“I cannot persuade the baroness to indulge in the crimson stripe,” Eurydice told Irene when she appeared. “Though I favor this silk of two hues of blue.”
Catherine could not even think of making an acquisition. It was upon her to win her father’s favor for this change in the scope of this project, and wondered how best it might be done.
Birchen rods. Did she dare to ask Rhys about that?
Damien DeVries, the Duke of Haynesdale, waited impatiently in his carriage outside the house of Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne. He had not seen the lady since she had set him on the trail of Jacques Desjardins, the jewel thief who had been deported and banned from Britain for a year. He knew he had done his duty but he was restless with the implications of his choice. His agitation grew with every passing moment that he and the magistrate—in his own carriage—awaited the return of Miss Ballantyne.
But there was naught for it. A criminal had to pay the price of his or her crimes. That was the law.
His leg ached, though, as if his old wound would protest the very idea of having any part in the persecution of Miss Ballantyne, a woman whose wit and humor had surprised Damien on more than one occasion, a woman who had given him the clue to apprehend the real thief.
Who had then implicated her.
If she had been attempting to rid herself of an accomplice, the scheme had not been planned well.
Damien suspected that Miss Ballantyne always planned well.
If that was true, then the search of her home would reveal nothing at all, and all would end well. Even that assurance did little to reassure Damien and he rubbed his aching thigh as he sat impatiently, waiting.
It was late afternoon when a hackney cab stopped in front of the magistrate’s carriage and the rain had finally stopped. Miss Ballantyne alighted from the cab, attired in green and black. She looked both delightfully feminine, to Damien’s view, and in dire need of the protection of a man like himself.
Save that he had been the one to bring the authorities to her door.
He descended from his own carriage as she halted before the magistrate. Something flickered in her glorious eyes, something that might have been trepidation, but it was gone before Damien could be certain of it. The magistrate explained the need to search her home and Damien knew he did not imagine that she paled slightly.
But she stood a little taller when she replied. “Of course. Your Grace, it is an unexpected pleasure to see you again. Shall I assume that you are involved with this expedition?”
He bowed, feeling like a lowly cur. “You may indeed, Miss Ballantyne. It was the evidence I gathered from Jacques Desjardins that brought the magistrate to your door.”
She definitely paled at that, but did not falter. “I see. Perhaps you would care for a cup of tea while this investigation is pursued. I find myself in rather great need of one.” She did not wait for his reply but led the way to her door, which was swept open by the older butler Damien recalled. That man hid his uncertainty well but not completely, but was as efficient as previously.
The magistrate and his men headed into the house with purpose.
By the time Miss Ballantyne had shed her gloves and jacket, proceeding into the front room, the butler appeared with a laden tray of tea. Damien smelled the fresh scones and his stomach responded with enthusiasm. He saw that Miss Ballantyne’s hand shook slightly as she offered him the cup of tea.
“You appear to be distressed, Miss Ballantyne,” Damien dared to say.
She flicked a glance his way, which he might have called poisonous if it had lasted longer than a heartbeat. As it was, he wondered whether he had imagined it, for it was banished so quickly. “You anticipated that I would welcome the arrival of a magistrate to search my home?”
“Perhaps you experience distress, as a result of guilt.”
The look she granted him at that was searing in its ferocity. “I fear only that my life has been stolen by a lie,” she said, biting off the words with vigor. “And worse, one that I should have anticipated.”
Damien was startled by the vigor of her claim. In that moment, he had absolutely no doubt of her innocence, but it was too late for such a realization.
The magistrate was at the door, a necklace of rubies carved in the shape of berries in his hand. “I must insist that you accompany me, Miss Ballantyne,” he said.
She looked at the gems and inhaled deeply. Damien was certain he heard her swear under her breath with an earthiness that made him blink. Then she stood and beckoned to her butler for her coat. “Of course,” she said, leaving the room and her house without a backward glance.
Damien put down his tea, convinced to his very marrow that he had erred in bringing the law to her home.
One way or the other, he had to set this matter to rights. His honor demanded no less.
In the end, Catherine had no opportunity to present her argument to her father, at least not with the book. She returned to Carruthers & Carruthers specifically to speak with him, only to find that the shop was as deluged with clients as Brisbane’s had been. Her younger sister, Patricia, was nigh overwhelmed, to the point that the youngest of the three sisters, Prudence, had joined Patricia behind the desk. Both were slender and blond like Catherine, and both adored books as much as Catherine did. Patricia, content that she would remain unwed now that she had reached twenty-one years of age, had a tendency to sound knowing. The family jest remained that Prudence was not. The youngest sister was eighteen and flitted from one fascination to another with dizzying speed. As Catherine had helped in the shop for years before her marriage, she took a place behind the great circular counter, as well.
By the time the crowd had thinned and it became clear that her father was in no mood for a discussion, Catherine was more than ready to return home to Rhys and dinner. She could not find Esmeralda’s book, however. She had removed it from her satchel while approaching the shop, steeling her confidence to address her father, then placed both satchel and book beneath the counter on the back side. Now, only her satchel was there.
“Whatever happened to the book?” she demanded of Patience.
