Page 55 of Project Duchess
Beatrice lifted one eyebrow. “Because she greeted me properlybeforeshe asked the question.”
His sister chuckled. “Let me guess: You arrived and Grey started barking commands disguised as questions. Is that about right?”
“You know your brother so well,” Beatrice said, smirking at Grey.
Gwyn sniffed. “I hope you gave him what for.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Grey muttered, annoyed with their game. “I’m standing right here, you know.”
Gwyn sauntered up to him. “Aw, poor Grey, forced to be with women who don’t drop into frantic curtseys every time he enters a room.”
“Careful, you impudent rebel,” he warned, “or I’ll scandalize society by asking you to dance at a ball.”
“Pish-posh, I don’t care,” Gwyn said. “I’ll dance with my brother if I please. A little scandal never hurt anyone.”
Beatrice’s face fell. “I do hope you’re right. Because with me they’ll have more than alittlescandal to gnaw on.”
“Of course I’m right, Bea.” Gwyn linked her arm through Beatrice’s to lead her toward the door. “We’ll take on society as the vestal virgins of theton.The gossips might whisper about us behind their hands, but not for long. We have three dukes on our side—no one will dare spread scandal about us or give us the cut direct.”
“Gwyn has a point, Miss Wolfe. You’ll be surrounded by dukes.”
“Two of whom are infamous themselves, Bea,” Gwyn said archly, “so no one will be talking aboutyou, I promise. They’ll be too busy gossiping about Thorn and Grey even while throwing their daughters into my brothers’ paths at every turn.”
“Won’t they be doing the same for Sheridan?” Grey asked.
Gwyn laughed. “Of course. But any gossip abouthimwill be about his saintly character.”
“Right,” Grey said with a bit of sarcasm. Saint Sheridan. His younger brother would hate that moniker, although it suited him.
“Now,” Gwyn said, patting Beatrice’s hand as they walked to the door arm in arm, “what’s this about dogs?”
Grey followed the ladies, but heard not a word of their chatter. He doubted that the gossips would focus on Sheridan’s saintly character if the man uncovered a plot by his relations to murder his father and uncle. That would rouse a different sort of rumors.
And Beatrice would pay the price.
The thought disturbed Grey. He hadn’t considered what would happen to her if her brother was accused of murder. Even if she hadn’t been involved in the plot, she would never again be able to raise her head in polite society. The gossips would dredge up the old scandal about her father’s death by duel, then say that his son had followed in his violent footsteps. They’d add nasty remarks about the major’s lameness, too. When they were done with him, they’d turn to tarring and featheringherfor being related to the heinous fellow.
And if Wolfe went to prison? She’d become even more of the poor relation than she was now. Mother could champion her all she liked, but eventually Beatrice would sink into oblivion in the wilds of Lincolnshire, forced into spinsterhood because her brother was a notorious criminal.
Grey wished he’d never become embroiled in this investigation. He was fairly certain Wolfe hadn’t murdered Maurice—the man had no motivation for doing so. And if the major had murdered Armitage, a devil who took advantage of any woman in his orbit . . . well, that was a different matter. Grey hadn’t met a single person who mourned the fellow.
Getting Sheridan to give up his foolish pursuit was the least Grey could do to repay Beatrice for upsetting her life.
Beatrice walked down the steps with Gwyn, ignoring the fact that Grey was behind them. How dared he make comments about his mother matching them up? He had no interest in her as a wife, yet he persisted in pursuing her, probably wanting her as a mistress, the scoundrel.
The barking of the dogs at the bottom of the steps drew her attention in time to catch the way Joshua gazed up at Gwyn breezing down the steps beside her.
Beatrice hid her joy at the sight. At least she hadn’t imagined Joshua’s interest in Gwyn. Now, if only something came of it, Beatrice wouldn’t have to worry about her brother so much. Gwyn was, after all, a very nice lady. If anyone could break through Joshua’s melancholy, it was the merry Lady Gwyn.
Indeed, it was Gwyn who gave a cry of pleasure and knelt down at Joshua’s feet to pet one of the foxhounds. “Oh, look at the little darlings! Your pups are adorable.” Gwyn smiled up at Joshua.
“They’re hardly ‘pups,’” Grey gritted out. “They’re foxhounds.”
Beatrice didn’t know what was irking Grey, but he’d seemed put out with his sister ever since she had come down.
“Iknowthat,” Gwyn said. “I only meant that they’re charming.” She batted her eyelashes at Joshua. “I do love dogs.”
