The Scoundrel Duke of her Heart by Violet Hamers
Chapter Thirty-Three
"Now, I know that you rank higher than me in society, but as your elder and father-in-law, I believe that I do not deserve you brandishing your wealth at me the way you have done," Lord Hanover said.
Nicholas had decided to pay his father-in-law a visit early that morning. The rejected cheque had been issued by him to the Earl of Hanover to settle his debts. After mulling things over, he realized that he had gone about everything the wrong way. Yes, it was in their agreement that Lord Hanover’s debts would be paid but he had refused to collect money from him.
It did not surprise Nicholas overmuch that the earl had rejected his offer. He knew how proud and tough the man was. Besides, the earl deserved more respect than that from him. “I beg your pardon, Lord Hanover.”
“I gave you my daughter because I know she will be taken care of,” Adolf said. “I never intended to collect money from you, Nicholas. I do not want or need charity. I am working on some ventures that will enable me to clear my debts."
Nicholas admired the man’s efforts to turn his fortune around on his own. “Forgive me. I meant well and have come to you with a proposal. One I think you might welcome.”
Adolf shook his head immediately and protested. "Have you not heard a word I said? I do not want charity."
"This charity is not for you," Nicholas said calmly. "I need your help."
He went on to tell him about the fire and his loss, stating that he needed his experience and clout—especially with the new corn laws in place—to revive his estate the soonest and put his tenants back on their feet.
"You see, this charity is for me," Nicholas concluded.
Heartsbay was a mere fraction of his wealth, of course, but his tenants came first. Working with Lord Hanover on this was the only way he could trick the man into accepting some help.
Adolf considered this for a moment before saying, “I shall give it some thought.”
* * *
“This arrived shortly after your departure, Your Grace.” Bentley handed him a missive as soon as he was in the house.
“Where is it from?” Nicholas asked, flipping the missive to check for an address.
“I cannot say. A boy brought it and did not even wait for a coin.”
“Ah. Thank you, Bentley.” Nicholas knew exactly where the missive had come from, and with a nod in the butler’s direction, he started toward his study but paused. “Where is my wife?”
“She is in her laboratory, Your Grace.” He almost changed his course to see her but he needed to discover what had been written to him. Thus, he entered his study and closed the door firmly behind him.
The missive was from Lady Digby and she had agreed to meet and talk as he had requested. She had taken the liberty of choosing their place of meeting which Nicholas did not mind at all. All he was concerned with was acquiring the truth. Opening the bottom drawer at his desk that he always kept locked, he pulled out the marriage document and the letter that had come with it, then made his way to the address.
His life had suddenly taken a strange turn that he was unable to comprehend. But if he could at least find the end of this rope, then perhaps he could find a way to solve the problem. He knocked on the door and it was immediately opened as though someone had been waiting by it for his arrival all along. Rather than a butler, Vanessa Whittaker stood on the other side of the door, regarding him with equal parts of surprise and disappointment on her features.
That, he found very odd but before he could distinguish whether such an observation had been real or merely his imagination, her expression dissolved into that familiar, charming, and more often than not, vain expression that quintessentially hers.
"Nicholas." She gave the smallest of curtsies, one more irreverent than courteous. "The years, like everything else, seem to favor you,” she added, giving him the slowest of appraisals with a small slant of her lips.
"What are you doing by the door, Nessa?" sounded the familiar voice of Lady Digby as she descended the stairs.
Nicholas listened for her reply. He, too, was curious about what she was doing at the door. "I am welcoming our guest, Mama," Vanessa responded with a smile, her gaze never leaving his face.
"We have a butler for that,” Lady Digby said, peeking from behind her daughter for a better look at their guest. Her countenance immediately hardened at the sight of Nicholas. Not the welcome I was expecting, he thought.
Vanessa stepped aside to let him in as the butler appeared to take his hat and gloves. Then he was ushered into an Egyptian-style drawing room where he took a seat after the ladies.
"Ring for some tea, Nessa darling,” Lady Digby instructed her daughter, her displeased and now almost smug gaze was pinned on Nicholas. “We don’t want to keep our guest thirsty, now do we?”
"Never mind the pleasantries, Lady Digby," Nicholas interjected. "I'm here for business."
"Business?" Lady Digby bristled, her hand going up to her chest in a gesture of affront. “Is that what you consider marriage to my daughter? Business?"
"Yes, Lady Digby. As long as the verity of this marriage hangs uncertain, it is business,” he pointed out, setting down the marriage document on the center table between them. "This is all you have. A document which could easily have been forged."
There were too many holes in the situation, holes he intended to fill with naught but the truth before taking any actions. He was no longer that man that ran from his troubles, and he no longer had need for the distraction they had afforded him then. His eyes were open and he could see clearly.
"Are you calling us liars?" Lady Digby immediately got defensive. "It appears as though we are liars now, Vanessa." She turned to her daughter who seemed distracted as her eyes continuously glanced in the direction of the door.
"Are you expecting someone, Miss Whittaker?" Nicholas asked.
She started, then turned. "What?” She caught herself and cleared her throat before asking more properly, “I beg your pardon?”
"You seem to be expecting someone, Miss Whittaker," he repeated. “Your attention is more on the door than on what we are discussing.”
Lady Digby gave her daughter a warning look, to which Vanessa responded by straightening in her chair and regarding Nicholas as though her attention could not be anywhere else. This was yet another thing he added to his growing list of their odd behavior.
Vanessa smiled ever so slightly and said, "The only person I was expecting is already here. My husband who now seems adamant on calling me, Miss Whittaker."
"Do you not find it odd that everyone appears to have a clear memory of this marriage but the groom, Miss Whittaker?" Until he was certain she was married to him, Nicholas shall continue to address her as such.
She shot him a glare that could freeze winter but before she could say anything in response, Lady Digby cut in with, "Need I remind you, Your Grace, that you initiated this marriage with neither my blessing nor my presence?"
He could remember none of this. Not his asking Vanessa to marry him nor the marriage itself happening. He did remember waking up with one of the worst after-effects of drinking in the morning.
Nicholas rose from his chair to form an intimidating figure. "Pray, tell me why I woke up to an empty house. If your claims are true, then should I not have been asked for my own blessing before my bride is taken away on what turned out to be a half a decade-long vacation?"
Lady Digby was unmoved by his question. "I retired for the night, thinking you would, too, shortly but when I came back down to retrieve my spectacles no more than an hour later, I found a wedding ceremony being concluded. Having the sotted groom lose consciousness soon after did not help matters."
"I mentioned we should get you, mama, but Nicholas said it was late and you needn’t be disturbed," Vanessa chimed in, her tone defensive.
Lady Digby nodded in her daughter’s direction, saying, “Quite so.” She returned her attention to Nicholas. "Would you trust your daughter with a man who would bring a parson into your house to marry you without the slightest of regards for you?" She did not wait for him to respond before continuing, "After you did that, I realized you were more than capable of taking her away from me for good. Besides, I did not like the sort of man you were back then.”
“And you like the man I am now?” Nicholas asked, amused. The woman was eager to make her daughter a duchess.
“We left that night and I took the marriage document to try to get the marriage annulled.”
“Why did you not get the marriage annulled?”
“I may have taken Vanessa away from you, but her heart, I soon realized, had stayed back and wouldn't yield to my pleas and attempts at turning a new chapter. I couldn't bear to see her in any more pain, you see."
"Your timing is rather convenient, I must say." Nicholas stroked his chin as he mused. "I get married drunk and my bride runs away only to return to take on her role as my wife now that I am a duke."
He looked at Vanessa to confirm her mother’s words but her eyes were downcast. Lady Digby’s talking drew his eyes away from her.
"The state in which you'd signed this document," she gestured at the certificate lying on the table between them, "does not make it any less valid. Take it to any court and they will tell you how real it is. What is done is done. Now it is time to embrace your real duchess."
The woman's words were like needles to his heart but he set aside the pain. He would allow himself to feel only when all this was over. Now was not the time to dwell. A hand snaked up his back and came to rest on his shoulder. He tensed, unwelcoming such intrusion, as he turned to meet Vanessa’s eyes. Consumed and perturbed by his thoughts, he hadn't noticed her come to his side.
"I wish things were different, Nicholas, I really do," she murmured and he could not believe the element of genuineness he caught in her eyes.
In that instant, he felt almost as though he could believe her, believe everything. Yet he did not want to believe any of it because the truth would take Jenny away from him. He would be damned before he let her go.
Clearing his throat, he shrugged off her touch. "Your Grace. It is Your Grace to you now, Miss Whittaker." He would not allow her to call him anything else even if she were legally his wife, which he hoped to the heavens she was not.
"Your Grace," she drew the title out, "I remember when you despised the title. Said you won’t be called by it when you are duke. And I was never Miss Whittaker to you in Versailles. I was Vanessa. Your Nessa. Just as you were my Nicholas. Still are."
"Versailles is in the past and you would do well to keep it there."
Vanessa blanched and stepped away from him. He was about to ask her if she was well when she clapped a hand over her mouth and ran out of the room.
