Stolen by the Ruthless Duke (Stolen by the Duke #2)

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

T o the Duchess of Stormcliff,

I am writing with the unfortunate news that we have not yet found the young woman you are searching for. We are still looking and we still have several leads to follow. Please continue to wait for our word .

Ophelia folded the note she had received from the steward she had sent to search for Bridget. She had rested fitfully every night, unable to stop thinking about her friend, Lucy and her father, and Maxwell boxing from such a young age and being taught anger instead of compassion.

Her mind turned it all over until sleep became more elusive each night.

“Are you not enjoying your book, Your Grace?” Lucy asked her as she sat across from her one late morning. The library was awash with sunlight, warming the room up.

“We are friends, Lucy,” Ophelia told her. “I asked you to call me Ophelia.”

“Oh yes, pardon me. I suppose we are family now.” Lucy smiled softly, looking at her.

It was now quite routine for them to find one another throughout the day and spend some hours embroidering together, reading, or composing the duet Lucy insisted on so they could perform it to Maxwell when it was finished.

“I suppose we are,” Ophelia agreed. “And my book is wonderful. I am reading poetry about the transition from winter to spring. It is quite hopeful, actually.”

“That sounds lovely,” Lucy said. “I am reading about the travels of a famous architect. It is purely fictional, but the tale itself is very charming.”

“Perhaps we should switch later on.”

Ophelia slipped her note onto the back page of her book. Although she wasn’t opposed to speaking about Bridget, she didn’t yet know how to express her urgency without revealing Bridget’s condition. Her heart sank at the lack of news, and her worry grew.

Perhaps she has found a new job. A kindly older gentleman who does not care for her current state and needs help regardless. Perhaps a dowager who needs a lady’s maid and could help with the child.

Her hope rose, but she tried to tamp it down. She could not live off false hope.

Suddenly, she heard the scuff of boots as they approached the library, and she looked up in time to see Maxwell enter.

His hair was combed back today, tucked behind his ears, as if he had been in his study and merely ran his hand through it several times.

A shiver went through her as she remembered running her fingers through that dark hair, how thick and soft it had felt as she pulled him closer, the way he groaned against her lips. Her pulse quickened at the memory of his mouth on hers, the warmth of his hand on her waist, the delicious weight of him pressed against her.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she forced herself to look away in an effort to control her unruly thoughts. But it was no use—the memory of his touch lingered, vivid and electrifying.

“Hello, Cousin,” Lucy greeted without looking up from her book. “Please wait until I have finished my chapter to speak. Is that not what you always told me when I used to barge into your study?”

“Yes, yes,” he muttered impatiently. “But I am here for the Duchess, Lucy, so do keep reading if you wish.”

Ophelia raised her gaze to his at the mention of her title. After days of avoiding her, he seemed hard-pressed to speak with her now.

“Yes?”

Why did she feel so hopeful at his attention?

“We have been invited to a ball that will be hosted by one of my business associates,” he told her. “We must attend together. I have yet to introduce you at a social event.”

Ophelia stiffened. She did not wish to be alone with her husband, not since their kiss—despite the fact that she could not stop thinking about it—and she immediately sought Lucy out.

“You must come with us.”

“No,” Maxwell said before Lucy could answer. “No, it will be too overwhelming for her.”

“Do not speak of me as if I am not here,” Lucy argued.

“I insist, you must join us,” Ophelia said, looking at her hopefully.

She hoped her eyes conveyed the desperation she could not voice.

“I think it will be fun! Besides, I shall stay by your side, and should anything become too much, we shall take a turn around the garden.”

“Duchess,” Maxwell said sternly, “let my cousin make her own decision.”

“Actually, I agree.”

Lucy’s agreement surprised the Duke. He blinked, cocking his head. “You do?”

Lucy lifted her shoulders in a hesitant agreement. “I… I suppose I must face the ton again. At least I will have you both by my side this way.”

Maxwell frowned for a moment. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Lucy nodded. “Yes. I’ll be fine, Cousin. It’ll be good for me.”

Only after her reassurance did the Duke’s face soften.

“Then it is settled,” he said in his usual matter-of-fact tone. “We shall attend together. It is in four days. I will have you both fitted for new gowns.”

He looked at Ophelia for a long moment before striding out of the room.

In a new gown of shimmering emerald green, Ophelia stood beside Lucy as they waited to be announced.

Seeing how quiet Lucy had grown during the carriage ride to their host’s house, how her expression had grown cold and fearful, Ophelia almost felt guilty for insisting that she join, but there was no turning back now.

She gripped Lucy’s hand tightly for a moment.

“His Grace, the Duke of Stormcliff, Her Grace, the Duchess of Stormcliff, and Lady Lucy Harding,” the master of ceremonies boomed, his voice echoing through the ballroom.

Ophelia felt both excited and nervous as she let go of Lucy’s hand and the two of them stepped through the doorway, onto a grand staircase.

All eyes turned to her—the new Duchess. But they then slid to Lucy, the daughter of the late Duke.

Ophelia had often been a spectacle at balls, courtesy of Lady Kirkland’s penchant for making a scene, but now she did not care who looked at her. She only had eyes for the Duke, whose gaze was fixed on her intently. His eyes tracked her as she descended the staircase, and she felt her heart pounding in her chest.

He wore a matching deep green jacket, his waistcoat giving a nod to his usual darker color preference. He was handsome and broad, and she felt the weight of his admiration as she moved closer to him.

Behind her, Lucy was tense, and she paused.

“Keep your chin up,” she murmured. “Do not let them see your fear.”

Lucy nodded, though her shoulders had not quite straightened yet.

Maxwell approached them, taking Ophelia’s hand.

“You both look beautiful tonight.”

Although he spoke to them both, he did not look away from Ophelia as he guided them deeper into the ballroom, bypassing onlookers and other members of the ton who had traveled for the ball.

“Forgive me, but I must greet my business associate,” he said moments later. “I will be here should either of you need anything.”

He gave Lucy a long look before disappearing into the crowd.

The music played smoothly, and Ophelia noticed Lucy was more interested in the orchestra than anything else.

“Do you wish to dance tonight?” she asked, glancing around to see if she recognized anybody.

There were a few faces that were familiar.

“I do not think anybody will ask me,” Lucy said, keeping her attention on the musicians. “If they do, I’d be surprised. Nobody will wish to dance with the daughter of the late Duke of Stormcliff.”

At the mention of her father, Ophelia noticed that Lucy clenched her hand.

“You do not know for sure,” she said optimistically. “You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Lucy huffed out a soft laugh. “I feel quite certain.”

“Then we shall stay side-by-side, as I promised you. For I shall not dance tonight.”

“Not even with my cousin?”

“Especially not with him,” Ophelia said.

Still, she knew she would have to dance with Maxwell at some point for appearances’ sake. After all, it had been her who insisted that they attend the village celebration together all that time ago in order to maintain a semblance of a union.

As she looked around, she noticed how the gentlemen gravitated towards the Duke, who stood with a gray-haired man, holding a glass of wine. He still did not smile, as she was used to, but there was something more relaxed about his posture, as if he was in his element.

As the light caught his eyes, she could not look away, not until the sound of someone delicately clearing their throat caught her attention.

Lucy’s voice cut through her haze, and Ophelia noticed that a young woman had approached them.

“Miss Crowley,” Lucy greeted. “It has been some time. How are you faring?”

“I am well, Lady Lucy,” Miss Crowley said, her smile too bright for Ophelia’s liking.

Miss Crowley reminded her of Lady Kirkland—quite painfully false, too perfectly pleasant-looking.

“But I must ask how you are,” Miss Crowley continued.

“I am well,” Lucy answered, not really looking at the woman. “Miss Crowley, may I introduce you to the Duchess of Stormcliff? My cousin’s wife.”

“Your Grace,” Miss Crowley greeted, curtsying. “I have heard so much of you.”

Ophelia inclined her head in acknowledgment.

“And Lucy,” Miss Crowley continued, her tone turning syrupy, “I am surprised that you returned, after all that happened. But perhaps you don’t mind the talk—or perhaps you’re simply used to it by now. They say the sins of a father can haunt the children, don’t they?”

Ophelia’s eyes widened at the lady’s comment. A flicker of pain crossed Lucy’s face, though she kept her gaze steady.

Ophelia’s patience, however, had frayed.

“Miss Crowley, I think that’s—” she began, but Miss Crowley cut her off as though she hadn’t even heard her.

“You see, Your Grace, Lady Lucy and I were friends. However, she withdrew from Society. I do not blame her, what with everything she went through. It is hard with everybody knowing you are a duke’s daughter, and everybody knowing exactly what that duke was capable of. Terrible business. I do not blame you, Lucy, if you could not handle what the ton had to say in response. Only, I think it was cowardly. Your family caused quite a stir. Surely you agree?”

“Miss Crowley, I think that’s quite enough ,” Ophelia said firmly.

Anger rose within her, along with a sadness that tinged her happiness at being at the ball. She had grown fond of Lucy over the last week and did not wish to see her belittled in such a way.

“In fact, I believe you are the opposite. A friend would not have done what you did and left her in her time of need. And a friend certainly would not gossip right in front of her,” Ophelia continued before Miss Crowley could interrupt her again. She kept her voice low to avoid causing a scene but firm enough to prove her point to the rude lady.

“Lady Lucy has fought tremendous battles to be here today at this ball, and you would do well to commend her for her strength,” she added. “The only cowardly person here is you, as you hide behind insults because you cannot say what you truly think. But I invite you to be brave enough to say what you think in front of the Duke. Perhaps we should see what His Grace thinks.”

Miss Crowley’s face paled, and Ophelia gave her a cold smile. “Indeed, that is what I thought.”

She looped her arm through Lucy’s and tugged her away from the lady.

“You did not have to do that,” Lucy whispered. “She is right, unfortunately. I was cowardly?—”

“You are not what they think of you,” Ophelia told her, drawing her close to the edge of the room. “I myself have been in such a position.” She thought of the public humiliation following her first ruined wedding. “The best thing you can do is to let them know they have not won. Whether that is through silence or returning the insult is your choice. But you are stronger than what you give yourself credit for, Lucy.”

“You truly think so?”

Ophelia gave her a smile. “Oh, I know so.”

“Thank you.”

“It is my honor.”

Lucy watched as dancers stepped off the floor, and the orchestra began to play a waltz. “You know, I have always wanted to be part of an orchestra like this. Maxwell would likely encourage me to pursue such a thing if he knew, but I have not yet told him. For years, I did not want to so he would not be alone in the castle, but… perhaps now it is something I may dream about a little harder.” She watched the musicians with envy as she spoke.

Ophelia nodded. “I would ask the Duke to take me to watch your concerns each night.”

Lucy laughed quietly. “I am sure he would oblige.”

“What would I oblige?” The Duke’s voice cut through their conversation.

“I shall tell you later,” Lucy said, waving him off.

“Very well.” He looked at Ophelia expectantly. “May I have this dance, Duchess?”

“I can’t leave Lucy alone,” she said, glancing at Lucy, who cringed.

Was it the thought of being alone? Ophelia did not wish to leave her in solitude.

“You must,” Lucy insisted. “I will be quite all right.”

“I do insist,” Maxwell said quietly.

“You did not wish to speak with me for days,” Ophelia countered. “Do you really get to insist on anything?”

His eyes roamed over her. “Tonight, I do, yes.”

She was stopped from answering by the approaching figure of the Viscount Rowe, who held out a hand to Lucy.

“Little Lucy Harding,” he drawled. “It has been some time since I have had the honor of witnessing your beauty. Will you dance with me?”

Lucy met Ophelia’s gaze, and Ophelia nodded encouragingly.

Lucy paused before accepting the Viscount’s hand, no doubt imagining what it would be like to be on the dance floor, watched by so many.

“Yes, but only because you are my cousin’s friend, My Lord,” she told Frederick. “And please, do not call me ‘little’ again. I only do not protest because I like you.”

“Allow me to lead you,” he said, smiling brightly. “And please, call me Freddie.”

“I shall call you Frederick,” she insisted.

The two left for the dance floor, with Lucy visibly more at ease than moments ago.

Ophelia watched them before turning back to her husband.

“Well, Duchess?” He raised an eyebrow.

Without another word, she slipped her hand into his and let herself be led to the dance floor.