under furniture to avoid men, I came in the nick of time.”
Sheridan rose from the settee. “Good afternoon, Cousin. It’s good to see you.”
His stiff manner belied the welcome in his words. All at once, their merry camaraderie disappeared, reminding Beatrice with a horrible lurch that Sheridan and Grey suspected her brother of murdering Uncle Armie.
Aunt Lydia went to kiss Joshua’s cheek without any indication that she felt the tension between the men. “We’re so glad you came over, Nephew. I do hope you’ll stay for dinner.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Joshua said, flashing her a genuine smile. “I came to fetch Beatrice since we have to discuss the needs of the kennel before I go over to Leicester to look at a couple of hunters tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Lydia said. “I do wish you could stay.”
Gwyn cleared her throat.
Aunt Lydia glanced over and colored. “I’m forgetting my manners. Joshua, please let me introduce you to another of my sons and to my daughter.”
“Actually, I met Greycourt at the funeral.” Joshua shot Gwyn a furtive glance. “But I haven’t yet had the privilege of meeting Lady Gwyn, though I’ve heard a great deal about her.”
“That certainly sounds intriguing.” Gwyn smiled as she stepped forward. She swept her gaze down him in a quick assessment. “You’re Major Wolfe, I presume?”
He bowed his head. “At your service, madam.”
Unlike most women Beatrice and Joshua encountered these days, Gwyn showed no trace of disgust or coolness toward him for his damaged leg. Nor pity, either, which was equally unusual.
To Beatrice’s surprise—and delight—Gwyn gazed at Joshua with more curiosity than anything else. And perhaps a little attraction? Beatrice had always considered her brother relatively handsome, despite his limp and the straight black hair he kept unfashionably long. Gwyn’s reaction to him proved her right.
Nor was there any mistaking the blatant survey he made of Gwyn’s figure. Her brother never looked at any woman that way . . . or at least he hadn’t since before the war.
How very interesting.
“I’ve been telling my brother about all of you,” Beatrice put in, not wanting Gwyn to wonder where Joshua had heard of her.
“Yes, my sister sings the praises of our new relations . . . and their relations,” Joshua said caustically, though he kept his eyes fixed on Gwyn.
Far from being put off by his tone—or his bold stare—Gwyn flashed him what could only be called a coquettish smile. “Well, your wonderful sister has hardly said a word about you, sir. I began to think you a hermit in a cave somewhere. How delightful to learn I was wrong.”
Clearly unused to having a woman flirt with him these days, Joshua gaped at Gwyn as if she were an odd new creature in a menagerie.
Beatrice stifled a laugh and walked over to stand next to him. “My brother isn’t one for company, I’m afraid. He buries himself in his work.”
Grey spoke up then. “I understand, Major Wolfe, that you’re the head gamekeeper for the estate.”
“I am indeed,” Joshua said testily.
“I’m sure my brother is delighted to have you handling that position so admirably,” Grey said, “since he’s had to spend so much time untangling your uncle Armitage’s financial affairs.”
Devil take the man for his deliberate mention of Uncle Armie!
“Good luck,” Joshua told Sheridan amiably. “As you’ve probably noticed, our uncle was terrible at managing money. Your father despaired at having to figure out where his brother had spent it all.”
“And now I am despairing, though it does seem Uncle Armie wasted a great deal of blunt on new landscaping,” Sheridan said, more warmly than before.
“Ah, yes,” Joshua said. “Several ha-has were built, and Uncle Armie became obsessed with creating a ‘wilderness’ area that everyone in town calls ‘Armie’s Folly.’ Not to mention the fortune he spent on the various garden buildings.”
“Am I right that there’s even a ruins on the estate?” Grey persisted, sending a chill through her.
Blast it, did he know that Uncle Armie had died near the ruins? Because if so, she must change the subject. “There’s a ruins and a Chinese gazebo and the prettiest little hermitage—”
“A ruins!” Gwyn exclaimed, unaware of how she thwarted Beatrice by seizing on that particular building. “Why am I only now hearing of this?”
“Because we’ve all been rather busy,” Sheridan told her, shooting Grey a veiled glance she couldn’t interpret.
“And because it’s not a real ruins.” Joshua’s voice was surprisingly courtly. “Uncle Armie had them constructed. You’d be shocked how much blunt it takes to create a ruined abbey with