Page 9 of Project Duchess

“There’s no telling. You know how he is—good at finding wenches and wine no matter where he travels. No doubt you taught him that skill.”

It was a measure of how little time they’d spent together that she still knew naught of his true character. “I did no such thing.”

Gwyn surveyed him with a sister’s usual skepticism. “Then why did Father always worry that you would lead Thorn astray here in England?”

“I have no idea. Thorn is perfectly capable of leading himself astray, which Mau—Fatherought to have known. And despite what nonsense you may read in the papers, I’m not Thorn. I don’t spend my time in the stews.”

“Hmm. Methinks the man doth protest too much.”

“Don’t quote Shakespeare to him,” Mother said plaintively. “Or he’ll start mocking me by quoting Fletcher.”

“I don’t mock you, Mother,” he retorted, relieved to change the subject away from his supposed wild nature. “I merely think you’re unfairly biased toward our ancestor. Shakespeare is the better playwright, and you know it.”

“I know no such thing! Fletcher wrote some of the most engaging, witty plays in the English language. Why,The Wild Goose Chasenever fails to make me laugh.”

“You see what you started, Grey?” Gwyn smiled. “Next thing we know, she’ll be acting out the scenes.”

“I beg your pardon, Sis,” Grey said, “butyouwere the one to start it. I’m just standing here defending myself.”

Sheridan came over. “What has Grey done now?”

Mother’s irate expression softened. “Nothing. Today he can do no wrong.”

A lump stuck in Grey’s throat.

“That’s good to hear,” Sheridan said blandly. “Because I need to steal him for a bit.”

Mother tightened her grip on Grey’s hand. “Must you? He just arrived.”

“I’m afraid I must,” Sheridan answered. “But you’ll have plenty of time with him later. He’s planning on staying at Armitage Hall for a while.” He fixed Grey with a hard look. “Aren’t you?”

Damn. “I amnow.” Grey narrowed his gaze on his brother. “So tell me, how long am I staying, exactly?”

“We’ll discuss that.” Sheridan gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

With a quick squeeze of his mother’s hand, Grey said, “I’ll be back soon, Mother. Keep a chair warm for me, will you?”

Then he followed his brother out the door and down the hall to what had been Maurice’s study when he was alive.

After Grey took a seat, Sheridan went to pour them both some brandy and handed Grey a glass. When Sheridan then stood there staring down into the amber liquor, Grey asked, “Is this about the family finances? Because I’m happy to pay for the funeral and offer you a loan at whatever terms you—”

“It’s not about money. Not yet, anyway.” Sheridan sipped some brandy, then faced him. “It’s about the manner of Father’s death.”

“By drowning.”

Sheridan met his gaze. “Yes. But not an accidental one, I don’t think.”

“What in God’s name do you mean?”

“I believe Father was murdered.”

Grey took a healthy swallow of brandy, then another. “And what exactly brought you tothatconclusion?”

“A few things. First of all, there are the details of his death. He drowned when he apparently fell into the river from the bridge near the dower house—”

“There’s a dower house?”

“It’s where Bea and her brother Joshua have lived ever since my grandfather died.”