Project Duchess

by Jeffries, Sabrina

  “Joshua?” Beatrice prompted him.

  Her brother sighed. “I was in Leicester at a healer’s when Uncle Armie died. I go to her every time I have business in that town.”

  “Her?” Grey asked, an eyebrow raised.

  Joshua scowled at him. “She’s seventy years old if she’s a day, so just get that nasty thought right out of your head. She would no more share a bed with me than . . . well . . . any woman would.” A flush rose in his cheeks. “Why do you think I’ve been going to her? I want to be able to find a better, more secure position, so some woman will marry me without having to endure this”—he tapped his calf with his cane—“useless lump of flesh.”

  Beatrice saw the flash of pity in Grey’s eyes and prayed that Joshua didn’t see it.

  Fortunately, Grey masked it swiftly. “And are her efforts helping?”

  Joshua stiffened. “Not that I can see, despite all the blunt I’ve given her. I should have known. Nothing helps.”

  Ready to cry at the hopelessness in her brother’s voice, Beatrice said, “The point is, he was with the healer all evening. The price for a night of her ministrations included lodging, since her method of healing was to wrap his leg in an herbal poultice overnight, then remove it in the morning. He’s certain she will testify to his being there, too. She has no reason not to.”

  “Why the hell didn’t he just tell you this?” Grey asked.

  Beatrice sighed. “Because he’s Joshua, the proudest fellow this side of the Channel. God forbid anyone learn of his willingness to do almost anything to gain a wife . . . or that he’d turned to some questionable healer for his cure, even though the surgeons said they’d done all they could.”

  “Damn it, Beatrice, why don’t you just tell all my secrets to His bloody Grace?” Joshua muttered.

  “It’s better than seeing you hang,” Beatrice said.

  “And understandable to a man as proud as you,” Grey said. “What about Maurice?”

  “What about him?” Joshua stepped up to her to murmur, “What’s he talking about?”

  She wanted to throttle Grey for that. “Sheridan thinks you might have killed his father,” she told her brother.

  “You knew he suspected me of that, too?” Joshua shook his head. “Is that why you took Greycourt into your bed? Because you thought I was a double murderer?”

  She rounded on him. “I have told you over and over that I seduced him. But you won’t believe me!”

  “Because I know how men like him are.” He shoved the pistol into his coat pocket. “And you aren’t the type to do something so foolish on your own.”

  “Stop painting me out to be a dissolute rogue!” Grey snapped. “Yes, she and I got carried away and went too far, but I mean to do right by her, whether you murdered my stepfather or not. She’ll be safe, I promise you.”

  Joshua swore under his breath. “For God’s sake, what the devil do you chaps think I am—some sort of master criminal? I haven’t murdered anyone, and certainly not Uncle Maurice. Why would I? He was good to us.”

  “But he was planning on selling the dower house,” Grey pointed out. “You could have decided to get rid of him once you learned that.”

  Beatrice rolled her eyes. “This is absurd. I already told you Joshua and I were together all night.”

  Grey looked uncomfortable. “What else are you going to say, sweetheart? He’s your brother.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Are you doubting my word?”

  “I’m merely saying I wouldn’t blame you if you wished to protect him. It’s admirable, but you’re forgetting there are things he hasn’t accounted for. Like the matter of his having summoned Maurice here that evening.”

  “I didn’t summon anyone,” Joshua protested. “Beatrice and I were here doing the books all night. I had no reason to call him here.”

  “That’s not what my mother says,” Grey retorted.

  “No surprise there.” Joshua leaned heavily on his cane. “Has it occurred to you she might have killed him? The woman has been widowed three times and managed to gain something out of it every time. Don’t you find that a tad suspicious?”

  Grey’s eyes turned the color of arctic ice. “Now see here, you bloody arse, my mother would never—”

  “That’s enough, both of you.” Beatrice stepped between them. It was time to put an end to this. As long as her brother kept provoking Grey, she couldn’t make Grey see reason. “Joshua, go inside. I need to speak to His Grace alone.”

  “The devil you will!”

  “You can watch from the window. It’s not as if he’s going to ravish me on the lawn in broad daylight.”

  Joshua narrowed his gaze at Grey, who was still seething. “Make it quick,” he said, and went back in the house.

  She pulled Grey far enough away to be sure her brother didn’t hear them through the open door. “Why are you doing this? You know he’s innocent. He might kill someone in defense of me—like Uncle Armie—but he’d never murder your stepfather for property. And even if you’re right and he was concerned about losing the dower house, your mother said Sheridan is considering selling it, so Joshua would have to kill him, too, without being caught. Then Heywood would inherit, and he’d want to sell it . . . The whole thing’s ludicrous.”

  “Beatrice—” he began in that soothing voice that could be so condescending.

  “I might be biased toward my brother, but I’d never cover up a murder for him if I thought he’d done it for money. I was the one to tell you I feared Joshua might be guilty of killing Uncle Armie. Why would I do that, then turn around and lie about his alibi for the second death? It makes no sense.”

  “Perhaps you were afraid I wouldn’t wed you if I knew he’d murdered my stepfather.” When she bristled at that, he went on hastily, “But I stole your innocence, so I will marry you, as I promised.”

  That inflamed her. “So marriage to me would be like taking your medicine. How flattering.”

  He winced. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You must have a really low opinion of my character if you think I’d lie about my brother’s alibi just to make sure you wed me.” She planted her hands on her hips. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Your aunt tried to trap you into marriage, and your mother gave you away to your uncle who seems to have treated you badly. You’re cynical about families in general. You think they all want something from you. And perhaps some do. But some are just muddling through. Like your mother. She did her best, yet you blame her.”

  “What do you know about it?” he growled.

  “I talked to her at length yesterday. She wishes she could have handled matters differently, but she was trapped by your father’s will. Your resentment of her wounds her deeply.”

  His face closed up. “I don’t want to talk about my mother.”

  “You don’t want to talk about anything—your feelings about being sent away . . . what happened between you and your uncle. How can you even think to marry me when you keep everything important to you hidden from me?”

  Aware of Joshua watching through the window, she lowered her voice. “For that matter, how can you marry me when you believe I’d lie about my brother to secure you? How would you feel if I accused you of covering up some crime of Sheridan’s? You certainly didn’t like it when my brother accused your mother of murder. But then, only dukes are honorable and just, right? The rest of us are merely trying to get what we can.”

  “I was only saying—”

  “That you don’t trust my judgment or my character.” Her breath caught in her throat. “Well, I can’t wed a man who won’t trust me. Who clearly doesn’t know me at all.”

  “Now see here, are you refusing my offer of marriage?” he asked, clearly unable to take that in.

  “I know you think that’s unfathomable, but yes, I am.” She held her head high. “Good day, Your Grace.”

  Then turning on her heel, she stalked back into the house, her heart breaking a little more with each step.


  “Bloody arse,” she mumbled under her breath as she entered. “Insolent devil thinks he’s God’s gift to women. I’ll show him and his brother they can’t mess with us. I will damned well—”

  “That’s quite a mouth for a duke’s granddaughter,” Joshua drawled. “He certainly got on your bad side.”

  She glowered at him. “Shut up. Because of you, I turned down an offer of marriage from the man I love. So I am not in the mood for your nonsense.”

  And leaving him gaping after her, she hurried up the stairs. She wasn’t going to shed a single tear for that arse. She was not.

  But as she reached the top, she felt the tears burning her throat and knew that once again Grey was going to make her cry.

  Damn his soul to hell.

  Grey stood staring after her, feeling as if he’d been bludgeoned. What the devil? She’d refused him? It was the first time in his life he’d ever proposed to a woman, and she’d turned him down.

  He’d ruined her, for God’s sake! She couldn’t refuse him. It was madness.

  Wolfe appeared in the doorway only long enough to slam the door shut. And that was that.

  The hell it was. Grey scowled. Her every word had pierced him, especially the ones about his not trusting her. The woman certainly knew how to give a man what for. Even when he didn’t deserve it. He’d done the honorable thing, behaved like a gentleman.

  So marriage to me would be like taking your medicine. How flattering.

  All right, so perhaps not quite like a gentleman. Still, he was a duke! She’d be daft to turn him down.

  Then again, Beatrice was a little daft. She preferred long walks in the woods to dancing a minuet. Like him, come to think of it. She disliked pretension and lies. Like him. She was perfect for him in every way. And all she asked was that he let her look inside his very soul.

  He should let her. It meant nothing, right?

  It meant everything. It meant sharing his secrets with her, taking hers on faith, trusting her to hold his heart in her hands and not crush it, the way everyone else had. Because apparently he did have a heart if he were to judge from the searing pain in his chest.

  He glanced at the dower house but saw no sign of Beatrice. She certainly wasn’t running out here to beg him to ignore her refusal and marry her. He sighed. She might not ever ask that of him. He might have lost her for good.

  The searing pain in his chest spread outward until it felt as if his entire body was on fire. No wonder he had sought to protect himself from any emotion that might provoke heartbreak. Because heartbreak was wretched.

  But there was no point in staying here and mooning after her like some forlorn swain, so he headed back to the hall. He must do something to fix this. The only thing he could think of was to save her brother for her. That would require convincing Sheridan to at least postpone arresting Joshua until the authorities could look into the summons thing and talk to Wolfe’s healer in Leicester.

  When he entered Armitage Hall sometime later, however, it wasn’t Sheridan he found in the foyer but his mother.

  “Grey! You’re back! After I saw the Times, I felt certain you wouldn’t return from London for a while. I need to talk to you.”

  Damn. He wasn’t ready for this. “Where’s Sheridan?”

  “He’s somewhere around here, I’m sure.” She took Grey by the arm. “And this cannot wait.”

  He hesitated, but since the Wolfes had essentially run him off, he hadn’t been gone long. Perhaps if Sheridan didn’t see him, he would assume Grey hadn’t returned yet. Besides, Mother might be able to shed some light on the summons Maurice had received the night he died. So Grey followed her into the drawing room.

  “Do you want some tea?” she asked.

  “I don’t have time for tea.”

  She sniffed. “You never have time for tea. Or your mother.” The injured look on her face said volumes.

  “I’m making time for you now.” He waited until she sat down on the settee, then took a seat beside her. “What’s this about?”

  “Your betrothal to Vanessa.”

  Damn. Mother hadn’t seen the errata in the paper yet. Not that it fit the circumstances now that Beatrice had turned him down.

  He stiffened. Not for long. He would convince her to marry him if he had to beg. He would do whatever it took, even make peace with his mother. Because he had to have Beatrice in his life.

  With that decision made, he felt a strange calm steal over him. Vanessa’s words swept through his mind: Perhaps it’s time you put the past behind you.

  Perhaps it was.

  “I’m not betrothed to Vanessa,” he said. “The Times made a mistake.”

  Her expression brightened. “Oh, that explains so much. I did think it odd you would marry her when you’ve never expressed any interest there.” She stared down at her hands. “Then again, even if you had, I wouldn’t know, would I? You barely speak to me.”

  “Mother—”

  “Was sending you away so very bad?” she asked, lifting a teary gaze to him.

  Leave it to Mother to get right to the point.

  But she wasn’t finished. “I truly thought giving you to your guardian so he could prepare you for your role as duke was the right thing to do.”

  Just like that, his bitterness came pouring out. “Yes, and having one less child underfoot certainly made it convenient, didn’t it?”

  Shock lined her features. “Is that what you think? That we just wanted to fob you off on someone else?”

  Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that. He sounded like a petulant child. “No, of course not.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But you could have broken the will. You could have sent my uncle packing and accepted the consequences.”

  “Those consequences would have affected only you, my dear.”

  “Going with him affected only me. What was the difference?”

  That sparked his mother’s temper. “Now see here, Fletcher Pryde. Your leaving affected us all profoundly. Gwyn cried herself to sleep for a week. Little Heywood kept asking for his ‘Gwey’ while Sheridan went around stabbing things with a stick. Thorn wanted to know when you were coming back. And Maurice walked about in a fog as if he’d lost his will to live. As for me . . .” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “For months, I couldn’t think or speak of you without bursting into tears.”

  The vivid image she painted of his family mourning his absence was balm to his wounded heart. “Then why did you send me away?” he asked hoarsely. “I didn’t give a damn about learning to become a duke. I merely wanted to stay with all of you.”

  “You say that now, but at the time you seemed quite content with the plan.”

  He thought back to his ten-year-old self before his uncle had disillusioned him. In a flash, he remembered his excitement at going to England. He’d envisioned a world where he was important, where he wasn’t treated like a child. Unlike his parents, Uncle Eustace had treated him like a man.

  Little had he realized what a façade that was. But he’d learned soon enough. “I suppose I was eager to go. What did I know? I was a child.”

  “Exactly. Which is why you didn’t realize that if we’d broken the will, you would have lost a fortune in unentailed property and stocks to your uncle. Maurice and I couldn’t bear to cripple your financial future that way.”

  As his entire world shifted sideways, he stared at her. All this time he’d focused on where and to whom they’d sent him instead of why they’d sent him. He’d taken at face value their remarks that they wanted him prepared to be duke, without probing more deeply. He’d just stewed in his resentment and anger without trying to understand.

  He should have tried harder to understand. “Why did you never tell me this?” he asked softly.

  She shrugged. “You were ten. You wouldn’t have understood the financial particulars.”

  “I might have. I certainly understood them when Uncle Eustace started trying to—” He halted too late.

  “Tryi
ng to what?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He took her hand in his.

  “Obviously it does, or you wouldn’t be so angry with me even after all these years.”

  “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself.” For not listening, not asking more questions. For hardening his heart to his parents. For letting Maurice—Father—die without mending the rift.

  Uncle Eustace, who had made such a show of liking him on the trip, had proved to be a bastard. But his parents couldn’t have known that he would.

  “Anyway,” Grey said, “it’s in the past. We should focus on making our present and future a happy one, don’t you think?”

  When he put his arms around her, she burst into tears. He let her cry, as his penance for making her so unhappy.

  “I know now y-your . . . uncle was c-cruel . . . to you,” she stammered. “Thorn t-told me he suspected it.”

  Damn Thorn. “I got through it,” he said, not sure what else to say. He couldn’t deny it. She’d know he was lying. His mother had always known when he was lying.

  “Y-You . . . should have . . . w-written to us about . . . whatever he . . . was doing.”

  “I tried. But he was always the one to post the letters. So he read them first. And once I was away at school . . . He’d given up on forcing me into things.” Mostly, anyway. By then Grey was too proud to turn to his parents for help. He was in the thick of a battle with his uncle and determined to win.

  “So it w-wasn’t too awful for you?” she asked, gazing up at him hopefully.

  “No,” he lied. She probably knew he lied, but he would bite off his tongue before he told her what his uncle had really done. “As I said, it’s all in the past now.”

  Her tears began to die down at last, so he handed her his own handkerchief, since she’d soaked through her own. “I seem to have this effect on women, making them cry,” he teased. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  His mother eyed him askance as she blew her nose and blotted her eyes. “You’re breaking their hearts. Take Bea, for example. You know she’s half in love with you already—and you encouraged that, I might add. So why on earth would you hurt a feeling young woman like her by sneaking off in the night and allowing her to think you were marrying Vanessa?”