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.
Beatrice didn’t know what was irking Grey, but he’d seemed put out with his sister ever since she had come down.
“I know that,” Gwyn said. “I only meant that they’re charming.” She batted her eyelashes at Joshua. “I do love dogs.”
“As I recall,” Grey said, “you used to hate them.”
Gwyn rose to glare at her brother. “That was a long time ago. Before you left home, I did indeed hate them . . . but only because they terrified me. What did you expect? I was six. But then I grew up and Mama got Snuggles, and my entire opinion of dogs changed.”
“What sort of dog was Snuggles?” Beatrice asked, determined to shift the conversation away from Grey’s absurd overprotectiveness.
Gwyn turned to her with a warm smile that transformed her face. “He was the sweetest little pug you’ve ever seen, Bea. You would have loved him. It nearly broke my heart to leave him behind in Berlin, but he was getting too old to survive the trip. Fortunately, Mama says we can find another pug for me in London next time we go.”
“Let’s hope you don’t name that one ‘Snuggles,’ too,” Joshua muttered.
“I’ll second that thought,” Grey said.
Gwyn laughed. “You men! Mama was the one to name our pug, actually. I wanted to name him Pugsy.”
The two men groaned.
“The poor lad probably wanted to crawl under a chair with mortification every time he was around his fellows,” Grey told Joshua. “‘Snuggles,’ indeed.”
“And Pugsy?” Joshua snorted. “You might as well hang a lace ruff around his neck. A male dog should be named something manly, like these two lads—Mercury and Zeus.”
“Ah,” Grey said. “I take it you’re the one with the penchant for the classics?”
“I named every dog in that kennel. If I’d allowed it, Beatrice would have named them all Sunny and Brilliant and Elegant.”
“I never chose any such names!” Beatrice protested.
“And what’s wrong with them, anyway?” Gwyn asked, warming Beatrice’s heart by standing up for her. “Those names sound very sweet.”
“The dogs are foxhounds, not pugs,” Joshua said. “Their purpose is to hunt. They shouldn’t have ‘sweet’ names.”
Beatrice gazed coldly at her brother. “Well, who names a dog Mercury and Zeus? Dogs aren’t characters in a Homeric odyssey, for pity’s sake!”
The man actually blinked. “And what do you know about Homeric odysseys?”
Beatrice sniffed. “I can read, you know. I merely choose to read different things than you. And just for that, you can walk both dogs. Perhaps you’ll get lucky and they’ll do their manly business on your boots! Grey and Gwyn and I will meet you at the ruins.” She lifted her skirts. “Come on, you two. Let’s leave my brother to his foxhounds.”