Page 47 of Love, the Duke
Trying to encourage herself, she answered, “We do have more help now, Maman.”
“Do we?” She rose and placed her cup on a nearby table. “What is it you’ve done that I don’t know about?”
“The Duke of Hurstbourne stopped by.”
She gave Ophelia a curious look. “When and why didn’t you tell me? How did I miss him?”
“Because it was just now when I was outside. He only stayed a moment—or two,” she fibbed with guilt shooting daggers into her chest for the untruth. “That is, he didn’t stay very long,” she amended, and hoped the correction was enough to assuage her guilt. “He saw me in the garden and decided to join me there rather than come inside.”
“Why would he do that?” she asked with a bit of a huff.
“Because he does what he wants, Maman.” At least that was the truth. “He likes to pick and choose which rules he follows.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s allowed, now that he is a duke.” She looked down at the sketches Ophelia was holding. “You’ve looked at those a hundred times, dear. They are not going to change, and they haven’t helped us, even though you did beautiful work in your renderings.”
Ophelia smiled a little sadly. Suddenly torn about her decision not to marry the duke. Was it possible his waywas best? “No, they haven’t, but on the other hand.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Thanks to the duke, I now have the book we’ve needed to compare these crests to names.”
Roberta’s eyes brightened. “Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage? He brought it to you?”
“Yes, Maman.” Her heart warmed just thinking about the duke’s kindness, even if it went against his will to help her. “So, I think you can forgive him for not taking the time to come inside to say a proper hello to you.”
“Indeed, I can. This is such wonderful news. I always knew he was a fine boy, and now it appears he is a finer man, even if his father wasn’t.”
Her mother’s comment sparked Ophelia’s interest. Hurst had mentioned his father wasn’t good with finances or the amount of drink he consumed and just today he referenced the sentiment again that his father wasn’t a good man. Wanting to know more about him, she asked, “What do you know about his papa, Maman?”
“Nothing really.” She pulled a lace-trimmed handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and lightly touched her forehead. “I never met him. I don’t think your father did either.”
“But you heard something?” Ophelia asked, wishing she’d been old enough to remember Hurst.
Her mother gave her a placating smile as she had so often when Ophelia was growing up. “Only that his father often left him with relatives for months at a time and longer. I’m not sure what the problem was, dear. I would never question anyone, and you know your father wouldn’t either. Not even a child. And he would never betray a confidence should anyone place trust in him.”
And neither would her mother. As was usually thecase, Ophelia was the only one in the family who wasn’t above reproach.
“Oh,” Roberta added. “I do remember Winston once saying that Drake had mentioned that he and his father didn’t get along, so it hadn’t mattered his father was weeks late in coming to get him.”
If Ophelia wanted to know more about the duke, she was going to have to ask Hurst. She had always sensed an innate pride and integrity in him and admired that and was drawn to it. And while she loved talking about her family, Hurst was reluctant to talk about his.
“I have no idea if Drake—I mean the duke—ever spoke with your father about anything personal. I do know the duke’s mother passed when he was a little boy and his father didn’t seem to take much interest in him. He was living with one of his mother’s relatives when we met him. But he was a fine young lad, with all the proper manners, so someone had taught him well.”
“I agree.” And then before Ophelia knew what she was going to say, she added, “He asked me to marry him.”
Her mother’s eyes and mouth went wide. “The duke?” Not waiting for an answer, Roberta rushed to Ophelia, almost knocking her over. “Is this the truth? Why didn’t you tell me when you first came in?” She grabbed Ophelia and kissed both her cheeks twice. “It’s terrible of you to keep such remarkable news from me while I prattle on about things of no consequence.”
“No. It doesn’t matter. I said no.”
Her mother’s hands stilled on Ophelia’s shoulders as she studied her daughter’s face with first curiosity, and then disbelief. “What do you mean? That can’t be true.” She continued smiling but not as broadly.
Ophelia nodded. “I can’t marry him.”
Taking her hands off her daughter’s shoulders, Roberta clasped them together on her chest and took a step back. “Bother and balderdash. You can too. It appears I’ve let you make the decisions for the two of us far too long. This one, my dear, is foolish, and I won’t let it stand. If he wants to marry you, it’s because he believes you are the one woman who can make him a better man and help him enjoy life.”
“It would be a marriage of convenience,” she admitted. “He needs an heir for the title and in return he will help search for the thief.”
“That’s perfect! Why not say yes? If it’s love you want, that will come if you allow it to blossom and flourish. We need him. You wanted his help when we came to London. Your refusal doesn’t make sense. Something must be wrong with you.” She put her palm to Ophelia’s forehead.
“I am not sick, Maman.”
“You have to be.” Concern etched lines around her forehead, eyes, and mouth.
