Page 4 of Love, the Duke (Say I Do #3)
C HAPTER 4
MAN’S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF
SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK
Don’t get caught looking for clues.
Ophelia Stowe wasn’t brave. Only determined.
Like most of the eligible young ladies basking under the large glimmering chandeliers at the elegant bustling affair, including the two standing with her, she was looking for a man. The difference was, they were looking for a husband. Ophelia was looking for a thief.
Admiring gentlemen for romantic purposes wasn’t the reason she was in London. Which, admittedly, was odd for a lady. Especially one who had been invited to a soiree at this magnificent home. She supposed at near twenty-one some might consider she was destined to become a dried weed on the shelf. That possibility didn’t cause her a twitter of concern. She figured she’d marry one day. But not now. There were other things to do first. That didn’t mean she didn’t understand most ladies’ desire to wed. Snaring a suitable husband in her first Season was what a proper young lady was brought up to do. And by all accounts Ophelia was proper—or had been until she’d arrived in London a few days ago and then dressed as a gentleman to present herself to a duke.
However clever the plan was, it hadn’t gone well.
Shaking off that remembrance, Ophelia glanced away from her chattering new friends, caught sight of her mother, and smiled. Roberta Fawnsworth Stowe stood quietly with a small, stylish group of ladies and a gentleman while the hum of music, conversation, and laughter mixed with the movements of the room.
Having made her debut in Polite Society more than twenty years ago and staying in touch with solid members of the ton since made it easy for Roberta to fit back into London’s social events with ease. Wearing her half mourning gown of black silk banded by white ribbons at the high waist and lace cuffs, Roberta was a striking lady of medium height, and a natural beauty even with a little gray showing in her honey-colored hair. She was perhaps too thin and pale at present, but there was a kindness and loveliness about her that seemed to draw people.
Once she let it be known she and her daughter, Ophelia, were in Town and accepting callers, invitations to parties, balls, and dinners started flowing in. Her mother’s easy acceptance couldn’t have worked better for Ophelia’s new plan.
With no forthcoming aid from the stubborn Duke of Hurstbourne to investigate book rooms, Ophelia was left to search for the thief on her own. Knowing the best way to gain entrance into the homes of titled gentlemen was to be invited. And the best way to accomplish that was to make friends, which led to accepting Miss Georgina Bristol’s mother’s gracious invitation to meet all the young ladies making their debut. That had opened the door for Roberta’s and Ophelia’s attendance tonight and to other parties that had been scheduled for the Season.
Glad to see her maman seemed to be handling the evening well, Ophelia smiled again. Her mother’s countenance remained peaceful as usual. That was asking a lot of her given the circumstances of what she knew her daughter would be doing tonight.
After Ophelia’s attempt to gain the duke’s help failed, despite her repeated appeals, she had no choice but to elicit her mother’s aid in her scheme. Maman had no problem with her daughter entering Society and the social Season but took to her sickbed over Ophelia’s desire to search for the chalice in book rooms of the titled men’s homes where they would be welcomed as guests. Roberta was adamantly against that. At first.
Granted, her maman had some valid arguments for thinking neither the bishop nor anyone else would think Winston had a hand in the disappearance of the sacrament. Ophelia had clicked them off in her mind many times: Everyone in the parish knew Winston was dedicated to the church and had never shown any leanings toward wanting earthly treasures. What would Winston do with the priceless vessel if he had stolen it? What would he do with the money if he had sold it?
Ophelia answered them all with What if they did think he was responsible? He would forever be labeled a thief. There was also the possibility the bishop, church elders, or others might think that Winston’s illness of fevers had affected his mind with some sort of disillusionment and that had made him steal from the church.
After many conversations and plenty of persuasive discussions, Roberta had acquiesced to what her daughter must do to save Winston’s legacy. Ophelia’s only goal was to find the chalice and return it to the sacraments room before her brother was accused of stealing it.
“What do you think, Ophelia?”
Startled out of her thoughts, Ophelia struggled to quickly clear her mind of her troubles and focus her attention back on the conversation at hand. She smiled and said, “Pardon me, Miss Bristol, but the music is so loud and the room so crowded it feels as if everyone is talking into my ear at the same time. I didn’t hear what you said.”
The brown-eyed beauty who had been given a priority of attention from gentlemen during the evening gave Ophelia an understanding expression and leaned in toward her. “Please call me Georgina. We are friends now. And it’s Lord Gagingcliffe we’re talking about. Do you think he is much too old for me to consider making a match with him?”
“Oh, I suppose not really,” she answered honestly, trying to remember the man she met earlier in the evening. “I don’t think age matters so much unless it involves many years. It’s how you feel about him and whether he appeals to you in a romantic way. Didn’t you say he was dashing and divinely handsome?”
“No, no. You are thinking about Mr. Wilbur Sawyer.” She placed her closed fan over her heart. “I could swoon every time I see him, but he hasn’t a title so my parents are reluctant to entertain him. Lord Gagingcliffe is only modestly handsome, older, and the man Papa has great hope for a match between us. He is a baron, so I would be a lady.” She sighed wistfully. “Yet, I don’t think I could possibly agree to marry him.”
Obviously, there were too many men interested in the beautiful Miss Georgina Bristol for Ophelia to keep up with their names.
“I felt the same way when I was introduced to the man my father wants me to marry,” Miss Katherine Walker offered, along with a proud sniff and a glance around the ballroom. “Not a blink of affection or attraction passed between us the entire time we spoke to each other.” She looked at Ophelia and sighed. “Do call me Katherine. As Georgina said, we’re all friends now.”
“Yes, of course,” Ophelia agreed.
“You consider the man. You would be a viscountess if you married him,” Georgina reminded Katherine, flickering the hand-painted fan under her sharp chin.
“An unhappy one,” Katherine countered quickly. “And I want to marry a man who makes my breaths flutter and knees go weak every time I look at him.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Georgina sighed. “That’s the way I felt when I looked into the dreamy eyes of the Duke of Hurstbourne when presented to him at the grand ball last night. I’m sure he saw stars in my eyes.”
“I felt the same way when I was introduced to him,” Katherine added, seeming surprised Georgina had a similar reaction. “But my mama says he’s never looked seriously at any lady and to set my bonnet for a man who is interested so that I won’t lose the opportunity for matrimony my first Season.”
Apparently, the duke appealed to all the young ladies—including Ophelia.
“I agree with Georgina that a viscount must be given more than passing consideration,” Ophelia added to the conversation. “No matter his age. Maybe the two of you were not discussing the kind of things that would lead to delightful or intelligent conversing that would better suit you. Did you ask what he enjoys when he’s not seeing to his estate duties?” she asked, finding a way to gain more information on the viscount. “Perhaps he collects beautiful snuffboxes, old paintings, or artifacts of a certain type, and the like. Did he happen to say?”
“Yes,” Katherine answered, rolling her light-blue eyes. “As a matter of fact, he often mentioned his fondness of horses, horses, and more horses. Stallions, geldings, mares, thoroughbreds, fillies, and other such names. It amazes me that it’s perfectly acceptable for a man to talk about a large muscular animal with a lady, but political and money matters are too complicated and too delicate for us to hear about.”
The three laughed, and Ophelia made a mental note to put the viscount at the bottom of her list of peers she needed to investigate further. Chances were good he was not into historical relics if his main focus was always on what was in his stables.
Their discussion continued, but somehow even with their banter, swells of lively music dancing around them, hums of drumming chatter, and booms of masculine laughter swirling about, thoughts of the much-sought-after duke crowded back into Ophelia’s mind.
After their discussion in his book room, she’d be happy to never speak to him again, but that wasn’t likely to happen. She could very well see him tonight since they were in the home of one of his good friends. With the Season in full swing, she could find herself evading him at many of the parties that were planned.
That aside, she wondered if he would recognize her at all if their paths crossed. She looked far different wearing a ball gown and her own honey-blond hair. It had taken her a long time to decide to present herself as a man to gain entrance into his house and speak to him about helping her. If not for her maid’s brother working for a tailor and agreeing to lend his hand to make the clothing, she’d never have accomplished it.
She was grateful the duke hadn’t laughed at her disguise. In fact, the way he scrutinized her so carefully with sharp interest had indicated he appreciated her efforts. But certainly not her plan. That had turned his temper hot as a poker left too long in the fire. She hadn’t minded the show of temper so much. It was an interesting change from her family’s perpetual unruffled countenances that had kept her home quiet.
The duke’s manner wasn’t what she was used to. Her brother and father were never so expressive for any reason. They always seemed to be in a continual state of calm. Their countenances seldom gave away their feelings. They’d been taught to remain serene no matter whom they were talking to or what the discussion. That was expected of a clergyman and his wife. And children too. Ophelia was to never appear exasperated, annoyed, filled with alarming disbelief, or any other such emotion when they disagreed with her or anyone else. They were to always be at the same emotional level of composure. Not so for the duke. He had freely shown her all he was feeling. And she feared she’d shown him a little of her repressed emotions too.
Long sighing gasps from Georgina and Katherine brought Ophelia’s attention back to the present.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, glancing from one friend to the other as they stared at something behind her.
Georgina placed her fan over her lips. “The Duke of Hurstbourne just entered the room.”
Katherine leaned in and whispered, “And he’s glancing around. No, wait.” Her expressive eyes rounded and brightened excitedly. “I think he’s looking at me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Georgina scolded. “You are too short for him to see enough of you to tell whether he’d be interested in you. He couldn’t possibly see you in this crowd or any other. I, on the other hand, am tall enough.”
As Ophelia listened to the two of them, she was wondering what had happened to Georgina’s thoughts of the handsome Mr. Wilbur Sawyer.
“You cannot sway me with that comment, Georgina,” Katherine snapped back at her. “I know that if I can see him, he can see me.”
“Who told you that? I am tall enough and quite certain it’s me who has caught his eye. He seemed quite taken with me last evening.” She lifted her chin and chest and smiled.
Ophelia’s gaze followed her new friends’. Her heartbeat seemed to flutter. Oh, yes. The Duke of Hurstbourne was looking in their direction. And it was no wonder they each thought he was considering them. To Ophelia, it appeared as if he was looking straight at her too! With such strong intensity a chill shivered up her back, but strangely not in a fearful way. She felt as if he was trying to draw her toward him, but surely he wouldn’t recognize her. Her disguise had been excellent.
The duke stood just inside the doorway leading into the small ballroom of the private residence. Not only was her heart tossing around strange feelings, her breath caught in her throat, and her stomach clenched in an unexpected fluttery kind of way as it had when she saw him a couple of nights ago in his home.
It didn’t seem to matter whether she was close to the duke as she’d been in his book room or across a crowded, noisy ballroom; he was an imposing man—tall, powerfully built through chest and shoulders, and magnificent in how he carried himself with such an easy air of self-confidence. She couldn’t force herself to turn away from him at his home or now at this party.
His blond hair fell in a wispy wave across his forehead to just below his ears and an inch or two past his nape. Elegantly attired in a black evening coat and trousers with his shirt, neckcloth, and waistcoat an understated white, he was quite easily the most fine-looking man she’d ever seen. He stood with all the self-assured swagger she’d expect from a man of the elite and privileged ton.
She remembered his wide masculine lips, narrow nose, square chin, and clean-shaven face. Quite sure she would never forget it. With pale hair and the most heavenly shade of green eyes she’d ever seen, he had a rakish appeal that sent her heartbeat into an abnormally fast rhythm.
But whatever the reasons for the stirrings inside her whenever she saw the duke, she shouldn’t be experiencing them. Ophelia wasn’t accustomed to being attracted to a man. It made her feel flushed and out of sorts with her usual sensible self.
At such a dire disadvantage, a vicar’s daughter trying to see a duke, it had taken all she could do to compose herself in his presence when she’d first walked into his book room.
She hadn’t expected him to be so dashing and appealing that her heart raced at catching sight of him. Not only that, thinking the duke so attractive felt like a violation to her brother’s memory. It was clear the man never felt the depth of friendship that Winston had for him. Her unsuccessful meeting with the duke at his house meant twice now His Grace had refused to help her brother when asked to do so.
It would rain gold from the heavens before she’d give him the opportunity for a third. But she couldn’t worry about him anymore. She expected to hear from her mother’s friend in Wickenhamden any day now the bishop had appointed a new vicar. That thought always caused a sinking feeling in her stomach.
Suddenly the duke was cutting a path through the guests with ease as he threaded through the crowded ballroom, seeming to know exactly whom to stop and speak to, whom to laugh with, which man to place his palm on a coat shoulder and give an encouraging pat on the back, and which young lady to give an extra smile. And looking genuine while doing it all.
For a second, it flashed through Ophelia’s mind that he could have been hers. But he had said no to her brother. Surprised and miffed by the pang of disappointment that came from nowhere, she turned away. She had to remember that he wanted no part of her family’s teetering ruin if she couldn’t find the chalice before the theft was discovered. His help would have been so valuable. He would be a welcome visitor in most every house in the ton. He could have made her quest easier and quicker.
But unable to stop herself, she looked back at the duke again, a dashing figure of a man if there ever was one. That’s when she knew, raining gold from the skies or not, she still closeted hope in her heart that he would help her find the thief.
Confident and glad for the distance between them, she silently prayed there was no chance he could have recognized her, and he was indeed staring at Miss Georgina Bristol.
Ophelia excused herself from the ladies and walked over to her mother. They moved away from the group she was with. “Maman, everyone’s concentration seems to be on the Duke of Hurstbourne.”
Roberta looked over her daughter’s shoulder with interest. “My, yes,” she said softly. “It is him. I haven’t seen him since he was a young lad, but I would recognize him anywhere. He hasn’t changed at all. He was handsome as a child and even more so now he’s a young man.”
Daring another glance in the duke’s direction, it appeared he was being introduced to a petite young lady who incessantly waved a delicate fan across her face. The man who Ophelia assumed was the lady’s father was smiling from ear to ear—obviously at the attention she was receiving from the duke.
One good thing had come from her managing to have that private conversation with the duke in his home. It gave her more courage to do what had to be done.
“Did you forget how he treated Winston, Maman? The duke’s answer to his letter was nothing more than a brush-off, and he never came to see him or write to inquire of his health.”
“Pshaw,” she answered, brushing the comment aside. “You can’t hold that against him. Dukes are busy with important people to see and many business matters to attend to, as are most gentlemen. Drake, I mean the duke, was always so polite, and at times appeared to be older than his years. But he loved to engage in more than a bit of tomfoolery too.” Roberta sighed. “If only he’d been interested when Winston had asked him to marry you.”
Ophelia frowned. She wished her mother had never found that copy of the letter her brother wrote to the duke and shown it to her when they were going through Winston’s correspondence after he passed.
However, she couldn’t worry about that. She had other, more important things on her mind than remembering the letters exchanged between the duke and her brother.
“Maybe it would help if I spoke my disappointment to him.”
Ophelia tended her bruised self-confidence with, “Maman, please don’t consider doing that. I’m glad I escaped commitment to him. As my husband, he would have never agreed for me to search book rooms, and I would have been duty-bound to obey him. I’m glad Winston never told me what he was doing, so I didn’t have to disappoint him by insisting he not contact the duke.”
Roberta stared in the direction of the duke again. “Still, it might have been nice to have a duke in the family.” Her mother gave her a bit of a teasing smile. “I, for one, appreciate Winston’s effort to try to find you a husband. It was so like your brother to want to see that you were taken care of.”
A thickening tightened in Ophelia’s throat. “He always did.” She swallowed down the sadness that suddenly wanted to overwhelm her and looked out over the crowded room, seeing merriment in every face hearing the lively music. “You and I have each other and will be fine without the duke, Maman. After we have successfully handled this problem, I’ll secure a job as a governess and, between the two of us, we’ll have an adequate income to lease a small house where I find employment so we can visit often. Right now, I think this is a good time for me to slip out of the ballroom unnoticed.”
Roberta nodded and settled her gaze back on her daughter. “I worry about your plan, dear. And you know it’s not just that I see all your upbringing flying out the window, though that is disheartening.”
“Don’t worry.” She reached over and gave her mother a quick buss on the cheek and a deep-breathed smile, hoping to ease the tension she saw creeping around her mother’s eyes and her own unease about her plan. “I know what to do, remember. If a servant sees me, I’ll say I managed to get turned around and I’m lost. If the master of the house catches me in his book room, I’ll tell the truth: It’s my first time in London, and I’ve never been in a house so large. I couldn’t stop looking at all the grandeur.”
Roberta let out a breathy sigh with a smile. “Are you sure there is no way other than placing yourself through the possibility of defending your actions?”
“Maman,” Ophelia said, sounding a little more frus trated than she intended. “I need to go. Promise me you won’t worry.”
Her watery blue eyes glistened. “I can’t do that, my darling girl.”
Ophelia took hold of her mother’s hand and lightly squeezed. “All right then. Worry with a smile on your face while you continue to renew your friendships, and don’t forget to casually ask every one of them if they know anyone who collects artifacts. I’ll return shortly.”
Trying not to appear as if she was in a hurry, Ophelia left her mother’s side and walked gingerly toward the vestibule, nodding and greeting the people she passed along the way. She wasn’t normally the type to be afraid, but she’d be a fool not to be a little apprehensive. That would help her to be cautious. If anyone suspected she was searching book rooms for a stolen item, she and her mother would be tossed out of Society before they could blink.
From a book she’d read on how to catch a thief she remembered that book rooms were usually laid out to the left of the entrance and at the back of the house. Since this home was larger than any other home she’d ever been in, that bit of information was useful. Furthermore, she also learned large homes had advantages, plenty of places to hide if ever necessary.
The corridor was dimly lit, but she strolled down the length of it with her arms and hands hanging calmly by her sides when what she wanted to do was tighten her fingers into a nervous fist. She must act as if she knew exactly where she was going so no one in this section of the house would have reason to question her.
At a junction in the corridors, sounds of voices and silverware clinking came from one direction, but it was quiet as a mouse down the other. After a few more moments of hesitation, she shored up her courage and headed away from the noise, carefully peeking into each room as she passed.
Halfway down the next corridor she stopped, thinking she’d heard someone behind her, but when she looked, the passageway was clear. The sounds of tinkling glassware couldn’t be heard either. All was quiet.
Truth to tell, she had little evidence to go on in her search, but she couldn’t let that stop her. Fortunately for her, because of unforeseen reasons, Mrs. Turner, the maid who had seen the suspected thief, had traveled to London with them. The odd vicar suddenly decided to turn off all who worked at the vicarage and hire new employees. He wouldn’t say why, but Ophelia assumed it had something to do with the sickness that had him so skittish. Feeling bad the staff were dismissed without real cause, she and her maman hired the three of them, even though their household funds were already stretched tight.
Mrs. Turner was positive the suspect had talked at length with Winston a week before his illness escalated so quickly and that he had taken the man into the storage room, presumably to look at the chalice. She had overheard the man telling Winston about religious artifacts he’d collected and kept on a shelf in his book room. The same way some people were obsessed with collecting rare books or paintings, Ophelia supposed. Because they could.
Mrs. Turner never got a good look at his face, but she was certain the man returned a day or two before Winston passed. That day as the man was leaving, she heard him call up to his driver, “ To my home in London! ” as he entered the carriage.
At the end of the corridor on the left, Ophelia found the master of the house’s book room in the approximate place the thief book has suggested it should be. Stepping inside the spacious area with its distinguished, masculine appeal and rows of shelving made her stomach feel hollow and jumpy about what she had to do. Her courage cooled. It didn’t feel right to look over someone’s possessions without their knowledge. But what else was she to do? Her aim was to not disturb anything but to accomplish what she came to do and leave without anyone knowing she’d been there.
She sucked in a deep breath, and in a quick sweeping glance, she took note of the beautifully carved wood casings and cornice boards throughout, an expensively made desk, dark-blue velvet draperies, and plush, overly stuffed leather wing chairs. But mostly, she looked at what had to be thousands of books covering three walls. She couldn’t imagine the purpose in having a countless number. No one could ever read that many even if they lived to a very old age.
A low-burning fire had warmed the room to a toasty temperature and lamps were lit. From the guide on catching a thief, she knew both were usually a signal that meant someone was due to come back soon. She should hurry.
She went immediately to the bookshelves hoping to find the one she had been told about. Her eyes scanned each shelf nippily and easily from top to bottom. Nothing but books arrayed these shelves. Tall books, little books, skinny ones, and short fat ones. Some with gold trim and fancy writing, others black with plain lettering. More than a few of the bound volumes looked brand-new and never opened, while others seemed old and worn. But to her appeal, they all seemed to have that call to adventure that seemed to say to Ophelia, Open me and see what’s inside.
Disappointed she didn’t find a shelf filled with relics on her first search, she looked more carefully at tables sitting around the room. All had pieces of what looked to be fine porcelains, silver bowls, vases, figurines, or other things on them. In one area there were tablets of marble carved with various Greek gods on them. She walked over and started examining the exquisite items more carefully and noticed a small silver goblet and picked it up for a closer look.
It appeared old and quite valuable, with the exquisite patterning of a tavern scene on the cup. Someone who collected pieces like this might have a fetish for religious objects too. She needed to look closer at the—
“Excuse me, miss,” came a challenging masculine voice from the doorway. “You must be lost.”
Sweet merciful heavens , Ophelia thought as a breathless wave of frightening surprise washed over her, and she froze.
She had known that there was a good possibility she would be caught on her very first attempt at doing something so blatantly wrong. And somehow that seemed unfair because of her reasonings for doing the deed. And not only that, but the familiarity of the man’s voice tingled pleasurably through her as she recognized who it was that had discovered her.
But the wonder was, would the duke remember hers?