She owed him a great deal. So much, she could never repay him. But the thought of Vaincourt during Accession Day made her sick to her stomach. All the noise. The need to say good morning or good afternoon or whatever was appropriate to the time of day. It was all quite beyond her.
“Have your maid bring your things later.”
“Do you mean leave right now?”
“We’ll search until evening. I am obliged to make an appearance for dinner, raise a toast to everyone’s health. Then back to work.” He clapped his hands once. “Time is of the essence.”
She lapsed into silence. “Do you really believe one of the Dukes may be at Vaincourt?”
“Yes.” His gaze fixed on her, and she was a bit lightheaded as a result. “Someone has already attempted to interfere in my search of those books.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you all when we are there. Magdalene, I need your help. You are the only one I trust in this matter, and the only person able to tell immediately if we find a genuine Duke.”
Her stomach hurt, but she had no choice. Daunt needed her help. “Very well.”
Chapter Two
‡
From Plumwood, Vaincourt was a twenty-minute walk along a tree-lined road. They detoured to the cemetery where Angus was buried to pay their respects, so their journey took closer to an hour. On the way, she and Daunt chatted about books and their chances of finding even one the Dukes, let alone all four. She hardly thought at all about having to deal with strangers. With luck and some effort, she could avoid everyone but Daunt.
In what seemed no time at all, they arrived at the two stone pillars that marked the entrance to the estate, one topped by a stone falcon, the other by a bear. The doors of Vaincourt were another five-minute walk past groomed lawns and gardens, many, many times larger than Plumwood. The Accession Day crowds had already begun; people from the nearby villages strolled the grounds in every direction.
The house itself, which never failed to impress when she saw it, was a sprawling edifice of three stories with wings projecting north and south from the original building. They entered via a side door for which Daunt produced a key, and proceeded straight to the library.
The Vaincourt library was lozenge-shaped with two stories of shelves built into the walls and carved woodwork around and between. The geometrically spaced areas of wall were hung with paintings or smaller, daintier shelves of curious items. Three chandeliers provided sufficient light for those reading or perusing the contents. Desks, chairs, and sofas were arranged around the fireplaces at either end, and scattered in between were more places to sit and read.
She came to a stop about halfway in. “May I ask what in the great mysteries of the world you are doing?”
For some reason, he’d cleared out the entire bottom of one of the shelves and left the contents stacked precariously high on the floor. Magdalene reached the first stack of books on the floor and took a slow turn, soaking in the surroundings. Shelves and shelves of books. It was glorious. When she was done, she eyed the stacks of books on the floor. Daunt was no fool. If he was searching the shelves, it was because he had reason to, and that meant only one thing. “Oh. Oh dear.”
“Yes,” he said. “Exactly.”
Once again, she scanned the shelves.
“You begin to see the scale of the problem.” He let out an aggrieved sigh. “The books were to be left in the crates and were not.”
Indeed, she did see the problem. “They were shelved.”
“Randomly, from what I have been able to ascertain. I have located a few from the shipment. Thus far I see no pattern to how they were put away.” He gestured at the floor. “The head footman says he thought the man who gave the instructions traveled here with the wagons, but it could just as easily have been anyone. Someone else said it was a woman who countermanded me. Whatever the case, the workers were told to shelve the books, and they did so. If Gomes hadn’t been busy with Accession Day, this would never have happened.” Gomes was his butler, a former soldier whose bad humor and general unpleasantness had become stuff of legend.
“I presume you gave no such instructions.”
“I did not.”
“I don’t suppose the library catalogue was updated?”
“Of course not.”
Magdalene shook her head. There was no need to tell Daunt what he already knew; those instructions had been deliberate sabotage.
“Other than outright theft, one could not find a better way to delay my finding the Dukes than this.” He faced her, disconsolate. “The Dukes, if any were in that shipment, may already be gone. I am broken by the possibility, Magdalene. Broken.”
A horrible thought occurred to her. “Did this interloper gain access to the crates long enough to examine the contents?”
“If he came with the wagons, yes. If he arrived here under some pretense, perhaps not.”
“From whom did you obtain the books?”
“W. Stanley & Co.” W. Stanley & Co. was a leading purveyor and auctioneer of antiquities, including books. It was highly reputable. It was impossible that the company had been involved in such a scheme.
Like Daunt, she scanned the shelves once again. Their path was clear. “We have no choice but to proceed as if the Dukes are here.”
“Agreed.”
“We can but hope.” She dusted off her hands. “In the meantime, to work.”
Daunt brought over a chair and placed it by the desk. “I’ll bring you a stack.”
Magdalene cleared her throat. He had brought her here because she was known for her levelheadedness and meticulous planning. “A suggestion?”
“Please.” He sat, slumped, on another chair. His hair was mussed, and there was a lock of walnut hair curling over his forehead. “Apply every atom of brilliance you possess to my situation.”
She lifted a hand to prevent interruption. The library was huge, but their surroundings seemed intimate just now, with the farther reaches of the space in shadows. She felt a girl, again, finding herself close to a man she admired and who was far too attractive for mortal man. Delightful, delicious frissons of girlish hope and despair swirled through her. This would pass. It must. She shook off the sensation and applied herself to the task at hand.
“We divide the shelves between us. Complete that one, since you have begun there.” She gestured to include the panel of shelves he’d been working at. “I’ll begin with the adjoining one.” She pointed. “You that one. Etcetera.”
He nodded.
“Counting the shelves, thus.” She turned toward the door and pointed to the rightmost shelves. “Level one, section one, two, three, and so on. Level two, section one, etcetera, etcetera.”
“I have the evens, you the odds.”
“Agreed. We must also log our progress.” She stared at the shelves and then at the books Daunt had taken out.
“I recognize that look,” he said. “What is it?”
“From what Angus said, the Dukes are not terribly large. Ten by seven, roughly.” She indicated the size with her hands. “Angus told me about a rare manuscript he found hidden inside a butter churn. Another time, he found a quite valuable manuscript affixed to the back of a painting.”
“The MacAllan Register.”
“As you have realized already, we can presume nothing about the condition of any of the Dukes. They may be in their original glorious condition, or they may have been unbound and left that way, or bound as if it were some other book entirely.”
“Anything is possible. Anything.”
“The only assumption we can safely make is that it’s unlikely the Dukes are smaller.” She held up a finger, arrested by a truly horrifying thought. “Unless the pages have been cut.”
Daunt blanched. “There are collectors who are scoundrels, as you well know. They think nothing of lying or cheating to get what they want. Then there are those who do not know a rare book from their right foot.” He leaned against his chair. “The thought of someone comi
ng here and stealing a book, any book, sickens me.”
“I too.”
“The thought of someone cutting down—mutilating!—a work of art such as Liber Ducis de Scientia, it’s beyond understanding.”
Magdalene leaned over and squeezed his arm. “If the Dukes are here, we shall find them.”
“I do appreciate your enthusiasm.”
“I have one last suggestion.”
He rested a hand over his heart. “You’ve done your worst, suggesting the Dukes may have been damaged beyond repair. And for reasons that beggar understanding.”
“Every book within our prescribed parameters must be examined, but with luck, the signs of a recently handled book yet remain. Observe the dust, or whether it appears any volume has not been disturbed since it was placed there.”
“Yes, yes.”
She reached into the pocket of her frock and withdrew the memorandum and pencil she kept on hand at all times. “This, my lord, is why Angus insisted one must never be without a pocket memorandum and a pencil. Allow me.”
She sat at the nearest desk, far too aware of Daunt but in control of herself. She numbered the lines. “One through twenty-seven. Bottom floor. Twenty-eight through fifty, top floor, it being smaller.” Daunt braced one hand on the desktop to her right and leaned over. She ignored the fluttery sensation in her stomach and drew a narrow column to the right of the numbers. “Mark each row as we complete it. D for Daunt, C for Carter. Here we leave space for notes.”
“Why?”
“One never knows.” She wrote D/C over the narrow column and notes/remarks over the other column. “It is wise to document anomalies, anything peculiar, or simply a reminder of a task to be completed at another time.”
“I foresee only one problem,” he said.
“That is?”
“There is only one pocket memorandum between us.”
“I have additional memoranda. I shall make you one modeled after this pattern. This one shall be designated the master.” She walked to the nearest desk and rattled one of the drawers. “We require a suitable location in which to keep it. A drawer that securely locks would be ideal. Is there a key?”
He gave her an odd look, then joined her and extracted a tasseled key from the drawer she had rattled. “Behold.”
She placed the pencil and the notebook inside and closed the panel. He reached over and locked the drawer. “You’d best keep the key, my lord.”
“Very well.” He unfastened the tassel and affixed the key to his watch chain.
She tilted her chin to look at him, and she felt another of those peculiar tugs in the center of her chest. “If the Dukes are indeed in this library, they have been bound with some quotidian title that hides the true contents.”
He braced a hand on the mantel. “A History of the Dormouse in Southwest Dorchester Parish.”
“Parliamentary Debates 1778 to 1779.”
He laughed, and when he smiled like that, women must surely fall in love by the dozens. Angus had once remarked Daunt was a favorite of the ladies. She’d just nodded and not given it another thought.
“Dr. Maxwell’s Treatise on the Most Efficacious Methods of Sheep Shearing,” he added.
“All I know of that subject is a collie dog is required.” She was momentarily diverted by the possibilities. “I now have the most ridiculous image of a sheared collie.”
“Poor little dog.” Daunt straightened his coat and then his neckcloth. “Is it straight?”
“It’s only me here, Daunt. I don’t care if your neckcloth is crooked.”
“I do. Saints in the Time of Edward II.”
“It’s straight. I promise you.” Magdalene propped her chin on her palm. “If you come across that, be sure to set it aside for me.”
Daunt shook his head in mock dismay.
“Come now,” she said. “You’d do the same.”
“I would.” Daunt glanced at the pile of books he’d left on the floor. “We shall have to look at every blessed one.”
“To work, then,” she said.
Chapter Three
‡
At half past six, they broke off their search, not having found anything the least Duke-ish in nature. Magdalene logged their progress with Daunt pacing behind her. “Level one, section two, shelf five has a copy of the Principia I suspect may be an early edition.”
“Really?” He headed for the shelf in question. She remained far too aware of him. It made her feel a girl again, full of impossible hopes and dreams. He returned with the Newton, turning pages. “Hmm.”
“Here.” She handed him the memorandum, and he used the key fastened to his watch chain to lock it in the drawer.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m famished,” he said.
The idea of dining with fifty or more strangers was too much to contemplate. “A quiet meal in my room and some minutes to enjoy peace and quiet before returning to the search seem ideal to me.”
“But of course.” Daunt relayed the necessary instructions to a servant before taking up a lamp to escort her to her room. She easily kept pace with his long-legged stride. It was one of the advantages of being a tall woman.
Accession Day at Vaincourt was worse than she’d imagined and everything she’d dreaded. On their way, they passed a dozen splendidly dressed ladies and gentlemen heading downstairs to the dining room. One of the women was extraordinarily beautiful, with hair the color of gold and a gown of pale pink and blue. As far as Magdalene could tell, Daunt took no notice of her. Soon after that, they were obliged to dodge a giggling woman who emerged from a room and raced down the corridor, an equally elevated gentleman in pursuit.
Daunt drew her closer. “I promise you, there is no one where you are. There’s a back way to the library. I’ll show you after I’ve done my duty downstairs.”
“Thank you.”
They walked several more minutes, took another staircase up, then turned down a narrower corridor than the others. The sounds of revelry and laughter lessened considerably. Left, then left again, and then they reached a corridor that terminated with three steps up to a door painted dead black.
“Here we are!” Daunt opened the door wide enough to admit her.
“Oh,” she said when she entered. “What a charming room.”
“I did hope you’d like it.”
“I do. Exceedingly.” The southern wing of the house was distinctly Tudor, and her room was a pristine example of the period. Carved wainscot matched the oak squares on the ceiling. Where the walls were not covered with gorgeously carved wood, they were white plaster with a hint of lavender. The three sets of high diamond-paned windows arched and met in points at the top.
There was only one other door, which she presumed must lead to the bedchamber. On a side table by the windows was an enormous arrangement of fragrant roses, carnations, and wisteria.
“Later in the night, you’ll likely hear the owls. They nest in the trees outside your windows.” He pointed, though he stayed near the door. His hair was adorably mussed, and a hint of beard darkened his jaw. He wasn’t the eighteen-year-old boy she’d met after moving to Plumwood as Angus’s bride. Harry Fordyce was a viscount now, a man fully grown, and so perfectly beautiful it seemed unfair. Despite his elevation in rank, he remained as kind and thoughtful as ever, nothing like his father.
“That sounds lovely.”
“You are welcome to dine here if you would prefer, of course,” he said, “but we could dine in the library. I’ve given orders that the library is off-limits, so we shall be private. No Accession Day visitors, I promise you.”
“Perhaps I shall.”
“If you do join me and don’t go back the way we came, take those first stairs down, three rights, a left, a right, a right, and you’ll come out near the library. It’s a longer walk, but a more private one.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll have Gomes bring dinner for two. If you come, I shall be glad of it. If not, we’ll eat your dinner later.”
>
“Oh, so you want my dinner as well. I understand now.” His prodigious appetite was always a subject of amusement between them. “Dining in the library does seem the most efficient choice.” That was true, positively and absolutely. “Less work for the staff as well. They must be overwhelmed with all these visitors.”
Daunt nodded. “I’m to give my toast to the health of the populace at seven. Come to the library at, say, half past seven, and the food will be hot. Does that give you sufficient time?”
“Thank you, I believe it shall.”
He bowed and showed himself out.
Now that Daunt wasn’t here with his size and beauty taking up her ability to think properly, the room was quiet and soothing. She went to the windows and gazed out at the section of a lake with trees all about, just glimpsed through the trees closer to the house where the light was just hinting at dusk.
She wanted to be at Plumwood where everything was familiar and nothing happened to shake her out of her routine. Here, who knew what would happen? Daunt’s good intentions notwithstanding, she might encounter any number of strangers. If she did, it was a virtual certainty that she would say or do the wrong thing at some point.
She rested her hands on the sill and breathed slowly. She was familiar with Daunt. Comfortable. At ease. With him, she could be herself without fear. As long as she kept her new awareness of him under control, all would be well.
Her maid, Tilly, came in from the bedroom. “Did you have a pleasant stroll from Plumwood, ma’am?”
“We stopped at St. John’s for a while.” She left the window to bend over the flowers and breathe in the scent. St. John’s was the cemetery where Angus was buried. “I’m to dine downstairs with Daunt. In the library.”
How to Find a Duke in Ten Days Page 24