“You’re merely chafing at the fact that she thinks dukes are arrogant and unfeeling, or some such rot. So she would never agree to marry you anyway.”
“Yes, you told me,” Sheridan said. More than once. Often enough to irritate him. “And I’m not looking for her to marry me, anyway.”
“I suppose it’s possible you could coax her into liking you, but beyond that . . .”
When Grey left the thought dangling, Sheridan gritted his teeth. “You’ve made your point.” Not that Sheridan had any intention of making Vanessa “like” him. She was not the right woman for him. He’d decided that long ago.
“Didn’t you agree to fund Vanessa’s dowry?” Sheridan said as he took another swallow of brandy. “You could just bully Lady Eustace into revealing her secrets by threatening to withhold the dowry, you know, unless your aunt comes clean.”
“First of all, that only hurts Vanessa. Second, if my aunt is cornered, she’ll just lie. Besides, all of this depends upon the women thinking they got away with it while we pursue our investigation. That’s why I haven’t told her or Vanessa that we’ve already determined my father died of arsenic. Which is another reason you should question Lady Eustace. She won’t suspect you.”
“What about Sanforth?” Sheridan asked. “Originally we decided that I was to ask questions in the town. What happened to that part of our plan to find the killer—or killers—of our fathers?”
“Heywood can manage Sanforth perfectly well.”
That was probably true. Sheridan’s younger brother, a retired Army colonel, had already made significant improvements to his own estate. Compared to that, asking questions of Sanforth’s tiny populace would be an afternoon’s entertainment.
“So you see,” Grey went on, “there’s no reason for you to even return to the country. As long as you’re in town for the play you might as well pop into the box my aunt has at the theater and see what you can find out. You can pretend you’re there to chat with Vanessa.”
“That’s assuming they even attend the play,” Sheridan said. “Charitable productions don’t sound like things Lady Eustace would enjoy.”
“Oh, they’ll be there,” Grey said. “Vanessa will make sure of it. It’s Juncker’s play, remember?”
“Right.” He stared down into the shimmering liquor and bit back an oath. “Very well. I will endure Lady Eustace’s suspicions to learn what I can.” Which meant he’d also be enduring Vanessa’s foolish gushing over Juncker.
His throat tightened. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care. “Thank you,” Grey said. “Now if you don’t mind . . .”
“I know. Beatrice is waiting for you at the estate, and you’ve got quite a long journey.” He met his brother’s anxious gaze. “It will be fine, you know. The Wolfes come from hardy stock. Not to mention our mother. If she can bear five children to three husbands before the age of twenty-five, I’m sure my cousin can give you an heir without too much trouble.”
“Or give me a girl. I don’t care which. As long as Beatrice survives it, and the child is healthy . . .”
“Go.” Sheridan could tell from Grey’s distracted expression that the man’s mind was already leaping forward to the moment he would reach his wife. “Go be with her. I won’t disappoint you.”
Sheridan knew firsthand the anguish love could cause, how deep it ran, how painful the knot it tied around one’s throat.
That was precisely why he never intended to be in such a situation. Just seeing Grey’s agitation was more than enough to caution him. Love could chew a man up and spit him out faster than a horse could run. Sheridan already had plenty of things to worry about. He didn’t intend to add a woman to that number.
“Wait, girl,” Vanessa’s mother said as she stopped her daughter from entering the Pryde family box. “Your headpiece is crooked.” She shoved a hat pin into Vanessa’s fancy turban, skimming her scalp.
“Mama! That hurt!”
“It’s not my fault it won’t stay put. You must have put on the trim unevenly. Serves you right for not buying a brand new turban in the first place.”
Her mother always wanted her to buy new instead of remaking something. Unfortunately, the small estate of Vanessa’s late father didn’t produce enough income and the widow’s portion for her mother never stretched far enough for Vanessa to buy