Page 19 of Love, the Duke
CHAPTER6
MAN’S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF
SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK
Never get caught between purpose and property.
Sighing her frustration, Ophelia placed her sketching pencil on the dining room table and stretched out her fingers and shoulders from hunching over the drawings. It had taken longer than she’d expected to turn Mrs. Turner’s remembrances into a semblance of a family crest. What she thought might take only an hour had turned into several. She glanced at the pile of sheets she’d discarded in an attempt to come up with the usable ones she had. In their disarray it looked like hundreds, but she was sure it wasn’t that many.
Ophelia didn’t have the finest of drawing skills, but she’d managed to draft four possible crests from details the maid was able to provide about the suit of armor, the birds, and the swirls that anchored each side like brackets. The problem was there were many different types of armor from different centuries and, as Mrs. Turner had said, many different birds looked alike too.
It wasn’t the maid’s fault she couldn’t remember more about the titled man or the crest that was on his carriage door. To her, all titled men looked the same, all birds had wings and beaks, and all armor looked alike. Ophelia hadto agree that at no more than a glance, the top of a pike could resemble the top of a stalk of wheat. But what else could she do right now but try to create a likeness of the crest?
She took a bracing breath, stood up, and looked at the shy, petite woman with a mobcap covering her hair and a bit of her thinning light-brown eyebrows too. The maid started to rise.
“No, Mrs. Turner. Stay where you are. I need you a little longer. Now that we’ve finished, I’m going to lay all four drawings in front of you so you can see them all at once. Close your eyes and relax. Focus. Remember what you saw that day and then look at the drawings. When you are sure, let me know which sketch most represents the one you recall seeing on the carriage door.”
“I’m not sure which one does,” she answered, rubbing her hands together slowly.
“There’s no reason for you to hurry,” Ophelia said patiently, though she was feeling far from it. “Just try.”
Mrs. Turner’s small eyes widened. “Like I told you, miss. They are all good to me.”
Ophelia tried to keep her smile from appearing as weary as she felt. “But they are all distinctive in small ways. Just take your time and study them in detail. I’m going to walk over to the window so I won’t disturb you by standing over your shoulder. It will give you time to concentrate.”
Mrs. Turner gave her an unsure nod. “I’ll do my best.”
Ophelia massaged the back of her neck as she made her way over to look out at the budding kitchen garden.
It was by chance she had the idea to sketch what the maid saw so they could both visualize it better. Once Mrs. Turner made her decision, all Ophelia had to do was get her hands on a volume ofDebrett’s Peerageand Baronetageto find the full coat of arms that best matched the crest. That should give her the family name of the man who’d entered the church to view the chalice and then later, she believed, returned to steal it. Once that was accomplished, she’d find a way to get into his house and show the Duke of Hurstbourne she hadn’t needed his help after all. In fact, she relished the thought of telling him.
How dare he insist she stop just because it was dangerous, difficult—and perhaps wrong—to search someone’s home without their knowledge. It wasn’t like she’d wanted to take anything that didn’t rightly belong to the church. Ophelia couldn’t give up her search no matter how much the deeply intriguing duke had urged her to do so, or how consuming the task became. That’s why she was in London. Every day brought her closer to the possibility someone would discover the chalice was missing.
It was true she’d never learned to maintain the piety level of composure that her father, mother, and brother had insisted was required of a man of the clothandhis family, but she had learned to temper her emotions and stay calm whenever she was with them. Most of the time. Certainly not when she was with the exasperating Duke of Hurstbourne. He had a way of bringing every one of her tamped-down emotions roaring to life. Good, bad, and decidedly feminine ones, which oddly she’d found invigorating.
Recalling that caused her to remember his charming smile as he’d made conversation with the young lady in the ballroom who kept fanning her face. Later he looked dashing in his evening attire when he folded his strong arms over his broad chest, emphasizing his splendid body as he protested her hint that the Duke of Wyatthaven might have an interest in religious relics. That had unquestionably displeased him. She didn’t mind. At least she knew exactly how he felt. She liked that he was loyal to his friends.
Along with all her feelings, she was dismayed too. Even more so because thoughts of the duke were always creeping into her mind at the oddest times. When she was trying to read or sleep. While she was drinking her warm, deliciously sweetened chocolate. Even now when she wanted to concentrate on something so important as finding the chalice, that man had become a hazard to her peace of mind.
Because of him, Ophelia had been gone so long from the ballroom last night, her mother was close to fainting when she returned. Roberta had worked herself into a dither fearing Ophelia had been caught and detained by a member of the household. They had left the party right away. Which was fine with Ophelia. She had no desire to stay and participate in the trappings of the marriage mart, but she had taken time to say goodbye to Georgina and Katherine while her mother waited for their wraps. The young ladies had been good to accept her so quickly into their lives.
Ophelia heard Mrs. Turner’s chair push away from the table and turned around.
“This is the one, miss,” the maid said with a broad smile and her finger pressed on top of one of the drawings. “This bird is most like the one I saw for sure. The bird, and pikeman’s armor looks the same too.”
“All right, good.” Ophelia looked at the one she pointed to, and her spirits lifted. It was the one Mrs. Turner seemed most comfortable with when she was describing the bird, breastplate, and helmet. “You’ve been a tremendous help.”
“Excuse me, miss.”
Ophelia turned to see the footman standing in the doorway of the dining room. “Yes, Mr. Mallord?”
He stepped farther into the room. “I thought I might see if you planned to use your carriage this afternoon. I could go ask the driver to have it ready for you so you wouldn’t have to wait.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mallord. That’s considerate of you, but I won’t be needing it. Maman is too tired from the party we attended last evening to do anything today.” Ophelia looked at Mrs. Turner. “And thank you too. You’ve been so helpful. I’ll let you both know if I need anything else.”
The footman looked down at the drawings and then up at Ophelia and smiled before walking away.
Ophelia picked up the pencil and drew a star in the corner of the sketch the maid chose. Not that she was likely to forget, but it seemed the prudent thing to do. She stacked the four sheets of thick parchment together, thinking she should keep every one for now. Even perhaps have Mrs. Turner have another look at them again in a few hours. For now, the best place for them would be a drawer in the secretary.
