He would be wise to stop thinking of her, and yet when he walked anywhere through the residence, he saw her there, scouring through nooks, crannies, and drawers. He even imagined, in spite of all the dusting and polishing that had been done, that he could still smell her fragrance from time to time wafting about him. She haunted this residence, haunted him. If only he’d had a chance to say goodbye...
It would have made no difference. He still would miss her.
He took the soldier from his pocket and studied it. It was such an odd thing for his father to hide away in a cubby. If something ridiculous likethe toy had been placed in Podmore’s hidey-hole, she might have been on her way out the door before Marcus entered the room. She wouldn’t have been standing there taking photographs, and he never would have received that first kiss. But Podmore’s hidden compartment had been used as it was meant to be and so something believed to be of significance had been found. The duke had not been so wise—
“Christ. Maybe he wasn’t hiding you away. You were a message.” After setting his glass on the mantel, he dashed across the room, nearly ramming into his butler, who was leading his guests into the library. “Make yourselves at home. Pour them a drink, Smithers. I won’t be long.”
“Marcus!” Althea called after him, but he didn’t respond.
He merely raced down the hall and up the stairs to his bedchamber. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to use the master’s bedchamber but still slept in the one he’d occupied since he was a boy. Hanging on the wall was a wooden rectangle inside which was a series of cubbies. Each had provided a home for his soldiers when he wasn’t playing with them. He’d been meticulous about keeping them properly aligned, never leaving them out. He always put them away. To make it easier for him, the box came off the wall and could easily be hung back on it. Even after he no longer had the soldiers, he’d kept it on the wall as a symbol and reminder of what his father had taken from him.
He lifted it off the nails and turned it over. The edge of a folded note had been tucked up into the corner, so it was held in place. He pulled it free, set aside the box, and with trembling hands carefully unfolded the foolscap.
Marcus, my boy, some years back I gambled away an entire fortune and was in dire need of funds. I borrowed from my old friend—a fellow named Oglethorpe. We’d gone to Cambridge together. He told me not to worry. Some day he would collect what was owed. I managed to get our coffers back to rights. I had the funds to pay him, but he wanted a favor instead. He would tell me when the debt came due. Eventually it did. To make a lady believe I wanted to kill the Queen and to convince others she was my mistress. He has shown me the evil men can do and left me no choice but to honor his demands in order to protect my family from that evil. I have made a deal with Lucifer and I fear no good will come of it.
Regretfully,
Father
“Marcus?”
Glancing over at Griff, he extended the foolscap toward him, watched as his brother took it and then read it.
“Jesus,” Griff muttered before lifting his gaze. “He was innocent?”
“It appears so. I know Oglethorpe threatened to have me killed if Father gave him away after he was arrested. He may have confessed, hoping to save his family.”
Tears welled in Griff’s eyes. “He wasn’t that good of a father.”
“Esme once told me that the Home Office takes care of a lot of dangers about which we never hear anything. Perhaps the same is true of parents.”
Griff turned his back on him, his shoulders rising as he inhaled a deep breath, striving to regain control of his emotions. His hand came up and Marcus assumed he was dispatching the dampness in his eyes. When he spun back around, his jaw was set. “I wish they’d hanged the bastard.”
Oglethorpe had been found guilty of attempting to murder the Queen, but he had also been declared insane and sent to an asylum where he would live out his remaining days.
“I’ll take the letter to the Home Office, see if there’s anything that can be done to set the record straight. At the very least, it needs to be chronicled in the family records, so our descendants know the truth.”
“No wonder he would get livid when I gambled. It feels odd to think we may have shared something in common.”
“Perhaps you’ll take pity on firstborn sons now and let them into your club.”
“Never.”
Marcus took back the letter. “We should let Althea know. And your spouses. Strange, I suddenly feel as though a heavy burden has been lifted.”
“Do you think Mother knew? I hate knowing that she may have died thinking the worst of him.”
“I hate all of it.” Except for the tiny soldier. The one his father, for some unknown reason, had kept through the years after tossing out all the others. The one he’d stored in a hidden cubby in his desk, perhaps out of fear that if he placed the letter there, Oglethorpe would find it and destroy it. The tiny soldier that a lady with a knack for discovering secrets had found. However, she hadn’t known enough about the duke or his heir to unearth what it meant. But then neither had he. Maybe if he hadn’t been consumed by rage, if he’d only thought it through—
He knew his answer wasn’t what his brother needed to hear. “I hope she knew the truth, although I don’t know if it would have made anything easier for her.”
“You’re probably right.” Griff pointed toward the letter. “You’ll want to share that with Esme as well.”
Carefully refolding the missive, he slipped it inside his jacket. “I’ve yet to find her.”
“Now that you have your estates in order, perhaps you can focus on what truly matters: being with the woman you love.”
“I didn’t think you liked her.”
