rule,” he said, a thread of amusement in his tone, “don’t apologize. For anything. You’re a duke’s granddaughter. You must walk into every room as if that duel was a single faux pas in a line of virtuous deeds. And why was it scandalous, anyway? If it was a matter of honor—”
“I think it was more a matter of dishonor,” she said dryly, “although Grandmama wouldn’t confirm that.” Beatrice had heard it was fought over a mistress, but she wasn’t about to tell the lofty Greycourt that. “No one liked to talk about it.”
“So it happened years ago, right?”
“Sixteen years, actually,” Beatrice said.
“Perfect. No one will remember. Hell, I had no idea of it.”
“Fletcher Pryde!” his mother exclaimed. “You won’t be of any use to Gwyn and Bea if you use profanity in social situations.”
Rather than murmuring his apologies the way Bea would, Greycourt laughed. “Mother, you haven’t been in society much in the past few years, have you? We’re at war. Gentlemen are scarce, and officers aren’t always nice with their language.”
Aunt Lydia turned to Thornstock. “Is that true?”
Thornstock snorted. “I wouldn’t know. To be honest, I avoid good society as if my life depended on it. Which it often does.”
Alarm filled his mother’s face. “What does that mean?”
“You don’t want to know, trust me,” Greycourt said, casting his half brother a quelling glance.
But Beatrice wanted to know. She found everything about Aunt Lydia and her children fascinating. They were all so . . . so blunt and unapologetic. She’d never met anyone like them.
Well, except Joshua. But he didn’t speak his mind in their entertaining fashion. For that matter, neither did she.
“It will all be fine, Mother,” Greycourt went on. “You’ll see. And Sheridan has his hands full right now. As for Thorn—”
“There is no way in bloody hell I’ll be teaching anyone about how society works,” the man cut in. “And yes, Mother, ‘bloody hell’ is definitely unacceptable language for society.”
“Or for anywhere,” Lady Gwyn chided her brother. “Even I know that.”
Thornstock shrugged. “All the more reason for Grey to take charge of this nonsense.”
Aunt Lydia sighed. “I shall leave it to you boys to sort things out as to who does what. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” She looked at Beatrice. “That reminds me, my dear—you have spoken to Joshua about approving our scheme, have you not?”
Caught off guard, Beatrice said, “Of course.”
Liar. She needed to do so, although she dreaded it, not knowing how he might react. Still, she would give him the rough side of her tongue if he refused to allow it. She might struggle not to speak her mind around other people, but she never fought her impulses around Joshua. If ever a man required frank speech, it was her brother.
Aunt Lydia smiled. “Because I wouldn’t wish to do anything without his say-so. We’re still mostly strangers to him, and I don’t want him thinking we’ve overstepped our bounds.”
“I understand,” Beatrice said.
Oh, yes, she understood only too well. Women never got to make these decisions for themselves. They were at the mercy of their brothers, fathers, and husbands.
It wasn’t fair. She and Lady Gwyn were certainly in agreement on that.
Her aunt rose. “Now, if you don’t mind, I must return to the drawing room.”
The men stood, too, and Sheridan rounded the table to his mother’s side. “I’ll go with you.”
But before they could leave, Greycourt spoke to his mother. “Promise me you’ll get a good night’s sleep. Even if you’re not attending the funeral, tomorrow will be taxing, and you need your rest.”
“If you wish it, Grey.” Aunt Lydia gave him a melting smile. “Thank you for coming, my son.”
Some unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes. “Of course. Where else would I be?”
That broadened her smile.
“I’ll join you in a moment,” he added. “As soon as I finish dessert.”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” she said.
The moment Aunt Lydia and Sheridan left, Greycourt sat down to fix his gaze on Beatrice. “I have a favor to ask of you. I know your brother didn’t attend your other uncle’s funeral. So please make sure he attends my stepfather’s tomorrow.”
The urgency in his voice startled her. As did his use of the word “please.” “O-of course he will attend.”
“Good. Because it’s important that he do so.”
There was something he wasn’t saying. She desperately wished she knew what it was. But the twins were exchanging bewildered glances, and his enigmatic expression gave no indication of what it might be.
“I will do my best to make sure that Joshua shows up here promptly for the funeral procession,” Beatrice said.
“Excellent.” Grey finished his wine. “Thank you.”
Somehow that roused her suspicions even more. “May I ask why it’s so important?”
He rubbed his finger along the rim of his glass. “Mother will be hurt if he doesn’t attend. And I don’t wish to add more sorrow to her present situation.”
Her heart twisted in her chest. “Of course not,” she said hastily. “Neither do I.”
Lord, she hoped that was Grey’s only motivation. The last thing she and Joshua needed was a duke breathing down their necks to learn all their secrets, a duke who clearly was very good at sifting out truth from lies.
She could only hope she was reading too much into his reactions. Otherwise, she and her brother were, at best, about to end up cast into the street, with no one around to help them.
And she’d do anything to prevent that.
Chapter Six
The day after the funeral, Beatrice hurried up the hill to the kennels where she hoped to find Joshua. Unfortunately, she could no longer put off discussing her impending debut with him.
Fortunately, the funeral had gone according to plan yesterday. Judging from the compliments Beatrice had received from the male servants in attendance, everything had met with the family’s approval. Not to mention, the townsfolk’s. The liberal pouring of port for the mourners hadn’t gone unnoticed. The Wolfe family’s generosity had mightily impressed the locals who hadn’t been fond of Uncle Armie and his skinflint lack of support for the town.
That
