“Aye, she’s yet among us,” he said, his reptilian mask falling away entirely. He doted on his mam. It was his one good quality. “I always thought she was royalty and deserved to be treated like such. She wears that tiara every evenin’ to take her tea, she does. But she’s gettin’ up there in years, and she reckons ’tis time to give it back. Attack of conscience, she calls it.”
“And you can’t simply return a tiara to a duke without confessing your crime,” Clare cut in.
“That would be the sticking point,” said Doyle, his gaze steady upon Hortense.
At once, she understood. “Impossible.”
“What is?” asked Clare.
“He wants—” She detected confirmation in Doyle’s eyes. “He wants me to switch the genuine tiara for the fake.”
“Eh, the Duke of Rothesbury wouldn’t stand a chance goin’ ’gainst the likes of ye.”
Clare’s eyebrows drew together. “Rothesbury?”
“Ye know him?” asked Doyle.
Clare gave his head a shake that would convince no one. He truly wasn’t very good at being anyone other than himself.
“You want me to switch the tiaras under the nose of this Duke of Rothesbury?” Hortense asked. It was best to be clear.
“Yer the only eel with fingers slip’ry ’nough to do it.”
“There is but one problem.”
“And what is that?”
“I do not have access to the Duke of Rothesbury.”
“Oh, pet, ye’ve always bin a clever girl. Always know the ins and outs of what ye put yer mind to.”
“One doesn’t simply sneak into a duke’s jewel vaults. It’s an impossible task.”
Clare cleared his throat, as if to remind them of his presence. “In three nights, there is a supper party.”
Doyle snorted. “I reckon yer lot has a dozen of those ev’ry night.”
“At Apsley House.”
Doyle whistled through his teeth, the sound high and reedy. “The Duke of Wellington’s house, eh? Well,la-ti-da. Wrong duke.”
Clare captured Hortense’s gaze. “I have an invitation to attend.”
“I’m not sure how it will help.”
“Rothesbury will be there,” Clare continued with a fervency she had difficulty understanding. “He and Wellington are long-standing friends.”
“Well, that’s just braggin’, innit?” Doyle laughed.
A terrible thought came to Hortense. “You’re not suggesting we rob a duke’s palace while he’s at Wellington’s supper?”
“It occurred to me, but no. In addition to his London residence, Rothesbury has a ducal estate in the country and a number of other properties. The tiara could be anywhere, if he even still has it.”
“Ye better pray he does,” said Doyle.
Clare refused to release Hortense’s gaze. “I have a different idea.” He hesitated. “You can attend Wellington’s supper with me.”
She shook her head. “I cannot. Dukes do not allow the likes of me into their midst unless there’s an exchange of services for coin, of one variety or another.” As distasteful as her words sounded, they were true.
