The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“He was terrified you’d reject him,” Daphne returned softly. “He was also terrified of my father’s blackmail, not only for himself, but for you. The duke was protecting you, and in his way loving you. Those were the reasons he never came forward, not cruelty or disdain. My God, Pierce, surely you see how proud he was of you. It’s evident in every word he’s written.”

“Yes. It is.” A muscle worked in Pierce’s jaw. “What final note is he referring to?”

“This one.” Hollingsby proffered the second sealed envelope. “The day I revealed the terms of the codicil, you asked me if your father had made provisions in the event that you remained childless or produced a daughter rather than a son.

“I remember. You told me the duke had left a sealed envelope for me to open after the two-year period had passed.”

Hollingsby nodded. “This is that envelope. It is your final communication from your father.”

“But two years haven’t elapsed.”

“True. But Tragmore’s death makes the waiting period unnecessary, as your father stipulated when he entrusted the letter to me.” Silently, Hollingsby pressed the envelope into Pierce’s palm. “Open it.”

Dazedly, Pierce tore open the envelope.

Pierce, it began:

If you’re reading this letter, I must presume that either two years have passed since you’ve assumed your rightful title, or Tragmore is no longer alive to threaten your well being. Whichever is the case, I can at last rest in peace. With you at the helm, Markham has doubtless thrived, as have my businesses. Quite possibly, you have a child of your own now, and a wife who loves you as you deserve. For the sake of your happiness, I hope so. For the sake of the codicil’s terms, however, it matters not.

You see, son, the provisos I alluded to are fictitious. I invented their existence merely to satisfy your curiosity and to pique your interest enough to ensure you accepted your title. Having observed you for years, albeit from afar, I know you well. And you loathe turning your back on two things: a challenge and an opportunity to aid the poor. By offering you the dukedom, I provided you with both. I did this for two reasons, only one of which was selfish—that being the hope that you would carry on the Markham title and the Ashford family name. My other reason holds true whether you remain at Markham or resume life as Pierce Thornton. It is my fervent hope that, during this difficult time when you’ve been forced to assume a role you despise, you’ve discovered what I learned too late: that nobility is born in the heart and nourished in the mind.

I pray this discovery grants you the peace you seek. Teach it to your children, Pierce, and the agony we’ve endured will be given purpose.

All I have is unconditionally yours: my name, my fortune, my thanks.

Father

Pierce raised his head, his eyes damp with emotion. “He knew,” he murmured incredulously. “He willed me his title knowing it was the very essence of all I loathed—because it was all I loathed.”

“Loathed,” Daphne repeated, emphasizing the past tense. “Pierce, think of what you told me not five minutes before Mr. Hollingsby arrived. You said that when your day of reckoning finally came, when you confronted your past head on, you suddenly discovered it no longer mattered, because you now have something more powerful than hatred to live for. Oh, Pierce, don’t you see?” Daphne dashed tears of joy from her cheeks. “This is precisely what your father sought. He wanted you to find peace—and you have. What a miraculous gift he’s given you.”

“Indeed.” Hollingsby removed his spectacles, frowning at an imaginary speck of dust on one lens. “Now the question is, what will you do with this gift?”

Still dazed, Pierce inclined his head quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Your title. Will you keep it, or renounce it?”

The issue hung precariously for a moment, dissipating, along with Pierce’s confusion, in a blaze of discovery.

Capturing Daphne’s hand, he smiled, a definitive gleam in his eye. “As my beautiful wife once said, there are all varieties of dukes. I will merely enhance that number by one.”

With a grand sweep, Hollingsby seized his glass, raising it in solemn tribute. “To your father’s gift, then. And to all the Dukes of Markham—past, present and future.”

Epilogue

“YOUR HEIR IS INQUISITIVE like his father,” Daphne reported, leaning against the nursery wall and pointing to their son. “Even at six weeks of age.”

The black-haired infant—named Ashford Thornton in honor of both Pierce’s parents—was a wondrous blend of Daphne and Pierce, boasting his father’s dark coloring and his mother’s kaleidoscope eyes, eyes that, at the moment, were wide open and intently fixed on a patch of sunlight dancing along the wall.

“He’s scarcely blinked all afternoon, lest he miss something.” Daphne shook her head in amazement. “Not a motion or sound escapes his notice.”

“He obviously possesses cunning,” Pierce determined with a smug grin. “And instinct. We have only to supply the skill.” He wrapped his arm about Daphne’s waist. “Not that our daughter is lacking in either.” He glanced at the second crib and its cooing, honey-haired occupant with an expression of intense satisfaction. “Juliet is every bit as intelligent as her twin brother. She’s radiant and precious, which is as it should be. After all,” Pierce’s eyes twinkled as he recalled the reason they’d christened their daughter Juliet, “as only you and I know, ’twas not your doll alone that inspired Juliet’s name. Her name is truly Jewel-iet.”

“In which case, you’re losing your touch with gems,” Daphne commented dryly. “Because, in Juliet’s case, it is she who has stolen from you. Your heart is most definitely in her custody.”

“Only a portion of it.” Pierce caressed Daphne’s cheek. “A portion belongs to Ashford. As for the rest of it—” he brushed his wife’s lips tenderly, “the rest of my heart belongs exclusively and entirely to our twins’ incomparable mother.” Drawing Daphne closer, he deepened the kiss until he felt his wife’s heated response. Then, abruptly, he ended it, his breathing ragged. “I miss you so bloody much, I’m going insane. Christ, how the hell long has it been?”

Daphne laughed, a whisper of sound against his lips. “Patience, my darling. Timing is everything.” She tipped her head back to study Pierce’s face. “Tell me the truth. Were you even a touch bothered when Juliet made her entry into the world?”