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“I suppose we need to ask them again.”
He issued orders for the driver to return to Eleanor’s house with haste before Eleanor opted for walking once more. He wouldn’t admit he had no inclination to release her hand nor cease being close by her side and remaining alone with her. At least not aloud.
Thankfully, the afternoon traffic had eased, and they made excellent time, ensuring he had far too long to enjoy her fingers entwined with his and the way she leaned into him for support. He’d never considered wanting to support a woman—his mistresses tended to be the independent sort. He wasn’t certain one could consider Eleanor the dependent type, however, but the desire to wrap himself about her and protect her from all the ills of the world still lingered.
Lord, what was happening to him?
Once they reached her father’s house, Eleanor practically flew from the carriage, alighting down the steps in a swift movement, then shoving open the wrought iron gate that surrounded the house and hastening down the long path to the door. She shoved it open and headed past a butler who appeared entirely unfazed by the crazed woman. It seemed Eleanor dashing about like a madwoman was a common occurrence. Oliver offered a quick greeting to the man before following after.
Catching up with Eleanor at the door to the library, she paused to glance briefly at him. “Thank you, Oliver,” she said softly.
“Thank you?”
“For your help.”
He lifted a shoulder and offered a tilted smile. “What else am I to do with my time?”
She inched open the door to reveal the duke at a green felted desk. Over a dozen books were open and spread across the surface. Hunched over one book, spectacles clasped in one hand and pressed to his eyes, the duke didn’t even acknowledge their presence.
“Papa.”
He blinked a few times, straightened in his chair, and gave a warm smile. With wild gray hair clinging to the sides of his head and a soft, full face, it was hard to believe the duke was one of the richest and most powerful men in England. “Ellie?”
“Ellie?” Oliver murmured. “I thought you did not like that name.”
“I like it well enough,” she admitted.
“Ah. Just not coming from me.”
“I do not mind it so much now.”
She didn’t allow him a smug response, instead drawing out a chair and sitting next to her father. Oliver remained standing and a few steps back.
“Papa, do you recall I was asking you about that seal that went missing?”
“Seal?” her father repeated. “No, I do not—”
“You were in the garden, reading Homer I believe. You said it was a pompous, archaic bore of a book.”
“Oh yes.” Her father nodded and stabbed a finger on an open page in another book. “And I stand by my comments.”
“Did you figure out what happened to it?” she pressed.
“Your brother likely took it. He’s constantly at my desk these days. Silly boy is always busy. No time to read or take part in intellectual conversations, unlike you, my dear Ellie. Have you fixed that clock yet?”
“Yes, Papa, several months ago, remember?” She nodded toward what Oliver assumed was the clock in question—a grandfather clock that occupied one corner of the library.
“Oh yes.” The duke peered at his daughter. “Did you need something?”
“About that missing seal,” she reminded him. “We need to know where it went.”
“Did you ask the servants?” Her father suggested. “Maybe someone took it by mistake.”
“We did,” Eleanor said.
“What about that new woman? The one who was interviewed. Why do you not ask her?”
“New woman?” Eleanor repeated, sending a glance Oliver’s way. He straightened a little. “I spoke to the housekeeper weeks ago and I would have known if she had interviewed anyone.”
