Project Duchess. Sabrina Jeffries

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 might also ease how Sanforth’s citizens regarded her and Joshua, who were both presently seen as somewhat freakish—her because of her tomboy ways and Joshua because of his erratic behavior and his bad leg. If the town accepted their relatives, and their relatives accepted her and Joshua, then the town might actually change its opinion about her and Joshua, too.

      She could only hope so, since she feared that despite her aunt’s efforts, she was well on her way to becoming a spinster. Especially if Joshua refused to allow her aunt to give her a come-out.

      Oh, but she would give him what for if he balked. Just see if she didn’t.

      Emboldened by that thought, she entered the empty yard that adjoined the kennels, a limestone structure at the other end. The yard, too, was surrounded by limestone—high walls meant to keep the hounds in when they were dashing about.

      At once she spotted her brother leaning on his cane and speaking to the Master of the Hounds, Mr. MacTilly. She closed the gate behind her, so no dogs could escape.

      When Mr. MacTilly saw her coming, he halted his conversation to tip his hat to her. “A good day to ye, miss. Come to take some of the wee beasties for a walk, are you?”

      “That . . . and to speak to my brother.”

      Joshua swiveled to face her, his weathered face wrought in a frown. “What about?”

      “And a cheery good morning to you, too,” she said acidly. “You must have risen quite early. If you came home last night at all.” When Joshua’s frown deepened, she cast Mr. MacTilly a meaningful glance, who hastily said, “I’ll go gather the hounds most in need of exercise,” before hurrying off into the building itself.

      “What do you want, Beatrice?” Joshua asked.

      “Aside from desiring to know where you were last night that had you coming in so late I never saw you?”

      His face closed up. “I had things to attend to in Leicester.”

      Leicester was three hours away by post. He’d been making frequent trips there in the past few months, for no reason she could see. “Oh, and what might those things be?”

      “None of your concern.”

      “Joshua—”

      “I don’t have time for one of your inquisitions!” When she stiffened, he rubbed his hand over his face. “Just tell me what you need, all right? So I can get on with my work.”

      What she needed was to hear why he’d been disappearing to Leicester for several nights in the past year, but she’d asked before, and “none of your concern” or something of that ilk was all he ever said. She would worry he spent the time drinking in one of the taverns, except that he never smelled of spirits and there were taverns in Sanforth he could go to more easily. So what was he up to that required such secrecy?

      It didn’t matter. That wasn’t why she was here, anyway. Let him keep his secrets, as long as they didn’t involve her. “I need to talk to you about something concerning our aunt and cousins.”

      He muttered an oath. “I went to the funeral as you demanded, even