Sheridan chuckled. “That’s because your husband knows that once he tells you, it will be broadcast far and wide.”
“Hardly. I’ve kept Thorn’s secret all this time. I’ll bet you don’t even know what it is.”
“I’ll bet I do,” Sheridan countered. “But I swore I wouldn’t tell a soul, and you, dear girl, nearly told it yesterday.”
“What secret did she almost tell?” Vanessa asked. “My heavens, your family has a great many secrets.”
“I’ll tell you later,” Sheridan said to Vanessa in an undertone. He could always reveal how Olivia and Thorn had met. That was a juicy secret indeed. Although at the rate Gwyn and Olivia were going, the secret of Thorn’s identity as a playwright could be out next week.
His mother walked in.
“Good God,” he exclaimed. “Why are the lot of you congregating in my study? Don’t you have rooms—or in your case, Gwyn, a home—of your own?”
Mother pouted. “I learned that Gwyn was here, that’s all. I wanted to see if she’d heard whether Grey and Bea’s baby had been born yet.”
“No, it hasn’t,” Vanessa said even as she looked over the account book. “They’re still waiting.”
Sheridan cast her a surprised look. “How do you know?”
“Bridget heard it from a servant in Grey’s household. She’s on very good terms with his staff.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Sheridan muttered. “Your lady’s maid is quite the resourceful female.”
Ignoring him, Gwyn turned to their mother. “I have lost Lady Hornsby, Mama, and no one can tell me where she is.”
“Oh! I did mean to mention to you that she owns a romantic little cottage near Richmond Park. I’d forgotten all about it. It’s where she retires to if she’s having a tryst with a married lover. Here, I’ll write down the direction.” She walked over to Sheridan’s desk and took out a pencil and some paper. When she realized both of her children were staring at her, she said, “What? I went there to keep her company once when her . . . er . . . current lover was delayed up north.”
“I think you’re right, Vanessa.” Gwyn stood and walked over to take the piece of paper from their mother’s hand. “We do have a lot of secrets. And I guess I know what I’ll be doing the rest of the morning.”
Sheridan scowled. “You’re not riding out to Richmond Park alone, are you?”
“I’ll take a footman,” Gwyn said breezily.
“You damned well will not.” Sheridan shot to his feet. “You’ll take me, and I’ll carry my pistol just in case. Joshua would never forgive me if I let his very pregnant wife go with only a servant to an adulterer’s nest. Anything could happen.”
“Ooh, yes,” Gwyn said sarcastically. “I might see some marquess—or judge—naked.”
“And if you did,” Sheridan said, “you might not live to tell the tale. So I’ll bring this just to be safe.” He opened a desk drawer and removed his pistol case, then turned to Vanessa.
Before he could even say anything, however, she said, “Go, go. I’m just planning to sit here looking over these account books. And if you don’t arrive home before Mr. Bonham gets here, I’ll make your apologies.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He bent to kiss her, then headed for the door. “Mother? Are you coming?”
“No, dear,” she said. “I’m traveling again tomorrow, so the last thing I want is to spend an hour each way to Richmond Park in a coach.”
“Very well. We shouldn’t be too long. With any luck we’ll be back long before Bonham arrives.”
Vanessa had already only been half paying attention to the conversation, so when Sheridan and Gwyn left, she was quite absorbed in the account books. They made no sense. Sheridan might be blaming himself for the problem, but that was only because he was wary of how he saw numbers.
She, on the other hand, saw numbers perfectly fine, and these made no sense. They didn’t add up in the least. She needed an orderly way to look at everything because she didn’t have enough time to figure it out before Mr. Bonham arrived.
“My dear,” a soft voice said, and Vanessa nearly jumped out of her skin.
Then she realized that the dowager duchess hadn’t actually left. “Forgive me, Duchess,” she said with a smile. “Sheridan’s talk of adulterers’ nests and pistols and such has made me a bit skittish.”
“We all are these days. And please, call me Mother. All the other wives do.”
“I’d be honored,” Vanessa said.
“Anyway, I won’t keep you long, but I did wish to ask you one thing before I return upstairs.”
Vanessa sat back warily. “And what would that be?”
“Did my rapscallion son tell you about Helene?”
“He did. He explained that it was a very difficult time for him.”
“It was, indeed.”
Vanessa swallowed. “I gather she was a wonderful person.”
Her mother-in-law snorted. “Not quite as wonderful as my son considered her to be. Personally, I found her flighty and frivolous . . . until her tragic condition imbued her with a certain nobility of manner.”
A sigh escaped Vanessa. “I’m afraid all that remains of her character in Sheridan’s memory is that ‘nobility of manner.’”
“Don’t misunderstand me. Her death was a tragedy. I knew her parents, and they were lovely people. They didn’t deserve to lose a daughter so young. If it had been Gwyn . . .” She shook her head. “I would never have been the same.”
“I can well understand that.”
“The problem is Sheridan is much like his father. Once he takes to a person, he is loyal to a fault. Maurice married me because I was the wife of his friend and I needed a husband, so loyal friend that he was, he wed me. That quality is wonderful in a lord of the manor. I can always be sure that Sheridan’s servants, tenants, and other staff will never go without, not if he can help it. He will fight tooth and nail to make sure that anyone he cares about is provided for.”
“I’ve noticed that about him. He seems very dedicated.”
Her mother-in-law sighed. “But somehow, when it comes to Helene, that quality has become twisted in his head. He feels if he admits he no longer loves her the way he used to, then he’s somehow being disloyal to her.”
“I think you’re right about that.” It made her heart sink even more. “To be honest, he married me out of a sense of duty, which isn’t much different from loyalty. In his mind, he’d ruined my reputation, so he had to fix that. But I wasn’t terribly concerned about that. I just wanted him—want him—to love me. What if he never can?”
Her mother-in-law came around the desk to put her arm about Vanessa’s shoulders. “I think he already does love you. He merely doesn’t want to admit it to himself, stubborn devil. He’s kept the torch lit over her grave for so long that he doesn’t know how to put it out. I fear it will take something very powerful to change that state of affairs. We shall merely have to hope it comes along before you’ve been married thirty years, as I was to his father.”