some tea, then fixed her with a dark look. “Did you happen to see Grey last night? When he left here, he said he had something to take care of. Then he stayed out for hours. I got the distinct impression he might be going to talk to you.”
All eyes turned to her. Blast. She considered lying, but that hadn’t been working well for her lately. “Um. Yes. I did see him. He came looking for Joshua, and I told him my brother was in Leicester. So I imagine he went off there.” That was true. Mostly.
Sheridan’s expression cleared. “That makes sense. It would explain why he was out all night.”
“He was out all night?” his mother said. “Whatever for? Why couldn’t he just speak to Joshua when the man returned?”
It was Sheridan’s turn to look uncomfortable. He stirred some sugar into his tea. “I would imagine that he . . . Perhaps Grey had some notion . . .” He set down the cup of tea. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’ll see if anyone else has a guess.”
And he was out of the room before they could stop him.
“That was odd.” Gwyn gazed after her brother. “I think he knows more than he’s letting on. I’m going to find out what it is.” She too marched out the door.
When Beatrice stood there awkwardly, wondering if she could now make her escape, Aunt Lydia gestured to the table. “Come have some breakfast, my dear. Don’t leave yet. Keep me company, if you don’t mind.”
Stifling a sigh, Beatrice said, “Of course, Aunt. I’d be happy to.”
As her aunt slid into a chair, Beatrice went to fill a plate at the sideboard. She could practically feel her aunt’s gaze boring into her. Oh, dear.
“Tell me, Bea, and I want you to be honest,” her aunt said. “Grey hasn’t done anything to . . . hurt you, has he?”
Not yet, he hasn’t.
Beatrice paused with her plate in hand. Then she pasted on a big smile and faced her aunt. “Don’t be silly. Everyone has been more than kind to me, including your son.”
Her aunt seemed to take that at face value. “Well, he hasn’t been very kind to his mother, drat him. And quite frankly, I can’t believe he would marry Vanessa, of all people. I mean, I gather that she’s been more like a sister to him than a cousin, and one doesn’t marry one’s sister.”
Sister? The word lightened Beatrice’s mood.
“I worry that he’ll break her heart,” Aunt Lydia went on. “He’s so . . . closed to love, so afraid to trust anyone.”
Even Beatrice had noticed that. “It could . . . explain the engagement,” she said. “A cousin he sees as a sister would be a safe and sensible choice. He wouldn’t have to give his heart.” Even as she said the words, she realized they made sense. “During his days of living with the Prydes, he probably grew close to the family.”
“I doubt that.” His mother gazed out the window at the lawn. “I’m fairly certain his life with them was not a happy one.”
Beatrice had guessed as much, but to hear it stated so baldly by Grey’s own mother sent an arrow through her heart. “How do you know?” She came over to sit next to her aunt with her plate, but food didn’t interest her just now. “Did he tell you?”
“He didn’t have to. Ever since our return, he has acted strangely toward me. He’s kind one moment, then avoids me the next. And from things Thorn has told me, I fear Eustace . . . treated him ill.”
“What sort of things?”
“Grey left the Pryde house at twenty-one and never returned. He couldn’t avoid seeing his aunt and uncle in society, of course, but Thorn says he barely talked to them.”
“I thought he helped with Vanessa’s debut.”
“He did. He threw a ball at his town house to introduce her in society, knowing that having a duke behind her would help her move in loftier circles. Thorn attended it. He said Grey hardly spoke to her parents, and as soon as it was over, Grey said he was well shut of them. Of course, now that his uncle is dead, Grey only has to deal with the aunt.”
Beatrice stared down at her plate. “Thorn didn’t happen to know how he was mistreated, did he?”
“Thorn never exactly said Grey was mistreated—just that he suspected it. And Grey has never said anything to me. I think he wants to