How to Find a Duke in Ten Days

by Grace Burrowes

  “That is odd, Fordyce, for she seems to know you well. From London, she says.”

  “We must have been introduced, then, but I’m sorry, I don’t recall her.”

  “She knows about the Bibliomania Club.”

  “It’s not a secret.”

  She glanced up, and their eyes met. He was always taken aback by the ferocity of her gaze. “I have two lines of inquiry. Perhaps three.”

  “Very well.”

  “She says you frequently entertain in London.”

  He straightened a cuff, then shrugged. “I do.”

  “She says you are suffering from melancholy.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Are you melancholy? I wish you’d confided in me if you are.”

  “Not that I am aware.” His confusion increased.

  “Perhaps you do not notice. After Angus died, I did not know I remained in the grips of despair until long afterward when I saw the degrees of my mourning. I had Ned to comfort, you see. What mattered was him. Only now do I see I was not well at all, and that seems such an insidious state of affairs.”

  He lifted his hands. “I am happy. In the main. I don’t believe I am in a state of despair. Unless we do not find the Dukes, then I shall be.”

  She stared at him thoughtfully. “There is more to life than books.”

  He smiled. “No, there isn’t.”

  “I am serious, Daunt. For quite a long time after Angus died, I was despondent without realizing. Had you asked me, and I believe you did, I would have told you I was perfectly fine. I worry that you mourn your father more than you admit.”

  Daunt’s amusement faded, and he reached for her hand. “Oh, Magdalene.”

  “You are my friend. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t know how I would have survived those days, and now I am worried for you. Someone who knows you well believes you are melancholy.”

  “How well can she know me if I don’t recall her? But never mind that, you think I am melancholy?”

  “Not I, Daunt. Though I fear I may have been inattentive.”

  “You? Never. Very little escapes your notice.”

  “Mrs. Taylor said you are much changed. She is worried for your happiness. She says you told her you would not attend the ball tonight.” She pressed his hands.

  “I shall be there long enough to address the assembly. I’ve told dozens of people that.”

  “Stay longer, Daunt. See if it doesn’t lift your spirits. I can continue the work here while you surround yourself with friends and merriment.”

  “First, I do not require merriment.”

  “Is that the melancholy speaking?”

  “No. Second, if I attend, so ought you.”

  “You know I do not care for crowds.”

  He withdrew his hands from hers. Whatever this Mrs. Taylor had intended, her pronouncement of him as melancholy was pure nonsense. “Are you certain? For I tell you, you are much altered. You have been racked by grief.”

  “Don’t change the subject. The topic to hand is you enjoying this evening.”

  “I shall get immense joy from finding one of the Dukes.”

  “Go, Daunt.” She took his hands in hers, a state of affairs of which he approved. “Attend long enough to refresh your spirits.” She waved a hand, then reclaimed his. “From this dull work.”

  “The work is not dull.”

  Her mouth twitched. They’d spent long evenings discussing words and when one ought to use one over another. They were comfortable together. She knew him. He did not have to explain himself to her or moderate his opinions or remember to talk less about books rather than more. They were friends, yes, but he wanted more. “Tedious, then,” she said.

  “I have no desire to dance tonight.” He did not know how, or even if it was possible, to effect a change in their relationship without risking their friendship. But just now a future without the two of them as more than friends seemed bleak indeed. “Unless it’s with you.”

  She took in a breath and slowly let it out. “Don’t be difficult.”

  He froze. Half a dozen possibilities whirled through his head, but he discarded them all. She was a straightforward woman who would tell him outright if there was no hope. The problem, as he saw it, was that she did not at present think of him, or any other man, as a potential lover or husband. Until she did, until she’d had the opportunity to consider such a thing at all, any advance from him risked swift rejection.

  “She is very beautiful.”

  “Who is very beautiful? What is your point? Magdalene—” He cocked his head and lifted his hands palm out. “A moment. Have you somehow got the impression that I have some attachment to this Mrs. Taylor? A woman I cannot even recall?”

  “You are a man of considerable charm and good looks.”

  “Thank you.” He was Viscount Daunt now. Others were eager and even impatient to be introduced to him. Parents presented their daughters in hopes he would agree to a marriage. He declined all such suggestions. The only woman he wanted to marry was sitting before him, and she would not be convinced by arguments involving rank, wealth, or political connections. “However, I remain baffled as to the identity of this woman.”

  Her cheeks turned faintly pink. “I don’t want us to quarrel.”

  “We are not quarreling. But I submit to you that any man who declares his love based on a woman’s appearance alone has confused love for lust.”

  She had a habit of listening intently, without expression beyond one of deep thought. That was her expression now.

  He continued, rash, reckless, but frustrated that she was so eager to have him in love with someone else. “I know a great many beautiful women. She could be any of them.”

  “In all the time I’ve known you, you have never spoken about women you admire. Most gentlemen of your rank and position are married by eight and twenty. Is there truly no woman you wish to marry? I think you must forgive me for assuming the answer is yes, there is.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do go on.”

  “There is a woman whom you love, but you have not secured her because there are impediments.”

  “Such as?”

  “Most likely, a husband.”

  “That is certainly an impediment.” He met her gaze forthrightly. “I do not poach other men’s wives, however beautiful the woman might be. I can assure you I have never been the least tempted.”

  “Oh, that is a relief.” That was her way. She debated a point, conceded when necessary, and moved on. “We have now arrived at my next line of inquiry. I am pleased that you are not melancholy and that you are not enamored of Mrs. Taylor.”

  “Whoever she is.”

  “I believe she may be here because of the Dukes.”

  Daunt cocked his head and stayed silent for several long moments. Magdalene’s instincts and intellect were superior. If she suspected Mrs. Taylor of nefarious intent, that must be taken seriously. “What facts have you in support of that statement?”

  “She asked me about the Dukes and about Angus and asked if I had found De Terris Fabulosis among his effects. Ridiculous, I know. Hear me out. I have more to say. I believe it is possible she came here to disrupt your attempt to find the Dukes. She may be using the chaos of Accession Day to her advantage. I suspect she is here under false pretenses and with the express intent of stealing the Dukes.”

  He picked up his cognac, served just after dinner, and took a sip. “I concur,” he said with a grim smile. “She has certainly caused mischief.”

  “Either she is in love with you, or she means to steal the Dukes.”

  “Not both?”

  That got a smile from her. “It’s highly possible.”

  He was sorry now that he’d been so flippant. She’d taken him seriously. “What do you recommend we do? Shall I close the house and send everyone home?”

  “You can’t!”

  A brilliant idea occurred. He turned it over in his head, looking for flaws and found none.

  “What, my lord?” />
  “I propose that the two of us appear at the ball and see if anyone attempts to gain access to the library. If your suspicions are correct, the sooner we expose our mysterious Mrs. Taylor, the better.”

  Chapter Five

  ‡

  His heart thumped against his chest when Magdalene appeared in the doorway of the ballroom. The dancing was not due to start for several more minutes, and guests continued to stream in. He knew immediately that he’d asked too much of her.

  She stood tall and straight, looking as if she were marching to her death. Her lips were pressed together, her jaw was clenched, and she clutched her fan as if she believed she would soon be required to defend herself with it.

  She’d changed into a dark blue satin gown that could almost pass as a ballgown. Her shoulders were barer than he’d seen before, but compared to most formal evening gowns, her attire was markedly stark. There was no lace, no bows, just a ribbon underneath her bosom. There was a small ruffle at her sleeves.

  Half a dozen gentlemen approached the doorway from behind her, walking rapidly. One of them brushed her shoulder and turned to make his apologies. Magdalene looked at him with a glassy-eyed stare.

  “My dearest,” Daunt said, hurrying to close the distance between them. He took her arm and slipped between her and the other gentlemen, turning to them with a broad grin. Some of the most beautiful women in Britain had made their interest known to him, and, in his opinion, none of them compared to Magdalene. “Good evening, gentlemen. I hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”

  There were several “my lords” and other exclamations of assent as they hurried in with the swagger and over-confidence of young men intent on the delight of dancing.

  When the young gentlemen were past, she peered into the room, stuffed full of the local gentry from several parishes. “How many people do you think are here?”

  “Ten.”

  She replied without a trace of a smile. “My lord. There are at least two dozen.”

  “A dozen. Two dozen.” He guided her inside. They had agreed to make themselves seen, but Magdalene was obviously terrified. “Are you all right? You needn’t, you know.”

  She let out a breath. “I can do this,” she whispered. She relaxed considerably when he drew her to a quiet corner.

  “Do you see Mrs. Taylor?” he asked.

  “Lorenzo de’ Medici himself could be here without my noticing.”

  Daunt bent closer and lowered his voice. “I have news.”

  She turned her ear to him. “Go on.”

  “I made inquiries. Gomes says there’s no Mrs. Taylor at Vaincourt.”

  “Here at all, or not staying here?”

  “Not a guest at Vaincourt.”

  “Perhaps she has accommodations in Badding, or she’s a guest of someone else. This is most mysterious. She very much implied that she was a guest here.”

  “Naturally, I have posted additional guards around the library and outside the house. Should anyone gain access, they shall meet Gomes’s granite-eyed stare and iron nerve.” His butler, a servant he’d brought with him from London, was a former infantryman who brooked no nonsense from anyone.

  The orchestra struck up a preliminary note. Several young ladies hurried in and stood nearby with their heads together. He gestured. “Perhaps one of them shall meet one of the young gentlemen from earlier and fall in love.”

  She was at least partially diverted by the remark, for she managed a smile. “Stranger things have happened at a ball.”

  He straightened his coat and dusted off a shoulder. “This shall be the first time I’ve given the welcome speech,” he said.

  She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed. “Go,” she said. “I shall admire your oratory from here.”

  Daunt made his way to the center of the ballroom. Silence fell, and with one eye on the corner where Magdalene stood, he welcomed everyone to Vaincourt, and with that, he had officiated at his first Accession Day as Lord Daunt of Vaincourt. Pray God that next year Magdalene would be at his side as Lady Daunt.

  Rejoining her was the work of some minutes, but he made his way to her. She stood with her back pressed against the wall, quite pale. She’d crushed her fan; it dangled useless from her wrist.

  Without a word, he steered her out of the ballroom and did not stop walking until they were several feet along the corridor. He escorted her into an unoccupied parlor. He had elected to open the ball with a waltz, which could be faintly heard. He removed her destroyed fan and discarded it. “You look lovely tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I mean it.” He swept her into his arms, reckless, so reckless. “Dance with me?”

  “What on—” She more or less stumbled into his arms, laughing now that she wasn’t staring into the abyss of a ballroom full of people.

  “Have you waltzed before?” he asked, even though he’d already begun the steps. The waltz was a dance designed to make a couple intensely aware of each other. He already knew she found him handsome, but he hoped she would think of him as a potential life partner. If Magdalene thought of him as too young, well, perhaps a waltz would introduce her to the possibility that, at twenty-eight, he was most definitely not too young.

  He led her on a tight circuit of the room, avoiding chairs and tables. She was tall and bony, and to his discredit, he’d expected her to be awkward. But she wasn’t. “You’ve waltzed before?”

  “The duke saw to it I had lessons,” she said with a smug smile.

  “You learned the waltz?”

  “No, of course not. But one year, Angus came home from a trip to London where it happened that he’d learned, and he taught me. I’ve danced before at the smaller assemblies where I know most everyone.” He was intensely aware of her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

  “Do you like to dance?”

  “I do.” They adjusted to a mistimed section of the waltz with a hop and a bob to fill in the extra beats until the music was back in tempo.

  “It’s astonishing that in all the time I’ve known you, I was never at Plumwood when there was dancing.”

  “How strange that the subject never came up. Angus and I had parties with dancing afterward several times. One does what one can for the local youth. But when you came, why, that was a special occasion for books. Angus and I looked forward to your visits with such eagerness.”

  He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her in his arms with passionate intent, but despite their impromptu dance and their closeness now, she had given him not one sign that she would welcome such an advance from him.

  In the end, he didn’t dare.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  When he and Magdalene arrived at the library to resume their search for Dukes, the men posted outside reported that no one had approached. Inside, Gomes snapped to attention. “Milord.”

  “Anything?” Daunt asked.

  “Nothing, milord.”

  Daunt turned and gestured for Magdalene to enter. “You are dismissed. But there’s to be someone patrolling the corridors and this portion of the house.”

  “Very good, milord.”

  Five minutes later, he and Magdalene were back at work. An hour later, Daunt had to admit to an increasing sense of despair and urgency. They’d made hardly a dent in their search thus far.

  They had mutually devised a system for inspecting the books: assess whether a volume was too small to be one of the Dukes, and if not, remove the book in case pages or even whole quires of one of the Dukes were somehow concealed inside.

  The top shelves were the most work since they required a ladder, but once he was in rhythm, the work went reasonably well, if not as quickly as Magdalene’s. Lack of attention due to tedium was a risk. They both required frequent breaks to stretch or pace.

  Tedium was an ever-present and increasing issue, because the contents of his father’s library proved to be of little interest to a bibliophile with their particular interests. He only occasionally came across a volume
that merited further inspection at some time after they found the Dukes or else failed entirely.

  Too often while he worked, his thoughts wandered to that post-ballroom interlude with Magdalene. They’d danced, and he could not say whether that had advanced his cause with her or not. Should he have kissed her? Had he been wrong to dance with her at all? The evidence tended to the negative, for nothing in her behavior toward him had changed.

  The clock had just struck the half hour past eleven when Gomes announced himself again with a smart rap on the door. “Enter,” Daunt said.

  He and Magdalene turned to see Gomes come in with one of the footmen from Plumwood. Per instructions, one of the men outside reached in to immediately close the door.

  Magdalene descended the ladder she’d been standing on, her expression a mirror of his own alarm. Daunt turned one of the books perpendicular to the shelf to mark his place before he joined her.

  “Good heavens, not again?” she said.

  Every so often, rumors about Angus and his supposed possession of one of the Dukes heated up, and some fool attempted to gain entry to the house to locate and make off with the fabled volume.

  A rather shocking amount of the time, the would-be criminal proved to be a young gentleman who’d had too much to drink, but once or twice the attempt had been quite serious. The Plumwood staff was well-trained in protection and apprehension.

  While Angus was alive, these drunken escapades had been the subject of entertaining conversation after the fact. The perpetrators were inevitably intercepted well before reaching the rooms that housed his collection. Angus had had a set lecture for well-bred young men who’d put their brain on a temporarily liquid diet, but he’d had no compunctions about turning someone over to the authorities.

  The Plumwood servant bowed and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” she asked. Daunt rested his fingers on her shoulder, and she patted his hand. He did not like this, not at all. What if Magdalene had been alone in the house with no one to protect her?

  “No, ma’am,” the servant said. “Nor was anything taken. Young Jack heard a window break downstairs and went to investigate. The intruder didn’t get past the storeroom. We’ve boarded up the window.”