Page 11 of Project Duchess
Sheridan rounded the desk. “You haven’t seen how Joshua’s behaving. He hasn’t once come over here to pay his respects to Mother. And he didn’t pay his respects to Father after Uncle Armie died, either.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t particularly enjoy the company of others,” Grey muttered. Especially in such situations.
He thought back to his uncle Eustace’s death, and how little he’d wanted to be involved in the arrangements. Grey had been damned glad to see the arse in the grave, where he could no longer torment anyone, could no longer lock a child in a room without food for days to force him to sign—
Grey pushed away the dark memories. “People grieve differently.” Particularly when they loath and despise the deceased. “Have you talked to Wolfe about this?”
“No,” Sheridan said, a bit sheepishly. “I need evidence. I can’t . . . pursue my suspicions without it.”
“Exactly.” Grey stared his brother down.
“Come now, Grey. Two deaths, so close together? Don’t you find that odd?”
When Sheridan set his shoulders, the way he’d done as a boy when he was being stubborn, Grey wished he could pound some sense into him. “And what does Wolfe’s sister think of all this? Is Bea complicit in this scheme?”
Sheridan muttered a curse. “Don’t be absurd. Of course she’s not complicit. Bea would never countenance murder. She’s the kindest, most compassionate woman I know.”
“Wearetalking about the same woman, right? Because the Miss WolfeImet wasn’t kind.”
Sheridan scowled. “What exactly occurred between you and Bea while you were alone together?”
“She put me in my place after I . . . um . . . behaved like a pompous arse.”
One corner of Sheridan’s lips quirked up. “Fancy that—you behaving like a pompous arse.”
“At least I’m not seeing murderers at every turn. And if you’re so convinced someone murdered Maurice, why didn’t you call the constable to investigate his death?”
“I told you. I have no proof. Just my suspicions.”
Grey lifted his eyes heavenward. “Which, forgive me, sound daft.”
“You might think differently once you’ve met Joshua.” Sheridan shoved his hands in his pockets. “He’s difficult. Angry. Changed, by all accounts, after his experiences in the war. I wouldn’t put anything past him, including killing four people to gain the dukedom.”
“Well, I’ll have to trust you on that,” he said dryly, “since I didn’t even know of his existence—or his sister’s—until today.”
Sheridan rubbed the back of his neck. “I should have introduced both of them to you when you visited here before. But we had so little time with you that we wanted to keep you to ourselves. And honestly, that was before Mother decided to take Bea on as one of her projects.”
“Oh, God.”
Mother was famous for her projects. She liked “helping” young people. Even as a boy, Grey remembered strange youths trooping in and out of their home while Mother tried to figure out how to improve their future prospects.
As if she hadn’t had her hands full with her own children. Well, except for the one she sent away. “So what exactly is she trying to do for Miss Wolfe?”
Sheridan shrugged. “Bea has never had a come-out. Grandmother was too sickly to accomplish it, and Uncle Armie too lax. I think the idea was that Bea would eventually become a companion to Uncle Armie’s wife, but by the time Bea was the right age, his wife was dead. It’s not as ifhecould have brought her out without asking some female relation to do so.”
“And why didn’t he?”
“God, who knows? He wasn’t a nice man, from what I understand. And money was short, so . . .”
“So Miss Wolfe and her prospects got shoved to the side.”
“Exactly.” Sheridan stared down into his glass. “One more reason for Joshua to hate us.”
“Why ‘us’? Obviouslyyouhave no desire to hold her back.”
A faint smile crossed his lips. “True.”
Something about that smile irked him. “You’re not interested in her, are you? Romantically, I mean.”
