But he was doing this for Beatrice and Vanessa. That thought alone propelled him out of the carriage and up the steps. At least he wouldn’t have to return again until Aunt Cora was in the grave with her damned husband.
When he entered, the butler tried to convince him she was not “in” to callers.
“I’m her nephew, the Duke of Greycourt,” Grey said in his most dictatorial voice. “And when your mistress dies, this place will be mine. So unless you wish to incur my wrath—”
The man hurried off to do Grey’s bidding.
Before Aunt Cora appeared, Vanessa slipped out from the music room to take him aside. “You have to do something. Forgive me, but you and I simply cannot marry!”
“I agree.” He chucked her under the chin. “But I’ve taken care of it. Don’t worry—it will all work out.”
“How? Mama has already had it put into the paper without my knowledge, and that means—”
A voice he’d hoped never to hear again broke in. “I see that you’ve come to visit your fiancée.” His aunt descended the vaulted staircase wearing an elegant dinner gown and a cat-in-the-cream smile.
“Mama!” Vanessa cried. “How could you do this to us? If Grey doesn’t marry me, we’ll all be humiliated, and I’ll never be able to gain a husband!”
“Forgive me, pet, but that’s the point,” Grey said to Vanessa with the utmost nonchalance. Because like a snake, Aunt Cora always struck when she sensed any hesitation or fear in her opponent. “Your mother decided we weren’t getting to the business of marriage fast enough, so she made it so we had to marry.”
His aunt sidled up to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sure the Times merely mentioned the prevailing gossip.”
“As it came right out of your mouth, you mean.” He stared down at the woman who’d never shown him an ounce of familial affection. Who’d ignored him while her husband bullied him, and who, after her husband died, had taken it upon herself to get what she could for her daughter out of Grey’s connection to her, whether her daughter wanted it or not.
For the first time, Grey noticed a hint of fear in her eyes. She wasn’t as sure of herself as she seemed. She had played her card, but she wasn’t certain it would win the hand. And the fact that she’d risked her daughter’s reputation in the process infuriated him. It damned well wasn’t fair to Vanessa.
“Vanessa,” Aunt Cora said, as if she’d read his mind, “why don’t you go upstairs while my nephew and I work this out?”
“Stay, Vanessa,” he ordered, making his aunt scowl. “This involves you, so you should hear the whole of it.”
Vanessa glanced anxiously from him to her mother as Aunt Cora circled him, looking for a place to strike. “What is there to hear? My daughter is right—unless you want to destroy her reputation, you have to marry her. The announcement is in the Times. There’s naught you can do about that now.”
“You think not?” He chuckled, feeling a moment’s triumph when that gave his aunt pause. She’d gambled on what she saw as his weakness—his tendency to protect Vanessa.
Fortunately, she’d forgotten that once he’d left this house to assume the title, she had lost all power to bully him, even through her daughter. “It’s a pity you didn’t bother to consult me before running over to the Times. Because then you would have learned I am already engaged to Miss Beatrice Wolfe.”
“Sheridan’s cousin?” Vanessa exclaimed.
With a nod, he leaned down to meet his aunt eye to eye. “So I informed the Times they should have spoken to me first, and if they didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands, they would print an errata revealing they had mistaken the name of my cousin for the name of my real fiancée. They were kind enough to agree. And that is the news appearing in the newspaper tomorrow morning.”
He knew his arrow had hit the mark when her face turned gray. “You will regret this. I will deny it to all my friends. I will say you led my Vanessa on and now you wish to marry your mistress. I will blacken—”
“You will do no such thing, Mama!” Vanessa cried. “I told you, neither of us wishes to marry the other. And if you speak such untruths about me or Grey, I will be standing right beside you claiming them to be lies.”
Her mother scowled at her. “Hush now, you foolish chit. He’s a duke!”
“Leave her be,” Grey snapped. “If I ever hear of you spreading tales again—like, for example, the one you started concerning my ‘secret cabal of dissolute bachelors’—”
What could he threaten that wouldn’t come back to hurt Vanessa or someone else he loved? His aunt had no scruples.
Perhaps it was time to appeal to Aunt Cora’s greed. He could afford it, after all. Though he hated to reward her for her machinations, this madness had to stop.
“What if I double Vanessa’s dowry?” he said. “Then she can acquire whatever husband she wishes.”
Even Vanessa’s poet, although Grey still thought that a most unwise choice.
“Double?” Aunt Cora squeaked. He could practically see her calculating the amount in her head.
“Double,” he confirmed.
“But Grey, you shouldn’t have to—” Vanessa began.
“Quiet, girl,” her mother ordered. “If he wants to throw his money around, let him. Lord knows we deserve it after his ingratitude through the years, despite all we did for him when he was a boy.”
“Did for me?” The past came flooding back in all its ugliness, and a red haze filled his vision. “Did for me? We both know what you and my uncle did—and didn’t—do for me. You never took my side, never offered me affection or solace.” His hands curled into fists. “You never once put the needs of a small boy ahead of your greed.”
Clearly startled by his vehemence, his aunt took a step back. “I’m only saying—”
“I suggest you stop talking, Mama,” Vanessa said. “Before Grey forgets that we’re his relations.”
Vanessa’s low voice reached him in the midst of his fury, drawing him back to the present. Grey struggled to breathe, to calm himself . . . to keep from throttling the woman who’d done nothing—nothing—to protect the ten-year-old him from his uncle.
“Mama, go upstairs,” Vanessa ordered as she watched him fight to contain his temper. “I will finish this . . . negotiation.”
When her mother hesitated, Grey choked out, “Best to listen to your daughter, Aunt Cora.”
Alarm creasing her aging face, she whirled to hurry up the stairs. But she paused halfway up to look down at him. “You said double her dowry! Don’t forget!”
She hurried the rest of the way up the stairs and disappeared from view.
Vanessa laid a hand on his arm. “I’m aware Mama and Papa were always pretty . . . dreadful to you. Still, perhaps it’s time you put the past behind you.”
“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally. How was he to put behind him a youth full of mistreatment and heartbreak? Even now he could barely think of it without rage boiling up within him, a feeling exacerbated by being back in this damned house again.
“Surely your new wife will help with that.” Vanessa searched his face. “You were telling Mama the truth, weren’t you? That you’re marrying Miss Wolfe?”
An image of Beatrice rose in his mind to calm his temper further, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face. “Yes. As soon as it can be arranged.”
“You look as if you’re terribly in love with her.”
“Terribly,” he lied, not wanting the inquisition that would follow if he said otherwise. Or was it a lie? He wasn’t as sure anymore. “She’s different from any woman I’ve ever met. She has a mind of her own, and she’s not afraid to speak it.”
“Even with you?”
“Especially with me,” he said dryly. “She’s rather like you in that respect.”
“Oh, dear. Then I wish her all the luck in the world. She’ll need it.” When he frowned at her, she laughed and said, “Seriously, though, will I like her?”
He ra
ised one eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain you two will become as thick as thieves. I shudder to think what trouble you’ll get into together.”
Beaming at him, she relaxed. “Oh, wonderful! I could use another bosom friend.” She leaned close to whisper confidentially, “Especially with Mother in the temper she’ll be in over my having lost you.”
“Remind her you never had me, and you’ll be fine.”
Vanessa tipped up her chin. “I’ll remind her of that doubled dowry, and then she’ll be fine.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Now don’t go spending that dowry too quickly. And don’t give it to some damned poet.”
“Is that a condition of your doubling it?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
He sighed. “Would it make a difference if I said it was?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.” He glanced up the stairs. “Do you think your mother has personally told anyone in society of our supposed engagement? Because if she has, my plan won’t work. So I need to know who else’s silence I must buy while in town.”
“I don’t believe she has told a soul. I refused to go anywhere with her until you arrived to salvage things. And since you were fairly quick—”
“It’s not as if she gave me a choice. You can only imagine how my prospective wife regarded the news that I was engaged to another.”
“Oh no! Poor Miss Wolfe.” She winked at him. “But I’m sure a dissolute fellow like you will know how to turn her up sweet.”
He bloody well hoped so. “Speaking of that, I must return to Sanforth at once to soothe her fears.” And get this whole matter of who’d killed whom—if anyone even had killed anyone—wrapped up once and for all, so he could start his marriage to Beatrice with a clean slate for them both.
“Of course!” She hugged him. “And thank you. I can never repay you for not . . . well . . .”
“Letting you be forced into marrying me?” When she winced, he chuckled. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. But if you ever need me again, try something less dramatic than a betrothal announcement in the papers.”
“I will.” She flashed him a minxish grin. “But I’m not making any promises.”
On that note, he chose to leave. Vanessa was going to lead some fellow a merry dance once she married. Thank God it wouldn’t be him.
Still, as his coachman drove off into the night, he couldn’t get her words out of his head: But perhaps it’s time you put the past behind you.
For the first time, he realized he wanted to. He wanted to stop the anger and resentment, wanted to stop hurting every time he thought of those early days. He had a feeling if he didn’t, he would lose Beatrice, perhaps not now but eventually.
After all, a man with a hollow chest where his heart should be wasn’t likely to keep a woman like her happy for very long.
When Grey returned to Armitage Hall in the morning on the day after he left, he was surprised to find Sheridan waiting for him.
“It’s about damned time you got here,” Sheridan snapped. “What’s this nonsense about your being engaged to Vanessa? You told me—”
“It was a mistake in the paper. I had it corrected.”
That brought Sheridan up short. “What do you mean, ‘a mistake’?”
“Read today’s Times when it arrives, and you’ll understand.” Grey surveyed the entrance hall. “Is Beatrice here?”
“No. She sent a message saying she was staying home today.”
Grey headed for the door. All he wanted to do was find Beatrice and reassure her they could marry. He didn’t want her to see the paper until he could properly propose.
“Grey, wait!” Sheridan cried. “I have new information about Father’s death.”
That arrested him. “What kind of information?”
“While you were in London, I located the bridge rails washed up from the river. I also discovered that the man who built the bridge lived right in Sanforth. So I had him examine the bridge and rails.” Sheridan ran a hand through his hair. “He said the structure had definitely been damaged deliberately beforehand so as to make it dangerous if someone fell against the rails.”
Ignoring the frisson of unease sweeping over him, Grey eyed his brother skeptically. “What else would he say? He fears if the bridge is faulty, he’ll be liable for Maurice’s death.”
“I don’t think that’s it. He showed me what he was talking about. It was convincing enough that I mean to take the information to our local constable. Then he can question Joshua himself.”
But Wolfe had an alibi, though Grey could hardly say that without revealing how he knew. Even so, Sheridan was unlikely to put much stock in Beatrice’s word. He seemed determined to pursue his suspicions to the bitter end.
Sheridan went on. “You’ll remember that Joshua was the one who summoned Father to the dower house.”
Grey had forgotten that. And Beatrice had not said anything about a summons.
“He also had good reason to murder Father, given what I learned about Father’s plans to sell the dower house. Which could also explain why Joshua might have killed Uncle Armie, although I can’t prove that. Yet.”
Grey’s heart sank as he thought of the much more plausible reason for Joshua to want the scoundrel dead.
“Before you go to the constable, I want to question Wolfe,” Grey said. “I want to hear what he has to say about his whereabouts that night.”
Sheridan stared at him. “Fine. But don’t take too long. I can’t risk the possibility Joshua will flee once you speak to him.”
“For God’s sake, I need not let him know of your accusations in order to question him.” Although since Beatrice knew everything, that might be a bit difficult.
“But if he’s guilty,” Sheridan said, “any questions on the matter will spook him. I know you have a soft spot for Beatrice, but I cannot let Joshua’s actions stand.”
“I realize that. Just let me talk to him before you run off for the constable. I’m heading over there now, anyway.” He stared Sheridan down. “I suppose I should let you know. I don’t merely have a soft spot for Beatrice: I mean to marry her.”
Sheridan gaped at him. “You realize she has no dowry and no prospects beyond what small portion I might provide for her one day as her relation. She’ll bring little to the marriage beyond herself. Given how hard you work to increase your wealth, I would have thought you, of all people—”
“Beatrice ‘herself’ is plenty enough for me,” he snapped, annoyed that his brother saw him as so mercenary. “I work to increase my wealth so my children and grandchildren won’t be saddled with crippling debt the way you now are, but I don’t need a rich wife for that. I’m only telling you of our impending marriage so you’ll know that if this irrational obsession of yours with blaming her brother harms her in any way—”
“I would never intentionally harm Bea.”
“Good. Because if you do, I will stand with her. Even if it means standing against you.”
Sheridan rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I see. Then I suppose I’d best get to the bottom of this quickly.”
“Be sure that you do. Because I will make Beatrice my wife. And I’m hoping not to make an enemy of my brother in the process.”
“That will never happen, Grey,” his brother said softly.
But as Sheridan swept past him on his way out, Grey wasn’t so sure. Then again, Grey had been bereft of his brothers and sister for many years. He could live without them again if he must. Because if it came to choosing Beatrice or his family, he would choose Beatrice, no matter what her brother had or hadn’t done.
That much he knew.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Beatrice was at home, trying not to worry about Grey, when Joshua glanced out the window and cursed under his breath. He then grabbed his pistol, loaded it, and limped through the door.
She followed him out. “Grey!” she cried, seeing him coming up the walkway. “You’re here!”
&nb
sp; The smile he flashed her was positively beatific. “I told you I’d come back for you.” Then he saw Joshua’s pistol, and his smile vanished.
Joshua cocked the pistol. “I was too blind to see what Uncle Armie was trying to force my sister into. But I know what you’re about, and I damned well won’t stand for it.”
“Joshua, put that pistol down before it goes off!” she cried. “He has come back to marry me!”
“I have indeed,” Grey said, his eyes never leaving the pistol.
“Damn it, Beatrice,” Joshua grumbled. “He’s betrothed to another woman.”
“Not anymore.” Grey lifted his gaze to meet her brother’s. “And I don’t blame you for killing your uncle Armie. If the man were here right now, I’d kill him myself.”
When that seemed to take Joshua aback, Beatrice slipped around him to stand between her brother and Grey. “He didn’t kill Uncle Armie. He was away in Leicester.”
“Or so he says.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “He can prove it, actually.” Glancing back at her brother, she said, “Tell him. Tell him where you were and why.”
“I don’t have to tell him a bloody thing!” Joshua growled. “It’s none of his concern.”
Grey glared at him over her head. “It is if you expect me to help you escape the hangman’s noose. Because Sheridan is hell-bent on bringing you to justice. And I damned well do not wish to have to tell him about your uncle’s behavior toward Beatrice unless I must. Your waving that gun at me every chance you get isn’t exactly convincing me of your innocence, either.”
Her heart hammering, Beatrice pivoted to face her brother. “Put the blasted pistol down, and tell him the truth!”
Thankfully, Joshua uncocked the pistol and lowered it. “I don’t understand why Sheridan is all riled up. Uncle Armie’s death was an accident.”
“It may very well have been,” Grey said, “but he thinks you have motive for it. That you killed the man to keep him from selling this place.”
Project Duchess Page 22
