Page 2 of My Dearest Duke
Foolish, foolish, naive girl, she berated herself. Believing Owen wouldn’t discover her new hiding place—a faux book in the library.
It was as if he’d known precisely where to look.
That suspicion troubled her no small amount.
The brooch had been her first-and-twentieth birthday gift from Mama and was her most treasured possession. The unique piece of jewelry had been handed down from mother to eldest daughter for over a century. Each mother had shared the legend of the sapphire brooch with her daughter, too. And each woman had worn the treasured piece on their wedding day.
Vanessa allowed her eyelids to drift close as she recalled Mama’s kind, lyrical voice.
“Nessa, my darling. If an unwed man shows the brooch to a single woman and she asks to try it on at once, she’s a foolish choice for a bride. But, if she permits him to offer to let her try it on, then she’s a wise choice, and he should marry her.”
Vanessa scrunched her nose as she opened her eyes.
Shouldn’t it be the other way around since the women of the family had possession of the brooch?
It made no difference.
Vanessa didn’t believe in such stuff and nonsense.
Still, the brooch was a priceless family heirloom, and without a morsel of remorse, Owen had stolen her heritage. Truth be told, the dishonest cur had been stealing, first from his father and then from her family, for as long as she could recall. The blighter acted as if it was his due to help himself to whatever he wished whenever he wished.
She’d already contacted the constable and reported the other jewels stolen. Without compunction, she’d named Owen the suspected thief. The dratted, spindly investigator she’d met with had dared to chuckle at Vanessa, pooh-poohing her complaint. Treating her like an overwrought female in the midst of histrionics.
As if she’d ever resort to such theatrics.
All superfluous condescension, Mr. Wesley Dobkin had even ventured to inquire if she was positive she hadn’t misplaced the pretty baubles.
Baubles worth several hundred pounds.
Nonetheless, at Vanessa’s insistence, Mr. Dobkin had withdrawn a smallish, worn, black leather book from the pocket of his badly wrinkled coat, along with a stubby pencil in need of sharpening and had begun jotting down notes.
That had been three weeks ago. And not a confounded word yet as to his progress. In truth, Vanessa doubted Dobkin was even investigating Owen. Or perchance, Owen had bribed the man not to. It wasn’t above her stepbrother, and she’d learned very few people turned away a generous bribe.
Right and wrong, decency and corruption, integrity and immorality, seemed melded, transient things when one might gain a coin or two.
Vanessa was reasonably confident the twig of a man assigned to her case had only been humoring her, for he claimed she had no proof that Owen was the thief.
Proof!
Who else would have trespassed so brazenly?
A servant?
Until now, she’d have sworn her well-paid staff was loyal and devoted to her.
Of course they were.
Vanessa was positive.
Well, she had been until today.
No, Owen was the culprit. Some inner instinct shouted that truth. His past behavior all but condemned him.
He’d likely sold everything of value in the townhouse he’d inherited when his father had died five years ago. In all probability, if the whispers she’d heard were true, the scapegrace had also mortgaged the place to the hilt, which was why he wanted to take up residence with her, no doubt. Not only to avoid the debt collectors but because his property might very well be sold out from under him.
Resolve engulfed Vanessa, and she notched her chin up an inch. She might be alone in the world, but she wasn’t a helpless, hapless female in need of rescuing. Nor a bird-wit to be taken advantage of or exploited.
By God, she meant to see the brooch returned to her. When she once more had the jewel in her possession, she’d have Owen arrested for thievery. She mightn’t have aristocratic blood running through her veins as he did, but she was acquainted with and had found favor with several titled ladies and lords.
