Page 17 of Drawn to the Duke
And there was Selina’s difficulty. She did not have a sketch of the duke to give to her brother.
So, when she rose from the card table at the conclusion of a rubber of whist, saying she wished for an early night, she was not surprised that Edward followed her to the drawing-room door.
“I need that sketch, Selina. His Grace is asking for it.” There was the glint of desperation in his eye. “Where is it so I can see you have done something that won’t embarrass me?”
Selina bridled. Her work was far superior to Edward’s, and he knew it.
“When have I ever produced something inferior?” she asked. “I have a mind not to give it to you at all if you speak to me like that.” And with a toss of her head, she turned and swept from the room, uncaring whether their altercation might have been witnessed by others.
Back in her own chamber, she considered her prospects as she looked at the quick sketch she’d just done on the flyleaf of her book of poetry. She had managed what she felt was a fair likeness of the duke, purely from memory. But memory was fallible.
No, she needed to draw the duke when he was directly in front of her.
And all she had was tonight.
She contemplated going outside the hide in the dark and look through the drawing-room window, except that the shrubbery was ill suited, as was the window angle. She’d already dismissed this option the day before.
As she changed into her night rail, her mind swirled with her ever-decreasing options.
She glanced at the clock. Edward would be another couple of hours if she knew him. After a third brandy, it would be well after midnight before he stumbled into their room.
He’d not even miss her if she wasn’t in her own bed.
Because…
Selina now knew what she had to do.
If the only way to sketch the duke was when he was unaware, then the only option to do this was when he was in his bedchamber.
Asleep.
And the best way of accessing his bedchamber without him realizing his defenses had been breached was if she was already there.
She rose, drew her shawl about her, and, picking up her candle, went to the door.
But as she half opened it, she saw Mrs. Piggott in the corridor returning to her room.
Selina and Edward had been accommodated in a busy guest wing, replete with serving staff traipsing up and down the stairs with copper jugs of steaming water. And who knew when Lady Saunders was going to appear?
She thought quickly.
The best place to access His Grace’s room from the least likely place to be observed would be through his window, in the dark.
And there was a large climbable tree outside his window. Selina had noted this when returning from the conservatory.
A sound in the corridor by her room halted Selina in her tracks as she made her way to the window.
This was madness. What was she thinking?
And then she thought of having no drawing for Edward to present to His Grace in the morning.
The consequences were unthinkable.
He would be embarrassed. Publicly. Possibly ruined if word got about that he was unable to sketch a fair likeness. Commissions would dry up and then Edward, Anna and Selina would have nothing.
No, there was no alternative. Selina simply had to gain access to the duke’s room for literally five minutes so she could capture the quirks of His Grace’s face. It would have been better if he was not sleeping, so she could imbue the likeness with character.
But it would be better than nothing, she told herself as she opened the sash window of her chamber and contemplated how she might find her way safely to the ground.
