Tottenham’s brow furrowed. “What purpose do you hope telling Mr. Cartwright ahead of time will serve?”
Mark turned his untouched brandy glass in his hand. “We want to gauge his reaction to the news… privately.”
“Ah, I see. That may well be the best course. Can’t wait to hear what the man says. Though it can’t be easy learning you’re not a future duke.” Tottenham laughed again and his belly shook.
“Agreed.” Mark hesitated. Now would be the perfect time to admit to Tottenham thathewas related to the family, but his pride kept his mouth closed. He refused to tell him before the man had made a decision about the Home Secretary position.
“Any decision yet as to who will be the next Home Secretary?” he asked instead. Might as well get right to it.
Tottenham nearly drained his glass. His belly wobbled more as he turned in his seat. “Ah, always thinking about business, aren’t you, Grimaldi? That’s why they call you the stone man, isn’t it?” He chuckled more. “I tell you what, find out who Coleford’s killer is before the naming of the heir and the position is yours.”
Mark blinked. “Truly?” It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Find the killer and receive the position? How many brandies had Lord Tottenham had today? Never mind. It didn’t matter. The man had said it and Mark intended to hold him to it. He needed to wrap up this investigation as quickly as possible. If he could identify the killer before the heir announcement, he’d be able to tell Tottenham ahead of time and get his promotion before the news of his impending title was revealed. That would be ideal as long as Tottenham didn’t become angry with him for keeping his relationship with the duke a secret. But Mark would worry about that when the time came. First thing was first. He needed to finish this investigation.
“Truly,” Tottenham replied, lifting his glass in the air. “Now get me some more brandy. This glass feels a bit light.”
***
Two hours later, Mark entered his uncle’s study again. His uncle had just left and Mr. Cartwright remained in the room alone. The younger man’s back was turned. He stared out the window at the meadow.
“I’ve spoken to the duke,” Mr. Cartwright said quietly, apparently sensing Mark’s presence.
“I see,” Mark replied. He couldn’t tell by Cartwright’s voice if he was angry. He sounded more resigned than anything.
Cartwright blew out a breath. “He wanted me to know before the announcement. He showed me the codicil. I’ll not take his place.”
“He’s quite sick,” Mark replied. “This has been difficult for him.”
“I know.” Cartwright turned slightly to look at Mark, who came to stand near the desk, closer to him. “Congratulations are in order for you, I suppose.”
Mark folded his arms behind his back and shook his head. “No. I wish my uncle no ill will and I certainly don’t want the title.”
“I find that difficult to believe.” Cartwright’s voice held a definite edge.
“I don’t expect you to understand.” Mark leaned a hip against the desk. “However, I do hope I can count on your discretion. We don’t want the truth spread about until the announcement on Wednesday.”
“You can count on my discretion,” Cartwright replied, his mouth setting in a resigned line.
“Thank you.” Mark mustered a perfunctory smile. “Now tell me. What do you remember about the night John died?”
Cartwright expelled another long breath. “Questioning me too?”
Mark crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes on the younger man. “We’re questioning everyone.”
Cartwright scrubbed a hand across his face. The lines near his eyes told the story of how weary he was. “Fine.” He moved away from the window and took a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. “To be honest, I thought the invitation odd. John and I were not close. In his note he explained that Lady Arabelle wanted to meet me.”
Mark furrowed his brow. Thatwasodd. “Lady Arabelle? Did he say why?”
“No. He gave no details, but I decided I should go andplay the part of the doting spare. Besides, I’ve always been curious to see the marquess’s town house.”
Mark inclined his head to the side. “And did you find it… to your liking?”
“Looked just like every other aristocrat’s lair,” Cartwright replied with a wry smile.
“Yet, you aspired to be one of them.” Mark studied the man’s face. Cartwright was gentry, but he was hardly aristocratic. Becoming a marquess would have been a huge step up in life for the man. Was he in the same room with a killer?
“One cannot help but dream,” Cartwright replied with yet another long sigh. He turned to face Mark head-on and looked him in the eye. “You think I killed him, don’t you? To gain the title? Seems a bit much, don’t you think?”
Mark held his gaze. “Who said he was murdered?”
