“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—”