Sheridan bit down a sharp retort at the man’s particular mention of Mother. Bonham was just being polite. “We were.” Then he paused as something occurred to him. “How did you know about that?”
Bonham’s cheeks reddened. “From the newspaper. There was mention of a social affair thrown by your brother at Thorncliff.”
Bloody hell. “Yes, well, it was rather impromptu and casual. A relatively small crowd.” So why did he feel guilty about not inviting Bonham? It hadn’t even been Sheridan’s party, blast it, and it wasn’t as if Bonham had been at the charity performance.
He hadn’t, had he? God, if he had, then he must be terribly insulted.
The man nodded, almost as if he’d heard Sheridan’s thoughts, which was ridiculous. “Oh,” Bonham said, “and the article mentioned that you and Miss Pryde are about to be wed. Congratulations, Your Grace.”
The bottom dropped out of Sheridan’s stomach. Who the hell had told the newspaper that lie? Vanessa would be none too happy. The courtship was supposed to be just to make Juncker jealous, not to link Sheridan and Vanessa so irrevocably that their parting of the ways down the line would damage both their names and reputations.
Bonham wasn’t finished, unfortunately. “It’s none of my concern, I realize, but I must say it’s very brave of you to take on a wife, given your present financial difficulties—”
“You’re right—it is none of your concern.” When Bonham paled, he added, “Nonetheless, it might set your mind at ease to know that Miss Pryde has a substantial dowry.” He was probably exaggerating a bit, but Bonham’s concerns irritated him.
Apparently, his words did set Bonham’s mind at ease, for the man’s expression cleared. “Well, that is fortunate. It sounds like a wise decision indeed.”
Sheridan hadn’t meant to imply he might marry Vanessa, but his usual reticence about his personal life kept him from telling the fellow otherwise. “Glad that you approve,” he said sarcastically.
Bonham seemed unaware of the sarcasm.
Wait. Sheridan had read the Times this morning, and that bit of gossip wasn’t in it. “Which newspaper are you referring to, Bonham?”
“The London Society Times.”
Sheridan groaned. That same paper had been focused on his family since their arrival in England. Actually, it had probably been printing gossip about Grey since he’d set foot on English shores twenty-five years ago.
Well, perhaps not that long, but a long bloody time all the same.
“I can send you my copy if you wish,” Bonham offered when Sheridan’s silence went on a bit long.
“Thank you, but no need to trouble yourself. I’m sure I can find a copy in my club’s reading room.”
Bonham eyed him askance. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Your Grace, that’s somewhere else you might trim expenses: club dues.”
“Fortunately—or unfortunately, from your perspective—I don’t pay dues. My father won a lifetime membership or some such. Anyway, it’s free. Because if it weren’t, I would leave the club without a single qualm just to save those dues.”
Bonham did indeed look disappointed. Poor fellow had been working very hard to help Sheridan find some way out of the financial hole his uncle had dug for them years ago. What Bonham should have done was try to curb Uncle Armie’s excesses when his uncle had been alive. Then again, Uncle Armie hadn’t seemed to be the sort of fellow who let himself be guided by a mere man of affairs.
“Sheridan! There you are.” His mother marched into the study, waving a newspaper and not seeming to notice Bonham, who’d stood and moved to the side the moment she’d called Sheridan’s name. “Have you seen the London Society Times yet?” She dropped the paper onto his desk. “Did you intend for them to say all this about your courtship of Vanessa?”
He forced a smile. “Mother, Bonham is here. Perhaps we could save this discussion for later.” After Sheridan paid his visit to the Pryde town house to see if Vanessa had seen the paper. And if she had, how she was taking all this.
His mother stopped short to look about her. Sheridan could tell exactly when she spotted Bonham by her sudden blush. Was there indeed something going on between them? Or was she merely embarrassed to be talking about private matters in front of the man? With Mother, it was hard to tell.
Bonham bowed to Mother and then to Sheridan. “Actually, Your Grace, unless there’s something else, I will take my leave.”
“Thank you, Bonham,” Sheridan said. “I do believe that’s all. But I appreciate you coming such a long way for such a short meeting.”
Casting a speaking look at Sheridan’s mother, Bonham said, “I am always happy to visit Armitage House, Your Grace.” Then he left.
As soon as he’d gone into the hall, Mother opened her mouth, but Sheridan put a finger to his lips and walked over to close the door.
She cocked her head. “What was that for? I’m sure we can expect Bonham to be discreet.”
“But perhaps not the servants.”
“No doubt the servants have already read the gossip. So you’re being careful for nothing.”
As Sheridan returned to the desk, he gestured to the chair Bonham had vacated. “That might be the case, if the article is what I wish to discuss. But it isn’t. Not yet, anyway.”
After a quick, indrawn breath, she dropped into the chair. “So . . . um . . . what did you want to talk about?”
“Your conversations with Vanessa’s uncle last night.”
She stared at him defiantly. “I don’t care what that article says. It was nothing more than a harmless flirtation.”
A vise tightened around his chest. “Are you saying that the article mentioned you and Sir Noah specifically?”
Her defiance faded. “I-I thought you knew. Have you not read it?”
“Of course not.” When did he have time to read gossip these days?
He picked up the paper and scanned the columns until he found the portion Bonham and Mother had mentioned.
The impromptu event, held at the Thornstock town house in Mayfair, included dancing and supper for those select few fortunate enough to be invited. The Duke of Armitage danced first with Miss Pryde, his half brother’s cousin, and then later on managed to engage that same lovely woman for the supper dance. There have been rumors of late that Miss Pryde prefers the talented Mr. Juncker above everyone, but it didn’t appear to be the case last evening—the famous playwright only managed one dance with Miss Pryde to the duke’s two. Your faithful correspondent wagers we will soon hear wedding bells for Miss Pryde and the Duke of Armitage.
Sheridan grimaced. Vanessa was going to kill him. If people were assuming they were nearly engaged, she would have trouble changing that public perception so she could marry someone else. Since he was sure Juncker would never wed her anyway, that could materially damage her prospects for a betrothal with some other fellow who took her fancy.
But he still hadn’t seen anything about his mother, so he read on.
There were hints of other possible future weddings in the offing. The Dowager Duchess of Armitage was seen with Sir Noah Rayner more than once, and they looked most amiable. He, too, was successful in gaining her companionship for supper. Perhaps the fourth time is the charm for the duchess.
Anger welled up in Sheridan. “What is this . . . this arse trying to say?” He pinned his mother with a hard look. “That you were unhappy with all your previous husbands?” Like his father, for example?
It was foolish to be angry over that. His parents had never hidden the fact that their marriage had been one between friends, and romantic love hadn’t entered into the equation. Much as that stuck in his craw, it was something he and his siblings considered a truth of their family.
“So is this writer correct?” he went on. “Are you romantically interested in Sir Noah? Or are you simply using him to make Bonham jealous? Or pretending to be interested in him for other reasons?”
She shot out of the chair. “I don’t see how that’s any of your conc
ern.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s my concern if you’re attempting to ‘investigate’ the death of Grey’s father by cozying up to Sir Noah.”
The pure shock on her face told him he’d made a false supposition.
Then her expression closed up with all the stubbornness he’d come to expect from his mother. “And what if I was?” She stared him down. “Weren’t you doing the same thing, trying to cozy up to Miss Pryde to get closer to her mother?”
God, but Mother was certainly good at understanding how her sons thought. Despite knowing what she was after, it put him on the defensive. “I told you before, it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“No point in you trying to deny it. Before Grey left town yesterday, he told me what he was planning to have you do.”
That didn’t sound like Grey. “Did he really?”
“Are you saying I’m lying?”
Damn. If he wasn’t careful, this would degenerate into Mother making claims that he couldn’t prove or disprove. “You have been known to fudge the truth occasionally. Besides, I got the impression Grey was in a hurry to leave town. So I can’t see why he would visit you first.”
His mother smiled a cat-in-the-cream smile. “I came upon him while I was visiting Gwyn. She was the one who gave Grey the name of a respected accoucheur in London. That’s why he sought her out. Before he came here, that is.”
There was no way he could dispute that. Not without talking to Gwyn. “As I told you before, I was cozying up to Vanessa because she wanted to make Juncker jealous. That’s all.” When she opened her mouth as if to dispute his claims, he held his hand up. “And if you want to confirm that, you’ll have to ask her. I’ve already said more than I should have.”
He wasn’t about to admit his mother was right about his ulterior motive for being around Vanessa. It was the sort of thing Mother might blurt out while sharing confidences with the young woman. And on some level, he knew it would hurt Vanessa deeply. He refused to do that to her. It seemed . . . wrong somehow.
As wrong as actually using her to find out what you need to know?
Inwardly he cursed. He was on a mission. His family’s very lives hung in the balance. Four men were already dead. Someone had destroyed Olivia’s laboratory—she could easily have died in the explosion. What if Mother or one of his brothers was next? He had to determine who was trying to kill or maim members of his family.
“Now, if you don’t mind,” he went on, “I have more ledgers to go over before I can pay a visit to Vanessa. She might very well be alarmed by that article in the London Society Times. I must reassure her that it won’t cause any great damage to her plans to snag Juncker.” Not to mention, he’d promised to protect her from Lisbourne. And he took that promise seriously.
His mother snorted. “If you say so.”
“Is there anything else you need from me?”
She rose from the chair. “Not at the moment, no.”
“Good. Then I shall see you this evening.” He called out to stay her march toward the door to his study. “I hope you will keep this confidential.”
“Of course. Don’t I always?”
He stifled a skeptical laugh. “Not if you can avoid it.”
Mother didn’t seem to appreciate that, for with a sniff she exited the room. Then it was back to perusing his account ledgers once more.
Chapter Eight
Vanessa slept late and wandered down the stairs just past noon to have her breakfast. After selecting a hearty meal to see her through the afternoon’s calls, she thumbed through the newspapers laid out on the table until she found her favorite, the London Society Times. It didn’t take her long to notice an article about Thornstock’s party. The more she read, the sicker she felt. Who was this writer, that he managed to be at so many private engagements? Or to have connections to people at so many private engagements?
In a panic, she turned to the footman manning the breakfast table. “Has Mama seen this paper, by any chance?”
“I don’t believe so, miss. She hasn’t been down to breakfast yet.”
Thank heaven! Perhaps Mama really had been feeling ill when she’d left Vanessa with Uncle Noah and had come home.
But Vanessa wasn’t daft enough to go check on her. Let Mama sleep. And to make sure her mother never read this issue of the gossip rag, Vanessa tucked it under her arm, grabbed a roll, and hurried up the stairs. Unfortunately, she didn’t make it to her room before her mother accosted her in the hall.
Mama waved a page of newsprint at her. “What is the meaning of this, young lady?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mama.” Pleading ignorance sometimes worked.
This wasn’t one of those times. “No? Then what is this?” Her mother snatched the newspaper from under Vanessa’s arm.
“I’m bringing it to my room to read.”
“A likely story. I wouldn’t even have seen this bit of gossip if not for my friend next door, coming to congratulate me on your ‘brilliant coup’ last night.” Mama advanced forward, swatting Vanessa with the newspaper and forcing her to back up toward her room. “So while I lay ill in my bed, you had to defy me, dancing with Armitage not once but twice!” She thrust the article at Vanessa. “When you could have been with Lord Lisbourne instead!”
“Lord Lisbourne was in the card room the whole evening,” Vanessa protested.
“Exactly!” Her mother stabbed the article with one finger. “You could have been there, too, hanging on his arm, encouraging him, having intimate conversations. . . .”
For pity’s sake, what was her mother going on and on about? How could Mama have known that the marquess was even there when Vanessa herself hadn’t known until later?
Oh, no. Surely not.
Vanessa skimmed the newsprint. A few paragraphs down from the part about her and Sheridan, she found a mention of Lord Lisbourne.
Rumor has it that the card room was as lively as the ballroom. The Marquess of Lisbourne acquitted himself admirably, reportedly winning a pot early in the evening, with the heiress of Hitchings at his side.
This writer would be the death of her. “Mama, I can explain—”
Her mother sniffed. “Don’t bother. I know what you’re up to. And I don’t like it one bit.”
Vanessa tensed. Had Mama caught on to the real focus of all her hopes?
With one finger, her mother stabbed Vanessa’s chest. “You’re trying to make that Mr. Juncker jealous so he’ll offer for you.”
Relief coursed through her. Thank heaven Mama only saw things on the surface.
“Well, I won’t stand for it!” her mother went on. “Next time you see Lord Lisbourne, girl, you will cozy up to him or else.”
Vanessa’s temper flared. She could tolerate Mama’s machinations and ranting and attempts to marry Vanessa off, but she hated being called “girl.” It smacked too much of how Sheridan insisted on regarding her. “Or else what, Mama? You will throw me out in the street? You will try to starve me as you and Papa did to Grey?”
Her mother looked startled. No surprise there. She was used to having Vanessa ignore her behavior rather than make a fuss. “That was all your father’s doing. I had no part in it.”
“But you didn’t stop it, did you? Stand up for him against Papa?” She thrust her face in her mother’s. “I am not a girl; I am a full-grown woman who knows her own mind. I am not going to marry Lord Lisbourne, not now, not ever. Besides, I have it on good authority that the marquess is a notorious gambler with pockets to let, to use your favorite term. So he is only nosing around me because he needs to marry a woman with a generous dowry.”
Mama blanched. “That’s . . . that can’t be . . . It’s not true.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t believe you. Who is this ‘good authority’?”
“A very reliable one, I swear.”
“If you won’t say who it is, I have no way to assess the source,” she said with a sniff. “So you’d best be prepared to be
nice to Lord Lisbourne, because—”
Vanessa sighed. “It’s Grey.” By way of Sheridan, but Mama needn’t hear that. “And you know Grey always comes by these bits of information honestly. You’ve seen him make good financial use of such things before.”
Mama glanced away, the uncertainty in her face clearly demonstrating how compelling she found Vanessa’s argument. “Well. Perhaps Grey is merely paving the way for his half brother to swoop in and take your dowry.”
“Come now, Mama. Can’t you see? It’s Lord Lisbourne who wishes to take my dowry.”
“I consider that unlikely.”
“Fine. Then you can marry him.” Vanessa turned and headed for her bedroom. “Oh, and by the way, he said he’s calling on us today, so I’d best get dressed.”
“What?” her mother screeched. “Why didn’t you say so? Good Lord, I barely have time to prepare!”
The last thing Vanessa saw as she went into her room was her mother hurrying toward her own bedchamber, calling for her maid and the housekeeper.
Precisely at three, when people from the previous night’s affair could be expected to pay calls, Vanessa slipped down the stairs as silently as a cat, hoping to avoid another private meeting with her mother. Vanessa already regretted the last one. She didn’t like it when she got angry and lashed out at Mama. It made her sound precisely like the child her mother made her out to be. She wanted to be in control of her temper. Papa had often gone into rages, and watching it as a child had terrified her.
Unfortunately, her mother brought out the worst in her. So Vanessa was relieved to hear from the footman that Mama was already downstairs waiting for her in the best parlor with their first caller.
Almost relieved, anyway. Because a peek inside the parlor revealed that Lord Lisbourne was their caller, and he’d clearly come “a-courting,” as Vanessa’s maid liked to say. As usual, he had dressed much too finely for paying calls—this time in another suit of velvet, but dark blue, with cerulean knee breeches, of all things. She supposed she should be glad he wasn’t sporting a powdered wig.
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