Page 31 of Project Duchess

“Oh. Right. Because that’s where Uncle Maurice—” She halted, a pretty blush spreading over her cheeks. “You . . . um . . . didn’t hear what I was saying, did you?”

Much as he would like to tell her the truth, he figured there was no point in embarrassing her further. “I thought I heard you call me, but it was hard to tell down there by the water. It’s very loud.”

Her face cleared. “Of course. Yes. It generally is. Very loud, I mean.” She halted, as if aware she was babbling. “So, did you wish to stay longer? Or are you ready to leave?”

“We can go. I know this is probably a long walk, even for your pointers.”

“Not really. We do a lot of roaming. Nothing much else to do around here. And I like to walk.”

“So do I.” He gestured to the edge of the bridge. “Shall we?”

With a bob of her head, she came toward him, then seemed to realize she still held his cravat in her fist. “Oh! This is yours.”

She thrust it at him, and he took it, careful not to touch her hand.

They walked awhile in a silence that grew heavier by the moment. Then she cleared her throat. “Were you close to your stepfather? I know you didn’t get to see him, but surely you wrote letters home.”

Damn. He’d prefer silence to her probing. “I did. But letters aren’t the same, as I’m sure you know.”

“I do. I liked your stepfather. He always treated me kindly, and he never behaved as if he were better than I.”

“Maurice was the sort of man who treated people as equals when other members of society might not.”

“Precisely. Sheridan is like him.”

“And I am not.”

She dropped her gaze to the path. “You are . . . not like anyone I know.”

“I suppose you consider me more like your uncle Armie.” He glanced over in time to see her blanch.

“Why on earth would you think such a thing?” she asked, sounding alarmed.

“I don’t know. I gather that your uncle Armitage lorded it over you and your brother.”

“Oh. Right.” A long breath slipped from her. “Yes, he was a bit . . .”

“Full of himself?”

“You could say that.”

She’d grown stiff and reserved. Mentioning her uncle seemed to have set her off.

How curious. Sheridan had been sure his uncle had been murdered as well. And something was making her reluctant to speak of the man.

“Fortunately,” Grey said, “living over here at the dower house, you probably didn’t see him that much.”

“We saw him more than enough.”

“So you didn’t like him.”

“As you say, he lorded it over us.”

Grey was certain there was more to it. “I understand your uncle died here on the estate.”

If he hadn’t been watching for her reaction, he wouldn’t have seen the expression of utter panic on her face.

“Yes.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It was tragic.”