Before she could broach even one, her new husband shifted his stance so he could gaze up the steps and said, “Your mother is late.”
Vanessa nodded. “That’s typical of her, I’m afraid. We shall simply have to hope there won’t be too many times we have to travel with her.”
He consulted his watch with a frown. “I trust you slept well?” he said, then turned his gaze to her and banished his frown. “You certainly look well this morning.”
“Why, thank you. I did indeed sleep well.” She straightened her pelisse. “Your bed is very comfortable.”
He leaned in the open carriage door. “And seeing you in it made me very happy,” he said in a low rumble that had her squirming on the seat, remembering their lovely romp in her bed earlier last night. Though she did wonder why he hadn’t made any advances while she was in his.
“Thank you for putting me to bed,” she told him.
“You have my mother to thank for that more than me. I hadn’t even noticed that you’d been lying in your own blood.”
“To be honest, neither had I. Still, I vaguely remember you moving me to your bed.”
He eyed her closely. “I thought you weren’t awake.”
“I wasn’t, really. I just roused enough to realize someone was carrying me who smelled like you.” She cast him a rueful look. “You wear a very distinctive scent.”
“Ah.”
“And I’m sorry I got foxed. I don’t usually drink spirits at all.”
He chuckled. “I could tell.”
“I was just upset that—”
“I know. You had a right to be. And I’m sure you have more questions. But we must discuss those in private tonight at the inn where we’re staying in Cambridge.” He nodded to where her mother was descending the steps, scolding some poor servant as she came.
Vanessa sighed, wishing she had more time. But she did want to know one thing before they set off, something she thought—or rather hoped—she might have dreamed. “Who is Helene?”
The stricken look on his face told her she hadn’t dreamed it. “We’ll . . . discuss her tonight as well.”
“She’s not your mistress, is she?”
“God, no.” He lowered his voice. “I told you. I’ve never had one.”
“One what?” Mama asked as she reached him.
When Sheridan stiffened, Vanessa said, “A pet. I was telling him we should get a poodle.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her as he helped her mother into the carriage. “And I told your daughter that if we do get a dog—which I’m not averse to—it won’t be a poodle.”
Her mother settled into the seat beside Vanessa, facing forward as was proper for women traveling with men in a carriage. “I can’t imagine why you’d want one of those filthy creatures in your house, Duke. I never allowed one in mine.”
Sheridan exchanged a sympathetic glance with Vanessa as he took the seat directly opposite her. “A dog, Lady Eustace? Or a poodle?”
“Both.” Mama shook her head. “If you acquire any dog, you will soon find them too troublesome to endure.”
Vanessa ignored her mother. “What breed would you prefer, Sheridan?”
“A setter. I like setters. Growing up, we had two as pets.”
“Oh, I forgot about that.” Vanessa ventured a smile. “Grey told me he had to leave his setters behind. It follows that the rest of you inherited them.”
Sheridan nodded. “They died five or so years after he left. But they were my constant companions until then.”
“Did you ever get another?”
“No. My mother mostly agreed with yours on the subject of dogs being filthy creatures. Which is why she had a cat. They clean themselves.”
“Oh, I love cats!” Vanessa had always wanted one of those, too. But Mama had forbidden even that. No pets for her.
Now that she was married, however, she could acquire whichever pets she wanted. That hadn’t occurred to her until just now. Then again, she would have to consult with Sheridan first, which was only slightly better than having to pass every decision through her father, her mother, or a trustee. Truly, even when women got what they wanted, they didn’t get everything they wanted.
The conversation lapsed at that moment. With Sheridan watching them both as if trying to figure out how to begin his interrogation of Mama, Vanessa turned to looking out of the carriage window at the lovely scenery. She knew they were supposed to get her mother to tell them where she was during the house parties, but Vanessa’s heart wasn’t in it.
Last night, she should have asked her questions. Perhaps when she’d felt his eyes on her, as if he was wondering if he should wake her. But she hadn’t been in the mood. She’d been tired, not to mention weary of discussing what he’d kept from her. Between the possibility that Mama had been a murderer and that Sheridan might have to be the one to trap her into confessing, Vanessa had needed time just to think of what to say to him about the enormous secret he’d been hiding from her. And to ask what else he might be keeping from her.
Eventually, she would have to ask her questions, if only to put her fears to rest. But with Mama in the carriage now, she would be forced to delay her questioning. Her mother had a way of turning every conversation around to herself, anyway.
“I don’t understand why we had to leave the country in such a hurry,” Mama said in her most peevish voice. “Armitage Hall was a very striking residence. I’m sure it will be even more appealing once improvements are made to it.”
“The only improvements I’ll be making at present will be to my tenant cottages,” Sheridan said curtly. “My tenants . . . our tenants have waited a long while for their landlord to do much-needed repairs.”
“I suppose you will use my daughter’s dowry for that.” Mama sniffed. “Although one would think you would first wish to improve your own house rather than wasting money on—”
“I agree with my husband,” Vanessa cut in. “Tenants are the backbone of an estate, and thus they deserve our care.” Realizing she sounded curt, Vanessa added, “Besides, Mama, you wouldn’t enjoy having only a village as small as Sanforth to provide amusements for you. Sadly, St. Brice’s Day is past, so you can’t even see the running of the bull.”
Sheridan smiled warmly at Vanessa. “I haven’t yet seen the running of the bull, and I live there. Then again, last year I was in mourning and couldn’t really attend such things, and this year I was in London.”
Vanessa ventured a smile of her own before turning to deal with her mother. “Which is where you generally prefer to be, Mama. I can’t imagine why you would want to stay in the boring old country.”
Sheridan obviously caught the sarcasm in her words, for he tightened his lips as if trying not to laugh. The only reason Mama had been whisked away from Armitage Hall was to prevent her from renewing her fight with the dowager duchess.
Fortunately, her mother hadn’t figured that out. “You do have a point, my dear. Although it will be hard to be in town without you.” Mama drew out her handkerchief to dab at her perfectly dry eyes. “I shall miss you so. While London does, of necessity, have more choices for entertainment, what good is it if I must attend them alone? Now that you are married, the three of us should go to some of them.”
Lord help her. The last thing she wanted was her mother treating Vanessa’s marriage as a club she could join.
Just as Vanessa was frantically hunting for something to discourage Mama, Sheridan winked at her. “Unfortunately, Vanessa and I can’t stay long in town. A few days at most.”
How clever of him to have stepped in so readily. He was proving to be a good husband in some things, and apparently more than capable of handling her mother. Which was an art in itself.
“After I’ve met with Bonham,” Sheridan went on, “we’ll be returning to Armitage Hall to begin on those improvements I mentioned. I’m afraid you will have to rely on some of your friends to accompany you to places. Or your brother.”
“Noah? I suppose he might be willing.
He said he means to stay with your family at the estate until they depart for town tomorrow. And speaking of your estate, I trust you mean to improve your stables, too. Why, there weren’t even enough good saddle horses for riding.” She shot Sheridan a coy look. “You shall have to remedy that at once, Duke.”
The pained expression that crossed his face was hard to miss, though he masked it quickly. “I hope I can manage that soon.” He eyed Mama with interest now. “Do you ride, Lady Eustace?”
Her mother gave a girlish laugh. “Well, of course. In my youth, I was quite a good rider.”
He nodded. “I thought my mother had mentioned that. She spoke of how fine your seat was when you were at the house party at Carymont for Grey’s christening, all those years ago.”
“Did she? That was kind of her.” Mama’s use of the word kind dripped with disdain. “But she must have forgotten she only saw me ride the first day, when we all went out for a tour of the estate. A hare darted out and spooked my horse, which threw me.”
Her mother used her hands to describe the event, her handkerchief fluttering with every movement. “My leg hit a rock and was in such a state I couldn’t even move it for the rest of the visit! I spent all of my remaining time near the fire with my leg propped on a cushion. Well, all my time until the tragedy, that is.”
Sheridan’s gaze shot to Vanessa, and an unspoken message passed between them. Her mother couldn’t have been the one to poison Grey’s father. Granted, they would have to confirm her mother’s story with servants at Carymont and perhaps with the dowager duchess, who ought to have remembered that. But Mama seemed blissfully unaware that she had just removed herself from the list of people who’d possibly killed Grey’s father.
Relief swamped Vanessa. Oh, thank heaven it wasn’t Mama! Her mother might exasperate her, but Vanessa didn’t want to lose her. Besides, if Mama had proved to be a murderer, Vanessa would never have been able to look Grey in the face again.
On the other hand, Mama being exonerated meant that she and Sheridan had married for naught. What if he resented that? What if he regretted taking up with her at all? If he hadn’t accepted Grey’s request to question Mama, Sheridan wouldn’t have been in a position to flirt with her or kiss her or . . .
“My wife . . . my duchess . . . my goddess . . .”
Surely those words hadn’t been a complete lie, had they? He must have felt some small affection for her in order to have initiated her into marital relations with such loving care.
How she wished she’d already asked him the question she needed an answer to. Because now she had a whole day ahead of her to dwell on it before she could actually ask him. And with Mama around, it would be a long enough day as it was.
By the time they reached Cambridge, Sheridan was growing restless. Just to be sure Lady Eustace hadn’t been involved in the murders, he’d asked her what the second house party had been like. She’d described an exciting round of amateur theatricals, held to amuse her friend Lydia during her confinement. When asked about servants, she’d scoffed at him. Who cared what servants were there?
He and his family cared. But that was a question he’d have to leave to Vanessa to pose. He didn’t want to show his hand, and his wife could question her mother more naturally.
Still, he was fairly certain Lady Eustace hadn’t committed any of the murders. Vanessa was right—her mother might be cruel, but she didn’t have the ambition for such an elaborate scheme of villainy. And she really didn’t have a motive for it, either.
Once at the inn, Lady Eustace was more than ready to retire, after asking that a tray be brought to her room, courtesy of His Grace, of course.
Sheridan would have paid for fifty trays if it meant he didn’t have to spend one more minute in the woman’s presence. Of course, now he had to face his new wife and explain why he’d deceived her . . . if he could even do so to her satisfaction. He wasn’t sure he could.
But he had to try. Just watching her remove her red pelisse to expose a gown of diaphanous muslin thin enough to glide over the curves of her body made him want to tear it off of her so he could feast on all her silky places. He meant to have her again tonight, assuming she wanted the same thing. Somehow he had to convince her they could make a very good pair, despite their rocky beginnings.
Fortunately, his credit was still good at this inn in Cambridge—their lodgings were well-appointed, with fireplaces in both rooms of the suite for him and Vanessa. One was a bedchamber with a large tester bed and plenty of space for the two small trunks they’d brought containing the items they’d need for traveling. The other was a sort of sitting room, which not only had a settee with a side table but also contained a dining table with four sturdy, old-fashioned chairs.
Shortly after their arrival, their dinner was brought up—a hearty ragout of mutton, mushrooms, potatoes, and carrots paired with a bottle of Madeira. But once they sat down to eat, he noticed that Vanessa only picked at the food and didn’t drink the wine at all.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked. “You hardly ate anything at lunch.”
“I need to ask you something.” She lifted her gaze to his. “And I want you to tell me the truth no matter how much you think it might pain me.”
Damn. That did not sound good. “All right.”
“If not for needing to question Mama for your family’s investigation, would you ever have offered to make Mr. Juncker jealous by courting me?”
Leave it to Vanessa to go right to the heart of their situation.
Despite what she’d said, he debated lying. But it was time to stop avoiding the truth with her. “No, I wouldn’t have.”
Her expression was hard to read. Was she hurt? Upset? Relieved? He couldn’t tell. Then he noticed how she was rubbing the handle of her fork, back and forth, over and over, as if she were trying to keep from showing him how she felt.
That did something to his insides. “But that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy at how things turned out, at having you become my bride. I’m not unhappy in the least. And surely you can tell I’m attracted to you.”
She looked right through him. “Just not enough that you would have courted me on your own.”
He stiffened. “Probably not.”
“You could have gone another way entirely with your plan, you know, and revealed to me what you were after from Mama. I would have helped you get the truth out of her, and the whole courtship thing would have been something we did for the sake of keeping Mama’s suspicions at bay.”
He scoffed at that. “You’re saying you would have helped me determine whether your mother was guilty of murder?”
“I swear I would have done whatever you needed, if only to prove that Mama wasn’t capable of it.”
“And how could I have been sure you wouldn’t tell her our suspicions?”
Vanessa winced. “I suppose you couldn’t have. But I daresay Grey should have known. Grey should have asked for my help directly. I would have helped him if he’d asked for sure.” Now Sheridan could hear the hint of betrayal in her voice. That seemed to be at the root of her distress. “But no one asked me. Instead—”
“I know. Grey just handed the whole thing over to me.” Grey, her big brother. The one she loved dearly. No wonder she felt betrayed. “And I stepped in and took care of it myself.”
“While letting me think you wanted to protect me from Mr. Juncker.”
That roused his temper. “I did want to protect you from Juncker. It was clear you were besotted, and he was only interested in dallying with you.”
“It was clear, was it?” she said coldly.
He chose to ignore that odd reaction. “I realize I let the subterfuge go on far too long. My mother says I should have told you in the week before we married, that I should have given you a chance . . .”
“To refuse to marry you?” She took a small sip of her wine. “Perhaps I would have taken that chance, but mostly because I would never wish to wed any man who felt forced into it, either for the money or any ot
her reason.”
He wasn’t sure why, but that angered him. “Let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t marry you for the money. I married you because I had . . . acted on my physical urges and thus put you in a difficult position.” He rose to pace the room. “I know what a gentleman should do when he destroys a woman’s reputation, however unintentionally, and I am a gentleman at heart.” He paused to stare down at her. “Perhaps I should amend that. I’m a gentleman except when I’m around you. Then I lose all reason.”
God, he shouldn’t have admitted that, especially to her. Already her expression had softened. Why, he didn’t know. She was in love with Juncker, wasn’t she?
He was about to ask her when she said, “You don’t need my dowry?”
Vanessa was blunt—he’d give her that. “I didn’t say that. It will help matters, to be sure. Unfortunately, I need a great deal more money than most women’s dowries could probably offer.”
“And certainly not mine.”
“Vanessa, I wasn’t—”
“It’s all right. I understand.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“What isn’t? That you were forced to marry me? That in time you will come to resent that?”
“Absolutely not,” Sheridan said firmly. “My attraction to you is enough for me.”
“Right now.” She sighed. “But who knows if it will be enough for you later? Eventually my looks will fade.”
“You don’t understand. I wasn’t lying when I said I would choose not to marry if I could.”
She took a couple of deep breaths. “Because of Helene?”
He debated whether to admit that. But he’d promised her the truth. And she deserved to hear it. “Yes,” he said softly. “Because of Helene.”
Chapter Eighteen
Vanessa wasn’t sure she should have started this, since every word was a dagger through her heart. But they were married now. They should have no secrets between them. She refused to have a marriage like Mama’s, where Papa did as he pleased while Mama grew increasingly unhappy and bitter. She wasn’t certain which had come first—Mama’s unhappiness, which drove Papa to have mistresses. Or Papa having mistresses, which drove Mama to become unhappy.
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