He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s . . . I’m just unsettled by the news.”
“I’m sure. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
Grey didn’t answer, his mind having already seized on the reminder that Sheridan had become Duke of Armitage. Maurice had only been duke a few months, and now Sheridan was being forced to take up the mantle. His head must be reeling. Grey needed to be at Armitage Hall, if only to help Sheridan and Mother with the arrangements for the funeral on Tuesday.
Wait, today was Sunday. But which Sunday? Damn it, had he already missed his stepfather’s funeral?
“When did this letter arrive?” he asked.
It was the maid who answered. “I believe it was this past Friday, Your Grace.”
“That’s right,” Vanessa said. “Friday.”
Armitage Hall was near the town of Sanforth. If he caught the footmen before they unpacked his trunk, Grey could be changed into his mourning clothes and back on the road in an hour. He’d easily reach Lincolnshire by tomorrow. “I must go,” he said, turning for the door.
“I’ll go with you,” Vanessa said.
“Don’t be absurd,” Grey snapped before her maid could protest. “You will go home as usual and tell your mother I wasn’t here. You have the perfect excuse for missing me this time. Just say I’d already been notified of my stepfather’s death and had left for Lincolnshire. Understood?”
“But . . . but how could you have been notified if I hadn’t yet brought you the letter?”
“Say that the servants told you I’d already received one here.” His common sense finally asserted itself. “Indeed, I probably have, since I haven’t looked at my mail yet. Mother wouldn’t have left anything to chance. She would have sent multiple notices.” No matter how distracted by grief she might be.
Vanessa laid her hand upon his arm. “Grey, you need someone with you. You’re clearly upset.”
“I’ll be fine.” He would, damn it. “Now go on with you. I have preparations to make before I can leave.”
“Of course.” She nodded to her lady’s maid, who joined her. “I shall tell Mama of your loss. Perhaps that will keep her machinations to a minimum for a while.”
“Somehow I doubt it.” He leaned close to whisper, “Take care with your poet, my dear. You deserve better.”
She made a face. “I don’t suppose I’ll get a chance at him, anyway, now that you’re in mourning. Mama will make me wait to see anyone until you’re available again.”
“Good. I shouldn’t like to think of you marrying someone beneath you while I’m not around to prevent it.”
Tossing back her head, she walked toward the door. “There’s something to be said for marrying for love, you know. I swear, sometimes you remind me of Mama in your opinions about marriage.”
With that parting sally, she waltzed out, with her maid trailing behind her.
How ridiculous. He was nothing like Aunt Cora, that grasping harpy. He was merely sensible. Love didn’t enter his equations because it had no monetary value. When he married, it would be to some sensible woman who’d be content with having a wealthy dukedom at her disposal, who had no dreams of cloud castles and no hope for sentiment or love or any of that romantic nonsense from him.
He had learned the hard way to guard his heart.
Chapter Two
Lincolnshire, England
The Honorable Miss Beatrice Wolfe stood outside Armitage Hall surveying the entryway with a critical eye. The funeral escutcheon had been hung on the door—not crookedly this time—and the arches and windows were draped in black crape. It looked proper, the way it ought for a duke.
She hadn’t taken such care with her uncle Armie, as she and her brother Joshua had always called the previous Duke of Armitage. Just the thought of Uncle Armie’s last years, of how he’d tried to paw at her or slap her behind every time she’d come to the hall, chilled her.
By contrast, Uncle Maurice, who had inherited the dukedom after Uncle Armie’s death, had treated her with respect and kindness. He and her aunt Lydia had brought light and laughter and good times back to the hall.
Now death hung over the place again. Tears welled in her eyes. Why, they’d only a week ago removed the black crape and funeral escutcheon signifying Uncle Armie’s death! Two dukes dead in a matter of months. It was a blasted shame. It really was.
Her cousin Sheridan appeared in the doorway, looking like a wraith after the past few days.