When a Duke Loves a Governess (Unlikely Duchesses #3) - Olivia Drake Page 0,38
Her search for the heraldry book would have to be done while he was out of the house. And the sooner the better.
* * *
As the schoolroom clock chimed midnight, Tessa headed down the servants’ staircase. Her candle cast a circle of light on a series of plain wooden steps more suited to a boardinghouse than a fine mansion. This utilitarian shaft was designed to keep the staff out of sight as much as possible.
She was grateful that it hid her illicit purpose, too.
Unlike her first night here when she’d intended to hunt for a proper piece of paper in order to forge that letter of recommendation, Tessa had made sure this time not to fall asleep. She had spent the past few hours sketching hats, the one activity guaranteed to keep her mind alert. Her fingers ached from gripping the pencil for so long, but she was quite pleased with several of her new designs, including one of lemon-yellow fluted silk that was adorned with a tasteful cluster of parrot feathers.
Upon reaching the ground floor, she stepped into a wide marble corridor. The flickering light from a wall sconce illuminated the portraits of ducal ancestors in old-fashioned costume. Tessa spared only a glance for those long-dead forebears; her sole concern was to avoid a living, breathing duke.
Discreet questioning of Lolly had yielded the news that His Grace had gone out this evening to a fancy ball. Gossip ran rampant below stairs that he would soon take a bride, and that it was a blessing he’d finally recovered from the terrible blow of his wife’s death in childbirth. Tessa knew it was unwise to wonder about his private life. Nevertheless, her wayward mind produced an image of Carlin surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful ladies. At this very moment, he might be flirting with the lucky one he’d chosen to court and wed.
A wistful yearning assailed her, but she stifled it. How absurd to long for a fashionable silk gown made by a seamstress instead of cheap cotton sewn by her own hands—or to imagine herself as Cinderella being whirled around the dance floor by a handsome duke. Having not been raised a lady, she didn’t know the proper steps and would only make a laughingstock of herself.
Real life was no fairy tale. She must focus her mind on identifying her noble father in order to procure a loan to open her shop.
Tessa glanced up and down the corridor. The servants were gone to bed except for a footman stationed out of sight by the front door to await the duke’s return. Fortunately, her destination lay here at the back of the mansion.
Turning a corner, she tiptoed through a doorway and into the duke’s study. This seemed the most logical place to look for a heraldry book. There must be hundreds of volumes on the floor-to-ceiling shelves.
As she glanced around, the feeble light of her candle barely pierced the vast darkness. The black lumps of furniture resembled crouching beasts. Prickles skittered down her spine as the eerie stillness frayed her nerves.
Tessa shook off her foolishness. There was nothing to fear. She would locate the book swiftly and sneak it back to her bedchamber before Carlin could discover her invasion of his private sanctum. With luck, she would return the tome in a few days before he even realized it was gone.
As she began a methodical search, the rows of leather-bound volumes behind the desk turned out to be not books at all but ledgers. The pages were filled with numbers and notations that gave evidence to the extent of the ducal properties. A gold inscription on each spine listed the years chronologically, going back well over a century.
A peculiar ache twisted in her as she returned one of the volumes to its proper place. How lucky Carlin was to possess such records of his heritage, along with the portraits of his ancestors. Tessa had no knowledge whatsoever of her blood connections. Even if she succeeded in finding her father, he would never publicly recognize a long-lost bastard. He’d likely grant her the loan just to get rid of her. She very much doubted he’d know anything of her mother’s people, either. Mama had been a mere servant, after all.
She combed the rest of the study, finding books on a smattering of topics from agriculture to economics. But there was nothing on heraldry or the aristocracy or even English history. In truth, it seemed a paltry collection for such a wealthy