Project Duchess

by Jeffries, Sabrina

  “Of course you will.” Grey raised his voice to be heard over the music. “It merely requires practice. Personally, I dislike the minuet. All that mincing looks silly, even if you do consider the ‘marionette’ look of the arms to be graceful. But alas, every society ball has a minuet or two, so you must learn to dance it.”

  “Clearly it requires a certain lightness of foot that I lack.”

  He eyed her skeptically. “Somehow I can’t believe that. Any woman who can trip down a hill in skirts without falling, as you did yesterday in pursuit of your dogs, possesses all the lightness of foot necessary to dance a minuet.”

  She did not want to remember what happened yesterday. “Well, your brother and sister clearly possess it. They’re doing the steps without even a stumble—and still managing to argue.”

  “You must forgive the twins for their rudeness—they barely tolerate each other at the best of times.”

  “That surprises me. I would have expected twins to be more easy together. You know, feel more of a connection.”

  “At one time, they did.”

  Noticing the edge in his voice, she slanted a glance at him. “What changed between them?”

  He shrugged. “From what Mother has said, I gather that things changed after Thorn returned to England when he came of age. He wanted Gwyn to come with him, but she refused.”

  “Why?” Beatrice asked.

  He shifted to look at her, searching her face as if trying to decide how much to say. “Gwyn had a beau, some officer, whom she was sure would marry her eventually. Then something happened between them. The end result was she jilted him, apparently because of something Thorn said.” He observed her a bit too closely. “You know how brothers are.”

  Oh, dear, this was probably Grey’s oblique way of trying to get her to speak about Joshua. “I do, indeed.”

  When she said no more, Grey went on with a frown. “After that, she couldn’t forgive Thorn for meddling in her affairs. She won’t say exactly what happened, Thorn won’t even acknowledge his part in it, and Mother doesn’t know. So, here they stand, always at odds.”

  “I sympathize,” she muttered, thinking of Joshua.

  “How so? Do you and your brother not get along?”

  “Not since Joshua returned from the war,” she admitted reluctantly. “We . . . don’t know how to be around each other anymore.”

  “Ah. I can understand that.” He watched the twins. “I feel much the same about my siblings. When you’re apart for a long time, you—” A thin smile crossed his lips. “Discover that you’ve found different interests and formed independent opinions, and now you’re practically strangers.”

  She shot him a smile of pure relief. Grey understood exactly what she was feeling. How lovely to find someone who did. “He’s not even the same person anymore. The Joshua I knew before the war was quiet and contemplative. He liked nothing so much as a good book and a glass of wine . . . or a long walk in the woods. Then Grandpapa bought him a commission, he was wounded on the Continent, and—”

  “He changed.”

  She nodded. “Dramatically. He became temperamental—melancholy one moment, angry the next. It’s hard to explain. I so want him to be how he used to be.”

  A bitter laugh escaped Grey. “Battle alters people, and such a change is generally permanent.”

  “How would you know?” Beatrice cast him a hard stare. “You’ve never been to war.”

  He gazed blindly ahead. “There are more kinds of battle than those fought in wars.”

  She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but at that moment, the music ended.

  Her aunt burst into applause, forcing Beatrice and Grey to do the same.

  “Well, Miss Wolfe?” Thornstock said, coming to stand in front of Beatrice. “Who’s the better dancer? Me or Gwyn?”

  “You are both very accomplished, truly. I couldn’t possibly—I mean—”

  “Ignore my idiot brother,” Grey said. “He’s just being an arse. Thorn has never worried about anyone else’s opinion of him. None of us do, I’m afraid. It’s a family trait.” He arched an eyebrow at his half brother. “And Thorn is the worst.”

  As if to prove Grey’s point, Thornstock burst into laughter. “Grey is right—I don’t need a judge of my abilities to know that I proved Gwyn wrong.” With a taunting glance back to where Gwyn was rolling her eyes, he held out his hand to Beatrice. “And I’ll prove it again. Come dance with me.”

  “Forgive me, Your Grace,” Beatrice responded, “I don’t know the steps. I’ve never even seen a minuet danced until just now.”

  “Then you must learn,” Thornstock said.

  A muscle worked in Grey’s jaw. “I’ll teach her.”

  “You will not,” Thornstock replied. “I’ve already danced once with Gwyn. She’s your problem now.” Then the man waggled his fingers at Beatrice. “Come, Miss Wolfe. We’ll start with my showing you the steps, and then Mother will play the slowest minuet over and over until you can master it.”

  Grey crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you didn’t even want to be doing this. Go have your ride. I’ll take care of teaching Beatr—Miss Wolfe.”

  Mischief gleamed in Thornstock’s eyes as he apparently caught the slip. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d be delighted to instruct Miss Wolfe in . . . all sorts of things.”

  Grey began to look as if he might throttle the man when Gwyn breezed over to take Beatrice’s arm. “Good Lord, I will teach her the steps, thank you very much. Why don’t you two go call for some tea to be brought? I daresay we’ll need it if you intend to keep snarling at each other.”

  “The only thing I’m calling for, Sis,” Thornstock muttered, “is brandy.”

  Gwyn drew Beatrice closer to the piano. “If you want to be foxed by noon, go ahead. I would like some tea, and I’m sure Mama and Bea could use some, too.” She made a shooing motion. “Go, both of you. Give us a while to ourselves. No woman wants a male audience when she’s just learning a dance step.”

  Grey glanced at Beatrice, then grabbing his brother forcefully by the arm, he led him out the door. Beatrice released a long breath.

  With a rueful smile, Gwyn patted her hand. “How does it feel to have two dukes fighting over you, my dear?”

  “If they weren’t using me merely to provoke each other, I might enjoy it.”

  Gwyn shot her a considering look. “I’m not entirely sure that’s the motivation of both of them.” Her expression turned enigmatic. “But we’ll see.” She turned to her mother. “Mama, can you play the first bars of that piece very slowly?”

  Nodding her approval, Aunt Lydia did so. And thus began Beatrice’s first minuet lesson.

  Chapter Ten

  As soon as Grey left the ballroom, he released his idiot brother and gave instructions to a footman to have refreshments brought for the ladies. Then he headed for the study to see what Sheridan was up to.

  Thorn followed him. “Sheridan mentioned that you might have an interest in Miss Wolfe, and I didn’t believe him. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  “You’re both wrong.” Grey fought to keep his temper in check. “My interest in Miss Wolfe is the same as I’d have for any relation of Maurice’s.”

  He only wanted to make sure she wasn’t hiding something concerning her uncles’ deaths and thus determine if her brother was the murderous fellow Sheridan had made him out to be. It was purely a matter of doing what Sheridan had asked him to. Nothing more.

  “Then why are you so eager to dance with her? And to keep me from dancing with her?”

  Grey lifted an eyebrow. “I merely wish to make sure you don’t toy with her. She’s not your mouse to bat around like a tomcat before he goes in for the kill.”

  Thorn cocked his head. “Has it occurred to you I might actually be looking for a wife?”

  “No, it has not.” Grey faced his brother. “You see women merely as conquests to add to your score. You ought to respect the fact that she’s Sheridan’s cousin and stay away
from her, if only for his sake.”

  “For Sheridan’s sake?” Thorn laughed. “That’s not why you want me staying away from her. Actually, I see Miss Wolfe as an entertaining way to drive you mad. Admit it, you fancy her.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” The last person to whom Grey would admit his fascination with Beatrice was Thorn, who would try to seduce her just to get Grey to acknowledge that he wanted her. And while the woman was obviously hiding something concerning her uncle, she was doing it poorly enough to convince Grey that she wouldn’t know the first thing about fending off a determined philanderer like Thorn.

  Best to ignore Thorn’s remark and proceed with caution by appealing to the man’s reason. “You must understand—Miss Wolfe isn’t worldly wise, and your tactics aren’t in her limited experience of men. I’m merely doing what any true gentleman would—protecting an innocent and respectable woman from a blackguard like you.”

  All Thorn’s amusement vanished. “A ‘blackguard’ like me.” He advanced on Grey. “‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’ I am not the one with a reputation for dissolute cabals.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Grey snorted. “Dissolute cabals, indeed. You know damned well that the gossips will say anything to get a rise out of me.”

  “You don’t see that they do the same to me?” Thorn bit out. “I swear, you’re such a bloody arrogant prick sometimes. You think you’re the only man in this family with any decency.”

  “That’s not true—I think Sheridan has plenty of decency,” Grey said, deliberately taunting Thorn out of some perverse urge to punish him for daring to toy with Beatrice.

  Thorn’s hands tightened into fists before he caught himself. “You almost had me there, Brother. But I will not engage in this tug-of-war with you, especially when it’s merely your attempt to distract me from the real issue—that you desire Miss Wolfe and won’t admit it.” He started to march off, then paused. “And incidentally, I would never ruin a woman, no matter who her relations were.”

  Belatedly, Grey realized he’d stepped over some invisible line with Thorn. “Glad to hear it.”

  “One more thing.” Thorn regarded him with a steady stare. “I suspect that Miss Wolfe is more worldly wise than you think.”

  Grey found it suddenly difficult to breathe. He’d spent enough time with “worldly wise” women to know that they tended to be schemers, at least around a duke. And he hated schemers more than anything.

  Though he would never admit that to his brother. Forcing nonchalance into his voice, he said, “You’d best not speculate on Miss Wolfe’s character around our mother, since Mother seems to think the young woman hung the moon.”

  Thorn let out an exasperated breath. “I’m not casting aspersions on Miss Wolfe’s character. I’m saying she’s not the starry-eyed fool you assume. For one thing, she’s intelligent enough to tell the difference between a man who’s merely flirting and one who actually has designs on her virtue.”

  Like me? God, he did not have designs on her virtue. “I never thought her a fool. She’s an innocent.” As long as Grey kept telling himself that, perhaps he’d keep his mind on his task for Sheridan instead of wanting to touch her, taste her mouth, take her to—

  Damn it all. Grey stared his brother down. “A fool and an innocent aren’t the same thing.”

  “You barely know her. It’s far too soon for you to be pursuing her.”

  “Pursuing her! I’m doing no such thing.”

  “Right.” Thorn rolled his eyes. “But while you’re busy not pursuing her, you might consider learning a bit more about her. From someone other than our mother and sister and possibly our brother, I mean.”

  Grey blinked at him. “Who else is there?”

  “The servants, for one.” Thorn’s tone turned sarcastic. “You might lower your bloody self to talk to them for a change. See what they have to say about her.”

  Having often been the subject of rumormongering, Grey found servant gossip to be as unreliable as the society kind. He didn’t like to encourage it. And Thorn knew that.

  “Why are you prodding me to talk to the servants about her? What have you heard?”

  “Just that some of the maids—” Thorn ran his fingers through his hair. “Never mind. It was probably groundless, anyway. My point is, you seem to desire Miss Wolfe. She’s not my cup of tea, mind you—I prefer blondes myself—but she’s clearly yours. Which means you should take care how you behave around her.”

  Grey bristled. “I don’t see you being careful.”

  “That’s because Miss Wolfe knows I’m not serious. And you obviously are.”

  “I am not pursuing her.”

  “You’re such a liar. Though I can’t tell if you’re just lying to me, or if you’re lying to yourself as well.” With a sigh, Thorn headed down the hall for the drawing room. “Now, I’m going to have myself a decent glass of brandy before I tackle the minuet again. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Not at this early hour.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Grey waited until Thorn disappeared through a door before he returned to the ballroom. But he didn’t enter. He just stood in the doorway watching Gwyn work with Beatrice on the minuet steps and fuming at what Thorn had said. Damned arse, with his sly insinuations concerning Beatrice’s experience with men. From what Grey could tell, she’d had little. But Thorn seemed to regard her as some budding enchantress.

  Looking at her now, Grey was reminded of how guileless she seemed when she was with him.

  Grey huffed out a breath. No doubt she was guileless. Thorn was probably merely goading him as usual. Typical Thorn behavior. Or, just as likely, Thorn was expressing his usual cynicism about women. He’d certainly withdrawn his remarks about Beatrice’s experience with men quickly enough.

  A maid came down the hall with a tea tray, headed for the ballroom. Grey stood aside to let her enter, his mind racing. Perhaps he should speak to the servants, if only to confirm that Thorn was full of shite. After all, what damning information could the staff possibly have about Beatrice? Yes, she’d become evasive when Grey had brought up her uncle Armie’s death. But there might be a hundred innocent reasons for that.

  As the maid set out the tea, Beatrice went over to pour and nearly got some on her weepers, those white lace cuffs added to mourning attire so women could use them to wipe their tears. The old design of her gown—along with the muslin fabric and the white filmy fichu she’d tucked into her obviously snug bodice—hinted that this was an old day dress she’d dyed black. Which spoke to how poor she and her brother were.

  Damn her selfish uncle Armie to hell. And her brother, too, for that matter. Had neither of them any sense of their responsibilities? Their duty to their relations? Beatrice should have been given a come-out long ago.

  When the maid came back out into the hall, Grey fell into step beside her. “Pardon me, but I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

  Bobbing her head, she crossed her arms over her chest as if preparing for anything.

  You might lower yourself to talk to the servants for a change.

  His brother’s words made him wince. Grey was fully aware that his reserved manner could be off-putting to staff.

  Perhaps a more oblique approach was warranted. “It’s about Miss Wolfe. I merely want to know what I can do to help her, since Mother seems to rely so much on the lady.”

  The servant relaxed her stance. “Oh, sir, whatever you could do for her would be very kind. We should all like to see Miss Wolfe better looked after. She’s such a fine woman, always considering the needs of others without any reward. Even the servants.”

  “I gathered as much. Miss Wolfe seems to know everything that goes on in this house.”

  “Indeed she does, Your Grace. She helped run the household for her uncle Armitage and even served as his hostess after the duchess died.”

  “Right. I gather that the duchess was supposed to take Miss Wolfe on as a companion, but her dea
th cut that short.”

  “Exactly. She died long afore I came here, and that’s already been ten years. Though I did hear that he and his duchess was always at odds, on account of his—” As if realizing she was saying too much, she pressed her lips together.

  “His what?”

  “Don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, sir.”

  He smiled. “Trust me, I’ve already figured out that her uncle Armie wasn’t a very nice man.”

  She let out a breath. “Well, then, you probably heard about him and his dalliances.”

  “Of course,” he lied.

  “He wasn’t even circumspect about them, neither. I hear it fairly drove his duchess mad.”

  “I’m sure it did.”

  “Though they claim you wouldn’t have knowed it to watch her. Like stone, that lady was. Or so I’m told. She let him visit his tarts without saying a word.”

  “She didn’t have much choice, I would imagine. But surely he hid his dalliances from Miss Wolfe. She was his niece, after all, and a maiden as well.”

  She sniffed. “A man like that don’t hide his true character from nobody, sir.” Then something seemed to dawn on her, and she dropped her gaze. “Not that I was implying anything about you. I didn’t mean . . .” She cast a panicked look behind her toward the kitchens and mumbled, “If that’s all, Your Grace, Cook will surely be needing me.”

  Grey stared at her blankly as he tried to figure out what she was hinting at and why she’d turned odd all of a sudden.

  Then it dawned on him. Oh, for God’s sake. If she’d heard the gossip about him and his “dissolute cabals,” then in her eyes he was as bad as her former employer. He would undoubtedly have trouble getting anything more out of her. But he’d learned enough for the moment.

  “I understand.” He forced a smile. “I don’t want to keep you from your duties.”

  Relief crossed her face. “Thank you, Your Grace. And I didn’t mean—”

  “I took no offense, I assure you. Now go on with you.”

  With a bob of her head, she practically raced in the direction of the kitchen.

  Sighing, Grey walked back to the ballroom. What the maid had told him was enlightening. It might explain Thorn’s claim that Beatrice was more worldly wise than Grey thought. She’d have to be in order to deal with her uncle’s peccadilloes.