Fortunately, Sheridan suspected that whatever weapon was chosen—whether pistols or swords—he would be better at it than Juncker. After all, Juncker had spent his entire life scribbling poetry and pretending to be a playwright. Sheridan, on the other hand, had been trained by his father to be prepared for anything—feast or famine, peace or revolution. And once Sheridan had seen that the family’s investigation might put them all in danger, he’d added lessons in shooting to his activities.
Sometimes the only way to keep the peace was to threaten violence. As Father had always said, “Peace comes at a price paid for by the sword.” And Sheridan would be more than happy to thrust a sword through Juncker’s heart, if it were warranted.
His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Quite possibly she hadn’t either. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Hungry, mmm,” was all she answered.
She was falling asleep! He didn’t know whether to be insulted that he’d bored her or pleased he’d worn her out with his lovemaking. Then again, it had been a very long week of planning and arranging the wedding. His part had only been to meet with solicitors. It was Vanessa—and his pregnant sister, pregnant sister-in-law, not-yet-pregnant sister-in-law, and aging mother—who’d done the rest. He probably shouldn’t fault Vanessa for being tired. He should be shocked she hadn’t fallen asleep before he could even make her his.
Well, when she woke up, he intended to have something here to feed her at least. He could ring for a servant, but he’d rather go see what was left of the food from the bridal feast. Probably some of the colder items were still on the tables in his cavernous dining room. Besides which, he might find a bottle of champagne not yet opened.
After donning the footed silk drawers he preferred to wear under his trousers, he dressed in his remaining clothes, adding a waistcoat and coat. He probably looked a bit disheveled, but at least he’d be presentable to the ladies in the house if he should happen to run across any of them, which he sincerely hoped he did not.
He paused beside the bed to pull the covers up over her shoulders, stifling a laugh as she mumbled something about “naughty food” and “oysters champagne,” and then he headed downstairs.
Immediately, he ran into Thorn, of course. He was probably lucky Heywood wasn’t with him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying your marital bed?” Thorn asked. He was carrying a plate piled high with food.
“I enjoyed it quite thoroughly, thanks. Vanessa’s asleep now, so I thought I’d pop down to find nourishment.” With a sly smile, he took Thorn’s plate. “It was kind of you to gather some food for me and my new bride. We’re famished.”
“I got that for Mother,” Thorn said.
“Mother can’t eat all that,” Sheridan said. “Fortunately, it’s just enough for me and Vanessa.”
“I thought you already put the chit to sleep with your accomplished seduction,” Thorn said.
Sheridan took a bite of a chicken leg on the top of the pile. “A gentleman never speaks of such things.”
“Then that’s a yes.”
“No!” Sheridan lifted his eyes heavenward. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I wore my wife out with my ‘accomplished seduction.’ You wouldn’t understand. Poor Olivia has to put up with your bumbling.”
“Bumbling! You’re just jealous of my fine technique.”
“Hardly.” He bit off more chicken. “And don’t call my wife a ‘chit.’ She’s a full-grown woman, as I have thoroughly ascertained.”
Sheridan heard a murmur of voices from the drawing room. When he and Vanessa had “retired,” everyone had still been drinking and eating in the dining room. “What’s going on?”
“We’re having a meeting to assess our progress on the subject of the investigation. We weren’t planning to bother you with it, given that it was your wedding night, but if you’d like to be part—”
“Of course I’d like to be part of it.” Sheridan glanced around the hall and lowered his voice. “What about the other guests? Lady Eustace? Sir Noah? Lady Norley and Lady Hornsby?” He frowned. “Bonham?”
Thorn began ticking those off on his fingers. “Lady Eustace went to bed. I gather she tires easily. Sir Noah went into Sanforth, hoping to find some cardplayers at the nearest tavern, since none of us wanted to join him in a game. Bonham returned to London. Apparently he had business affairs to take care of, probably for you. Lady Norley retired to read in her room, and Lady Hornsby left almost immediately after the ceremony to return to . . . wherever she’s been the past week. Didn’t you notice she wasn’t at the bridal feast?”
“I was rather preoccupied at the time, if you’ll recall. Still, it’s curious, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. But it’s Gwyn’s task to interrogate Lady Hornsby, so it’s not my problem.”
“Your problem is to question your mother-in-law,” Sheridan said, “which I gather you haven’t yet managed to do. Good luck to you.”
Instead of turning defensive, Thorn smirked at him. “And now your problem is to question your mother-in-law. Good luck to you, too. I’ll take Lady Norley over Lady Eustace any day.” He clapped an arm about Sheridan’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go see what everyone else has found out.”
As soon as they entered the drawing room, the comments began. His brothers tormented him about coming down so soon after going up with his wife. Their wives rolled their eyes and shook their heads, and in general pretended their husbands weren’t a group of jokers and buffoons.
Mother was the only one who glared—at each of her sons in turn. “Leave him be, all of you. Sheridan and Vanessa will find their way, no thanks to you lads.”
Heywood laughed. “Lads! We’re grown men with wives, Mother. Besides, even Saint Sheridan can endure a few jests at his expense on his wedding night.”
“‘Jests’ would imply that
