Page 1 of The Duplicate Duke
CHAPTER1
Late February 1818
Northern England, near the border
Miles, Viscount Wickton bent low to hear the dying man’s words.He clutched a signet ring in his bony hand, pushing it at Miles.
“Take it,” the Duke of Shackerley rasped, his pale face ghostly in the darkened bedchamber.“You’re my heir.You will be the next duke.”
“I am hoping you recover, Uncle,” Miles said, taking the heavy piece of jewelry.Great-uncle to be precise.His grandfather’s brother.
“If you’re ever…” The duke drew in a shallow breath.“In need of… anything—” The old man succumbed to a bout of coughing.“They will help.”
Who will help?Miles didn’t foresee any trouble except finding his cousin, the true heir to Shackerley Place.But the long-lost marquess had not been seen or heard of in over twenty years.
“I’ll keep it safe.”He tucked the heavy piece inside his coat and sat back down in his chair.The room was lit by a large fire, the huge tester bed and its curtains casting eerie shadows across the room.No windows were open, drapes were pulled, and the heat was suffocating.Miles pulled at his cravat as he stared at the pile of blankets and the counterpane, practically burying the man in fleece.
A bloodhound lay beside the man, one long ear flopped upon his master’s belly.His uncle stroked the liver-colored dog.“I thought we’d grow old together, Harry.I apologize for leaving you so soon.”
Harry?Was he talking to his dead heir?“I shall try to find your son.”No!he thought.The demmed dog is Harry.
Shackerley shook his head.“Gone.”
“We must be certain?—”
“Dead to me!”These words came out with surprising force, considering his uncle’s condition.
The hound whined and licked the duke’s gnarled hand.
“Yes, yes, I understand.”But he didn’t.How could anyone name their dog after someone and still hold a grudge for over two decades?“You must rest now.”Miles patted his great-uncle’s hand, the parchment-like skin cold to the touch.It won’t be long,he thought with a sigh.
* * *
Mr.Garner wokeMiles early the next morning.A maid followed behind to start a fire in the hearth.
“My lord, I believe he has passed,” the butler said with a bow.His silver hair was a bit mussed, his cravat not tied perfectly.The deep purple beneath his eyes told of the long vigil he must have spent over his employer during the night.It was the first time he had seen the man step out of his role of austere servant.
Miles met the physician an hour later, who confirmed the death.“I will notify the local magistrate.Is there anything I can do for you, my lord?”
“I don’t believe so, but I thank you.His papers should be in his study and in proper order, according to his solicitor.”Miles walked the doctor to the entry hall.“Please let the magistrate know I will be here for at least a few weeks.”
“Certainly.And my condolences.”The physician put on his hat and trotted down the portico steps.
Miles stood a long time in the doorway, gazing out on the expansive courtyard and front lawn.It was a beautiful and extensive estate, close to the border, with a generous annual income.He should be thrilled to be inheriting the title and property.He’d worked hard enough restoring his own after his father was almost ruined by bad investments during the war.
That was behind him now, and Wickton House and the estate’s profits were increasing each year.Not that he couldn’t use the wealth of the dukedom, but he was no longer knee-deep in debt and had paid off the last of the vowels two years ago.He loved his country seat, the childhood memories there, the camaraderie of the tenants and villagers at the annual harvest gathering.It was also closer to London, where he took his seat in the Lords seriously.
He meandered into the library, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied the shelves of books.There had not been much time for reading over the past five years, though Miles enjoyed print of any kind.He’d had to suffice with newspapers and a few agriculture and animal husbandry books.Now he might have time to indulge himself.Afterlooking through his great-uncle’s estate ledgers.
Two hours later, he shut the leather-bound book with a softthud, and stood, straightening his waistcoat.His uncle had spoken the truth.A copy of a report had been in a drawer, telling of the death of the Marquess of Greystone, the duke’s estranged son.A gravesite had been found in Quebec with his name.
He peered at the dark storm clouds gathering over the distant hills as fat drops of rain splattered against the window panes.A fitting day for death.Miles wondered about the marquess’s wife.The stone had called him husbandandfather.There was a second report detailing the search for the marchioness, but she had disappeared.It seemed after several years, the duke had ended the investigation.
“Is there anything I can get you, my lord?”asked Garner from the door.
Miles looked over his shoulder and shook his head.“No, thank you.If there is no one else expected, I would suggest you take the afternoon off and get some sleep.I’m sure there’s a footman who can take over.”
The butler opened his mouth to disagree, but Miles stayed him with a hand.“You won’t be any good to me if you’re exhausted.And considering the extra duties I’ve just inherited, I will be depending on you and the steward.”
