“I was jesting,” Nicole replied, nibbling on a bit of bread this time. “Secure your funding first. Women can be the future detectives. We’re more clever anyhow.”
Mark shook his head at her. He knew she was trying to bait him.
“I do think it’s a brilliant idea, Mark,” she said softly after she’d swallowed the bread. “Bow Street works on bounties. A paid police force will have the means to investigate a host of other crimes that go unheeded today.”
“Precisely,” Mark replied. “But it won’t be easy to convince Parliament.”
She gave him a tentative smile. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.” She glanced away. Why did those words seem so intimate?
“Thank you,” he replied, sounding pleased.
“If you need any help from a clever woman, don’t hesitate to ask.” She winked at him, restoring the light mood.
Mark’s smile was bright. “I’ll keep that in mind, my lady.”
***
Three days later, they arrived in London. They’d spent their time while traveling to Calais and on the packet to England discussing the particulars of the plan for the police force. Nicole had pointed out a few improvements on his ideas and he’d readily agreed with her. To her surprise, he asked her opinion on several details and seemed to listen intently to her answers, asking follow-up questions and nodding when she made a particularly salient point. The time passed quickly and pleasantly. After Nicole’s declaration at the inn, there had been nomore awkward moments spent wondering whether they would go to bed together. Mark slept in the hammock and Nicole took the bed. The one night they spent in an inn on their way between Dover and London, Mark had slept on a mattress bundle on the floor, clearly willing to allow her to make the choice as to when and if they’d spend the night together.
Nicole hadn’t asked after their accommodations here in London. When they’d been married before, they’d lived in a modest flat above a shop in Kingshead. That was what they could afford on the wages of a corporal. Mark had steadfastly refused any help from Nicole’s wealthy family to secure better lodgings and she’d been only too happy to agree with him. So, it was surprising when the coach they’d rented in Dover pulled to a stop in front of one of the finest town houses in Mayfair.
“Yours?” she asked, bewildered as she stared up at the grand four-story whitewashed stone building. The front door was lacquered in black and a large brass lion’s head knocker dominated the center of it.
“Ours,” he intoned, tilting his head to the side. “In case you’re wondering, I haven’t taken a shilling from my family.”
“I never thought it,” she replied, her tone still amazed as she stared up at the grand mansion.
Mark had certainly done well for himself. She’d always known he would, but to see this magnificent building and know he’d purchased it himself without any assistance from his family was impressive, indeed. She couldn’t wait to get inside and discover what sort of furnishings he’d chosen. It was a silly thought, but she couldn’t help herself.
The door was opened by a friendly, efficient-looking butler who introduced himself as Abbott. Nicole stepped inside and turned in a wide circle to take in the magnificent foyer. The home was even more impressive than she’d expected. Marble covered every bit of the floor and walls, with large columns of it holding up the grand staircase, which was also made of the stuff. The entry was sparsely but finely decorated in hues of whites and grays and blues. A Chippendale desk graced the foyer, solid gold candlesticks and a simple gold clock resting upon it. Nothing here was fussy. Just like Mark. No ormolu or knickknacks for him. It was pristinely clean and sparkling with a hint of lemon wax in the air.
She barely had time to hand Abbott her bonnet and pelisse before she found herself whisked up the sweeping staircase by a duo of giggling housemaids—Louise and Susanna, she soon discovered. The upstairs corridor was spare and neat as a pin too. A costly looking painting rested on one wall, but otherwise there were no adornments. While the maids bustled ahead, Nicole paused before the painting. It depicted a man facing away from the artist, looking across an empty field. Something about it made Nicole melancholy. She shook her head. She was just missing home. Cook and the butler. She sighed. The truth was, no one in France was her real family. She had more real family in this town (in this house) than she had spent time with in all her years in France. Which was why she wanted a baby.
Her heart ached at the thought of a soft warm bundle cuddled against her breast. She certainly wasn’t doing a good job of getting to it by refusing Mark her bed. It was his condition, though. That was it. She couldn’t hop backinto bed with him as if nothing had happened the last ten years. She needed time to get to know him. Remember him. Come to terms with the fact that they would be sharing such intimacies again. They didn’t even like each other. Let alone love each other. That was a great deal to contemplate.
She took a breath as the housemaids opened one of the doors and ushered her into a magnificent bedchamber.
“It’s been waiting for ye, Mrs. Grimaldi, all these years,” Louise said, a giggle escaping her lips. “The general asked us to keep it pristine for ye.”
“It’s been empty all these years?” Nicole couldn’t keep herself from asking before blushing for what must have been the dozenth time since Mark had reentered her life.
“Of course,” Susanna chimed in.
Nicole blinked.Thatwas surprising news. How long had he lived here? He’d kept up a room for a wife who until recently he’d had no intention of seeing again? Nicole briefly wondered what his mistresses thought of that. Or did he not show them this room? The thought of Mark’s lovers made her stomach twist in knots. On one hand, she desperately wanted to know, but on the other, much stronger hand, she couldn’t bear to hear it. It would make her ill. “Did he tell you I’d be coming back with him?” she asked the maids.
“Yes, madame.” They nodded vigorously. “That’s why we aired out the space and added the flowers.”
Nicole glanced over to see that the windows were both wide open to allow light and fresh air into the room. A huge vase of white roses sat on the silver table nextto the bed. She shook her head. Of course Mark had been confident enough when he left to tell his servants she’d be back with him. Did she expect anything different of him? The man’s middle name was arrogant.
She spun in a circle to take in the bedchamber. It was decorated in pale lavender, white, and silver. Her favorite colors, but he couldn’t possibly have known that, and they certainly hadn’t lived here the last time they’d been together. It had to be a coincidence. She couldn’t bring herself to ask the housemaids. They were probably already confused by the state of affairs between their master and mistress as it was. She didn’t want to contribute to any gossip below stairs.
The bed was raised on a dais, a four-poster dark cherry piece that was understated but obviously costly. It was precisely the type of bed she would pick for herself. In addition to a large silver-painted wooden wardrobe, and a cozy sitting area with two lavender-upholstered chairs and a small bookcase filled with books, the room also boasted a painting that looked suspiciously like a Lawrence and a gorgeous silver-painted dressing table with a small lavender tufted stool. Silver grooming items sat atop the table, including a hairbrush, a rouge pot, and a glass vial for perfume.
Mark had actually decorated this room for… her. They’d said a wife and that was her. She still couldn’t comprehend either the fact that it was hers, or the fact that it was so tastefully decorated. Had Mark planned to find her one day after all? No. That couldn’t be. It was unthinkable.
There was a knock at the door and the housemaidsscurried over to open it. Two footmen marched in with Nicole’s trunk, their arms straining with the weight.
“Over here, please.” She quickly guided them to a large space against the wall near the wardrobe. It would be more convenient for the maids to unpack it there.
