A Duke Like No Other

by Valerie Bowman

  Nicole merely shrugged. “I’ve always greatly admired him.”

  “Yes, he mentioned his admiration of you too,” Mark drawled, focusing his attention back on his paper.

  “He remembers me?” Nicole’s smile remained plastered on her face. Her memories of Daffin were fond ones.

  “Of course he remembers you. It’s not as if he hires debutantes to run investigations for him every day.” Mark’s perturbed voice came from behind the paper.

  “Perhaps he should,” was Nicole’s laughter-tinged reply. Already she wanted to change the subject. She’d always liked and respected Daffin, but Mark sounded annoyed. She wished that meant he was jealous. Of course, nothing romantic had ever taken place between Daffin and herself. Their relationship had been strictly professional, if a bit unusual. But jealousy from Mark would mean he cared more about her than he obviously did. Whatever he didn’t like about the Daffin discussion, it would be best to talk about something else.

  She scratched her forehead. “How long do you think you can keep the secret of your familial relationship with the duke from Lord Tottenham?”

  The paper lowered to Mark’s lap. “It will be difficult, but I want to keep the secret at least until my uncle makes the official announcement.”

  Nicole tilted her head to the side. “For the heir, you mean?”

  He nodded.

  “But surely you must tell him before that? You cannot let it be a complete surprise to him.”

  Mark merely shrugged and lifted the paper again. “I intend to see how it goes.”

  Nicole traced her fingertip along the embroidered edge of her pelisse. “You’re still hoping for a miracle, aren’t you? Some way out of it?”

  “I have a few discreet questions in to colleagues at Whitehall. I’m certain there must be a way to quietly renounce the duchy.”

  Nicole nodded, trying to make sense of the thing in her head. She’d never known anyone who’d renounced a duchy, or any title for that matter. “If you don’t take it, who would get it? Mr. Cartwright?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.” Mark folded the paper and tossed it on the seat next to him. He glanced out the window at the rolling green landscape. “If only Regina could take it.”

  “Regina?” Nicole blinked rapidly. “She’s female.”

  Mark’s lips twitched. He met Nicole’s gaze. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “And she’s unmarried,” Nicole continued.

  Mark’s eyes temporarily narrowed on her. “How do you— Oh, that’s right, you said you two have kept in touch.”

  Nicole lifted her chin. “My mother also keeps me informed in her letters. About some people. The ones I like, and I’ve always liked Regina.”

  “What about Lady Harriet?” Mark asked, his lips twitching suspiciously.

  “Harriet is a dear and you know it,” Nicole replied.

  Regina’s grandmother, Lady Harriet, the duke’s aunt, was a flighty little bird of an old lady with a big heart and a bigger mouth. Her granddaughter was clever, with a sensible head on her shoulders, and had refused all marriage offers because she was convinced they were all from fortune hunters and men looking to increase their prestige in the ton by hitching their wagon to a duke’s niece. Regina and Mark actually had a great deal in common, only Regina hadn’t rejected her family and pretended not to be a part of it. At the age of twenty-nine, Regina was an outspoken, confirmed spinster and Nicole liked few people more.

  “Regina would be a sight better at being a duchess than I would a duke,” Mark said. “Blasted unfair rules granting all the rights to men.”

  “How very progressive of you,” Nicole said with a snort.

  “You know I’ve never been one to discount women.”

  Nicole’s stomach clenched. “Really? You could have fooled me. I recall you being none too pleased about my unconventional position with the runners.”

  Mark clenched his jaw. “I was none too pleased about your involvement with the runners because—”

  “Let’s not argue.” Nicole snapped her head to the side to glare out the window. Nothing good could come from this conversation. She uttered a small sigh. “We’re going to be in close quarters for several days in a row. I agree. Regina would make an excellent duchess. Though I also believe you’ll make a fine duke.” She tentatively met his gaze.

  “I’m not meant to be a duke.” His tone was strong and certain.

  Nicole pressed her lips together. “Sometimes life calls upon us to be the things we never thought we were meant to be.”

  Mark’s gaze caught and held hers again for a fraught moment.

  She shook her head and continued, “I still think you should find a way to tell Tottenham before your uncle does.”

  Mark nodded. “I will, but not right away. I need to find the perfect way to couch it. Not to mention explain why I’ve never revealed it before.”

  “Yes, that is sticky.”

  Mark picked up the paper again and unfolded it. “In the meantime, you and I must remain the image of the loving couple.”

  Nicole swallowed a lump that had formed in her dry throat. She needed to voice a thing she had been thinking for days. A thing that made her stomach churn. “You know, if you accept the marquisate, you might not need me. If Lord Tottenham knows you’re part of the illustrious Colchester family, it may help your candidacy.”

  “Nonsense.” Mark didn’t look up from the paper.

  “You and I both know that’s not nonsense.” She wanted to snatch the damn paper from his hands and toss it from the coach.

  Mark looked up at her. “Then it’s a damn good thing for you that the last thing I want to do is claim my heritage. Besides, you’re wrong. Your being with me will help. Tottenham wants a family man. I still need you, Nicole.” Their gazes met again.

  She took a deep breath. “I still need you too.”

  She said no more. Mark returned his attention to the paper, while their words lingered in the silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  When Colchester Manor came into view, Mark clenched his jaw. The huge estate was an undeniably magnificent property with expansive, sweeping lawns, parks of trees, and a meadow filled with wildflowers that overlooked a lake. The property went on for acres and acres and was one of the finest in the land. Mark had only been here twice as a child; both times, his mother had brought him without his father. His father had never been welcomed here.

  The place had always seemed ridiculous to Mark. Too big, too imposing, too opulent, too much of everything. It made him uncomfortable to see the eyes of his ancestors staring at him from the walls, forever captured in heavy oil paintings. He’d never felt at home here.

  His grandfather had peered down at him as if he were a bug, glaring at him with menacing dark eyes and a face rife with disapproval. The cook had been nice to him. She’d given him a biscuit and patted him on the head. That was his most pleasant memory here. The other memories were … less pleasant.

  The second time they’d visited, his mother had asked him to play upstairs in the old nursery while she spoke with her father. Mark was a lad of nearly eight and had grown easily bored, a condition that plagued him his entire life. He’d left the nursery and wandered about the enormous house, opening doors and peeping into the keyholes of locked rooms. He’d finally made his way to the ground floor, where he’d meandered around until he heard his mother’s voice coming from his grandfather’s study. Mark’s fingers were on the door handle and he was about to enter the room to ask his mother when they’d be leaving, when his grandfather’s angry words struck his ears.

  “He’s clearly half Italian,” Grandfather barked.

  “My husband is Italian, Father, or do you forget that too?” Mother’s voice was sharp and defensive, unlike Mark had ever heard it.

  “He’s not your husband,” Grandfather countered.

  “You’re mad. Of course he’s my husband. We’re married and I love him,” Mother retorted.

  “Bah. Love ha
s little to do with marriage.” Frustration sounded in his grandfather’s voice. “I will never know why you have failed to comprehend that.”

  “No, Father, love has everything to do with marriage.” His mother’s voice was still angry, but there was an undercurrent of determination that Mark would never forget. “Love is the most important part of marriage. I’ll never understand why you refuse to believe that.”

  “It’s not too late. You can seek a divorce. We can have the marriage annulled,” his grandfather countered. “Besides, you’re only married in the Catholic church. It’s not even a real marriage.”

  His mother’s shocked gasp frightened Mark. His fingers tightened involuntarily on the door handle.

  “It may not be your chosen religion,” Mother said, “but I assure you our marriage is quite real.”

  There was a sharp rap, as if his grandfather had slapped the top of the desk. “You’re not thinking about this logically, Mary. If you denounce your marriage, we can still fix this.”

  “I have an eight-year-old son, Father, or did you forget that?” His mother’s voice was tight.

  “You can keep him,” Grandfather replied. “We’ll send him off to Eton. He won’t be the first bastard to go there.”

  His mother’s gasp was sharper this time and a scraping sound made Mark think she’d stood from her seat. He pulled his hand from the door handle where it had been frozen and took a step back.

  “Bastard? How dare you? Mark is not a bastard and he never will be.” The rustle of her skirts swept closer to the door. “And if you refuse to accept my husband or my son, then I am no longer a part of this family.”

  “You don’t mean that,” his grandfather intoned.

  “Yes, I do. I’m leaving now and won’t be back.” The door handle turned. Mark held his breath.

  “If you leave here, you won’t be welcomed back.”

  “Good-bye, Father.”

  Mark scrambled away from the door. He ran down the corridor several yards to pretend he’d been examining an oil lamp on a nearby table.

  When his mother opened the door to the study and stepped into the corridor, there were tears shining in her blue eyes. “Come now, Mark,” she said, opening her arms to him. “We’re going home.”

  That had been the last time he’d seen his grandfather. The last time he’d been to this palatial estate. His grandfather hated him. The man had made no excuses for it. Mark had heard it with his own ears. He’d called him a bastard. His uncle might claim that his grandfather had softened in his old age. That he and his mother had reconciled. That all three of them had agreed Mark was worthy of the title of duke, should it come to that. But Mark knew he had no business as the Duke of Colchester. He was in this house in one capacity, that of an investigator. He was doing his job. He refused to allow the memories to haunt him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Nicole stared out the coach window and blinked, in awe of the splendor that was Colchester Manor. She’d heard stories about the estate but she’d never been here. It was even grander than what her imagination had conjured.

  Regina and her grandmother, Lady Harriet, stood on the front steps of the enormous Palladian manor house as Mark’s coach pulled to a stop in front of it. The two women hurried out to greet them.

  The coachman hopped down and lowered the steps. Mark opened the door and helped Nicole alight and then he jumped down behind her.

  “Mark and Nicole, I never thought I’d see the two of you again,” Lady Harriet exclaimed as she made her way toward them, hoisting up her black skirts. “Especially not together.” The old woman waved a black handkerchief in the air. It looked nothing so much as a bat circling her black-turbaned head.

  Nicole gave Mark an amused look. “Prepare yourself,” she whispered. Nicole had known Lady Harriett and Regina through Society functions after her debut.

  Lady Regina, also dressed in a black gown, reached them first and held out her arms to give Nicole a hug. Regina’s dark hair and blue eyes shone in the afternoon sunlight. “I must say I’d hoped for this day, but I never quite expected it.” She squeezed Nicole tightly then stood her at arm’s length, still grasping Nicole’s elbows, so they could see each other.

  Nicole’s gaze traveled fondly over her old friend’s features. Regina was even more gorgeous than Nicole remembered. The last ten years had only served to heighten her beauty. She looked a bit thin and tired, but no doubt that was due to the fact that her beloved cousin had just died.

  “Regina.” Nicole clasped the shorter woman’s hands and squeezed them. She couldn’t help the tears that sprang to her eyes. “It’s so lovely to see you.”

  Lady Harriet shook her head. “Isn’t it a pity that we should all meet again under such sad, sad circumstances?” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief before opening her arms to hug Nicole also.

  “Lady Harriet,” Nicole intoned, giving the older woman a kiss on her papery cheek. “After all these years.”

  “You could not be more gorgeous, my dear,” Lady Harriet said, reaching up to pat Nicole’s cheek.

  Mark cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. Neither lady hugged him. He was in full stone-man stance, his legs braced apart, his arms folded behind his back. If he was trying to keep his relatives at a distance, he was doing a fine job of it.

  Nicole shook her head. So that was how it was going to be for their stay here: Mark refusing to acknowledge his family and serving only as an impartial investigator, while pretending to be in love with his estranged wife. Such a normal family.

  Of course neither lady was a suspect in John’s murder. They’d both been here at Colchester Manor the night John died and a slew of servants had already verified that via letters, according to Oakleaf, who had researched the whereabouts of all the family members. Mark had told Nicole that neither Lady Harriet nor Regina had been informed of the foul play suspected in John’s death. Lady Harriet, because she wouldn’t be able to keep the news a secret, and Regina, because it would only upset her.

  “Cousin Mark,” Regina finally said, curtsying to him.

  “Lady Regina,” Mark intoned, bowing. “And Lady Harriet.” He offered a similar bow to his aunt.

  Regina smiled warmly at Mark. “I must say I never thought I’d see you set foot back at Colchester Manor.”

  “Believe me, neither did I,” Mark replied, his hands still firmly crossed behind his back. “You’re looking lovely as ever.”

  “Thank you,” Regina replied. “I hear you’re in the running for the Home Secretary position.”

  Mark narrowed his eyes on the petite woman. He glanced at Nicole, who shrugged and held up her palms.

  “How did you hear that?” he asked, returning his attention to his cousin.

  “I hear many things,” Regina replied, her blue eyes twinkling.

  “It’s not in the papers, is it?” Nicole asked.

  “Not yet,” Regina replied.

  “The Home Secretary?” Lady Harriet craned her neck to stare up at Mark. “Why in heaven’s name would you want that awful responsibility?”

  Mark bit his lip to hide his smile. “It’s a position I’ve aspired to for some time now, my lady.”

  “You young people and your ambition. Makes no sense to me.” Lady Harriet fanned herself with her handkerchief, then pointed toward the house. “Let’s all go inside and have some refreshments. You are the first to arrive.”

  Exactly how Mark had planned it, of course.

  The ladies ushered Nicole and Mark inside, across the vast marble-floored foyer, and into a light blue drawing room that was the most magnificent space Nicole had ever seen. It was at least twice as big as the drawing room at her family’s estate and was filled with priceless antiques, heavy rich carpets, and luxurious tapestries.

  “Please sit.” Lady Harriet took a seat on a delicate rosewood chair in the center of the room. She plucked at her dark skirts, her black-slippered feet barely grazing the rug-covered floor. Her turban sat haphazardly atop h
er head as if it might topple at any moment.

  Regina chose a Chippendale chair near her grandmother, which left Nicole and Mark to sit next to each other on the dark green settee across from the ladies. They left a conspicuous gap between their bodies when they sat.

  Regina and her grandmother shared a glance.

  “You must tell us all about how you two finally made it back together,” Lady Harriet said, the black handkerchief taking to the air again, like a bird to flight.

  Nicole cleared her throat. “I decided to return. I’ve missed England and … well, it was time.” She and Mark had talked about the potential pitfalls of this conversation during the long coach ride. They’d agreed that the less specific they were, the better.

  “I, for one, couldn’t be happier for you both,” Regina said. “I’m merely surprised. You never mentioned anything about it in your letters, Nicole.”

  Nicole glanced down at her slippers. “It was … rather a sudden decision.” She looked back up at Regina. “And you know how awful I am at keeping up with my correspondence.” Both things were true. Why did she feel so guilty for saying them?

  Regina smiled at Nicole. “I don’t blame you. It’s not my favorite pastime either.”

  “Yes, well, it’s high time you two reunited,” Lady Harriet interjected. “And none too soon.” She punctuated each word with a flap of her handkerchief. “You must get about the duty of making babies. Immediately.”

  “Grandmama!” Regina plunked her hand on her hip and eyed the old woman warily.

  “Don’t you Grandmama me, miss.” Lady Harriet crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her granddaughter. “It’s bad enough you’ve refused to marry and provide me with great-grandchildren. At least I can hope for a grandniece or- nephew from these two.” She waved the handkerchief in Nicole and Mark’s direction.

  “You’ve refused to marry, Regina?” Mark asked, cocking his head to the side. Nicole had to admire how smoothly he avoided more questions about his own life and lack of heirs.