching for her, her mother, and Winston’s legacy put her on the verge of bursting into tears of relief and happiness. At that moment, she loved Hurst more than she could say.

Not so for Hurst. A harsh reprimand worked its ire into Hurst’s voice. “What are you doing here? I told you you’re never to search a home alone.”

Was that all he had to say? In a sweetened whisper, she reasoned, “I’m not alone. I’m with you.” She could see his displeasure ease back a little. But she was certain he would argue the point more strongly at a later time.

In three strides he met her, pulling her close and away from the door. His handsome face loomed over hers, his eyes gleaming. “Ophelia, you vex me.”

Ignoring his censure, she asked, “Have you found the chalice?”

“Of course not. I’d be out of here if I had. We could be discovered any moment. The baron will return and find I’m not in the drawing room and come looking for me. We must hurry. He mentioned that things could be cleverly hidden right before our eyes, and we aren’t seeing it. And there are plenty of artifacts in here, but the chalice isn’t on the bookshelves. Most of the tables and shelving are displaying all rarities. You start over there.”

In one continuous swoop she glanced at everything. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the room, dust motes danced off the heavy velvet draperies and anything else they touched. Ophelia went to a series of glass doors, very narrow and plain. She opened them.

Glancing her way, Hurst whispered, “What’s in there?”

“Nothing,” she answered, losing hope.

“I have a feeling in my gut that it’s in this room,” he whispered.

“What makes you think that?” she asked as she continued to look over a shelf filled with small figurines and delicate porcelain flowers.

“Because I believe in you. And you think it’s here.”

Ophelia’s hopes soared as they both went back to searching. She gazed about, moving things and looking quickly. All to no avail. The paintings were dark and rich, a contrast to a large stained-glass panel that hung on a wall across from the window. A light prism reflecting colors far beyond those found in a rainbow eased its way across the wall as time ticked quickly onward.

Ophelia stood back. A gorgeous mosaic represented a man wearing a crown. She didn’t recognize him as royalty, but he possessed a regal air. Ringed fingers held on to the hilt of a sword pointing down. The glass pieces were vibrant and colorful and didn’t seem old, yet there was something odd about it.

“Hurst,” she whispered. “Come look at this glasswork. How is it being illuminated?”

“There’s a mirror on the other wall,” he said, after looking it over. “Sunlight is being reflected to illuminate the stained glass. But it’s more than that. The man in it is a likeness of Gagingcliffe wearing a king’s crown.”

“That’s kind of eerie.” She gave it a closer inspection. “I think you are right.”

“The man is eccentric. The glass colors seem translucent in places, as if the wall behind it is hollow.”

Looking left and right and then up, they saw that a series of pulleys had been anchored to the ceiling; the stained glass was suspended by them. “Ophelia, with just the right light shining through it, the sword’s hilt disappears, and it looks as if the man is holding a chalice.”

Gasping and unable to contain her excitement, Ophelia stared into the glass to see if she could see what Hurst had readily found.

His hands gripped the smooth sides of the heavy stained glass and she placed hers beside his. Slowly, they manipulated the chain to roll the pulleys and slide it open.

Ophelia’s pulse sped up and her heart pounded as she watched the mystery reveal itself. Indeed, the artwork served a dual purpose! The framed stained glass covered a vitrine or some kind of wall niche. Centered in the middle of the shelf sat a solitary object. One that took Ophelia’s breath and chilled every inch of her body.

Chatham’s chalice!

They had found it.

Hurst grabbed the sacrament and gave it to her. “Is it the real one?” he asked quickly.

In her heart she knew it was, and by its weight she was certain. Still, she looked beneath the base of the stem to verify the maker’s mark. Her legs went weak with relief, and she steadied herself next to Hurst while smiling and blinking back tears of relief and joy. “It is.”

His expression filled with urgent determination. “Good. I want you out of here now. Go home and get the registry book. I’ll join you there and we’ll leave for Wickenhamden. If the roads aren’t boggy, we can have this safely back in the church before sunup.”

“Yes.” Her breaths were so labored with excitement she could hardly speak. She pointed to the vitrine behind him. “The bag that holds the chalice.”

Reaching out quickly, he took the cloth and stuffed the fine silk into her hand. “Go to my carriage; Mallord is waiting inside.”

“My footman?” she asked.

“I knew if there was trouble you’d trust him, and so do I. I assumed you were in the house and told him to wait until you came out; he was to take you home immediately. After you get home, tell him to bring the magistrate here. The authorities need to handle this.” Hurst wound his arm around the small of her back, drawing her close with his face inches from hers. “Do you understand, Ophelia? Please do not disobey me on any of this. Go home straightaway. No stops. Hold on to that chalice.”

“I’ll do as you say and protect the chalice with my life, but I need to confront the baron for the wrong he did.” Her heart pounded with outrage. “He would let my brother’s name be sullied for all time because a relic caught his fancy.”

Hurst gently but firmly took hold of her shoulders, intent on steering her out of the book room. “You can have your say to him later.”

“Why wait? Let her have it now.” Lord Gagingcliffe’s voice came from the doorway.

Ophelia and Hurst turned and stared at him. His tone held no note of distress or concern as he stood in the book room’s wide doorway looking beyond put out, his face tight as he saw Ophelia clasping the sacrament.

She could hardly hold her composure together.

To Hurst, he ventured with an uneven lift of his lips, “It took me a moment or two after I got into my chambers to realize you weren’t here to call on me just for my opinion of Mr. Sawyer, or your seeming genuine interest in my treasures. You wanted something else from me. You were so clever to hide your true intentions behind such friendliness, and I accepted it without question.”

Ophelia held the chalice with a firm grip. “How could you steal from a church? You are a criminal!”

With a shrug, Gagingcliffe noted, “And I turned you into one. You are trying to steal from me.”

His slight stung Ophelia for its truth.

Hurst took a step forward, his eyes hooded and his mouth set in a hard line. “Watch what you say, my lord, or I will forget that you are ten years older and five inches shorter than I am. I would take great pleasure in pinning you to the floor and holding you there until the magistrate can get here.”

“Quite right, Your Grace. There will be no need for such tactics, I assure you.” He gave a bow. “I do apologize, Duchess. And commend you on your perfect performance when we played cards together. You never gave me one hint you thought the chalice was missing. I’ll get the magistrate.” He called for his butler.

“Why did you take it?” Ophelia eased closer to Hurst, his arm coming around her waist.

The baron shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I take it when I had opportunity and the desire to possess it the moment the vicar agreed I could see it up close? He was already ill, so I went back a week later thinking to talk him into letting me hold it again, but the man was so ill he didn’t even know I was there. The vicarage was quiet. No one about, so I had no problem slipping the keys from his belt and taking the chalice with me.”

“That was an evil thing to do,” Ophelia whispered so softly she didn’t know if the baron heard. He kept right on talking.

“I admit thinking at first, I’d only make a copy for myself and return it, but once I put it in my vitrine, I simply couldn’t part with it. Historically, I knew it was too valuable to be replaced, and I simply didn’t want a reproduction. The thin hammered gold is done with a keen artist’s eye; the rubies around the middle are small but flawless.” With a willful shrug, he declared, “Who wouldn’t want to have it?”

“An honest man.” Ophelia tempered her boiling rage and disdain for a man she had considered a member of her small circle of acquaintances.

“I took it weeks ago. I hadn’t heard anything about it missing or having been stolen, so I thought no one knew it was gone.”

“We deliberately kept it that way so we could search for it without the thief knowing.”

The baron smirked. “I thought there was the possibility I was safe from ever being found out. Especially when I heard about all the troubles with first one and then another vicar getting sick so soon after arriving and then leaving. I figured the theft could be blamed on any one of them. I’m actually impressed you figured out it was me, Your Grace.”

Suddenly his demeanor changed, and he took a few more steps inside the room. Rather than accommodating, he looked perturbed. As if bothered by this whole sordid affair.

Gagingcliffe called loudly for his butler again, who appeared so fast, one would think he’d been eavesdropping this entire time. The man stepped subserviently into the book room, looking almost frightened.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Send someone for the magistrate at once,” he said indignantly. “The duke and duchess are trying to take something from my home, and I want to report them.”

“You must be half-mad to think you can get away with this,” Hurst said.

“I’ll find a way. I always do. It will be easy to say I bought it from a stranger. Churches hate dealing with messy things such as robbery. They always want to settle things quietly and as easily as possible. They never want the parish members to know there’s been any kind of trouble in the church.” He turned to his butler and barked again. “Don’t stand there; go for the magistrate. I want these two out of my house.”

The baron’s cavalier behavior had not been expected. His nerve filled Ophelia with contempt.

Movement outside the doorway made them all give their attention in that direction. Mr. Mallord entered the room with another man following closely behind him.

“That won’t be necessary,” the footman said. “The magistrate is already here. I hope you don’t mind, Your Graces, but I took it upon myself to ask him to come.”

“How?” Ophelia and Hurst said in unison.

“Like Mrs. Turner, I’ve known from the beginning that the duchess was looking for the chalice. I’ve been watching over her as much as possible to make sure she was always safe. I didn’t know why you needed me to accompany you here, but I could tell it was urgent. And then when the duchess showed up and had trouble getting inside even though you were there, I sensed something was wrong, so I went for the magistrate.”

“Good job, Mr. Mallord,” Hurst said.

The footman nodded. “I like to be prepared.”