Page 14 of Love, the Duke
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 frustrated 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 ofhesitation, 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 approximateplace thethiefbook 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?
