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 He’d certainly withdrawn his remarks about Beatrice’s experience with men quickly enough.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 death 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—”