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 isnota 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 abastard. 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.Sucha 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.
