“With all your family here?” Vanessa asked, genuinely curious now. “Wouldn’t you miss them?”
His gaze swung to her. “Of course. But if I were still in the diplomatic service, it would be because my uncle was still alive and my parents and Gwyn were still in Prussia.”
“Still, wouldn’t you miss your brothers?” Vanessa said. She would miss Grey terribly if he were abroad, and he was merely her cousin.
“Until the past year, I hadn’t been around them for a very long time.” A small frown knit his brow. “I was used to that. I was only a child when Grey left, Heywood got his commission when I was seventeen, and Thorn departed when I was nineteen. I spent nine years without them all.” His fraught tone belied the nonchalant words.
“But surely you would have missed entertainments like this or hunting house parties or our glittering balls,” Mama said.
Uncle Noah shook his head. “They have those in Prussia, too, eh, Duke?”
“But not peopled by Englishmen,” her mother persisted. “And those Prussians are not to be trusted.”
Vanessa stifled a groan. “Do forgive my mother. She finds all foreigners suspect.”
Sheridan ignored Vanessa’s commentary. “I will confess, Lady Eustace, that the house parties in Berlin paled to those my mother always describes from her youth in England. Prussian house parties were orderly events, with every activity scheduled. Whereas my mother says that her first husband’s parties at Carymont were madcap and not the least scheduled. Everyone had differing plans for activities, and no one consulted with anyone else concerning those plans.”
“Exactly,” Mama said, brightening. “That’s how they were indeed. We did as we pleased in those days. None of this ‘Oh, the young gentlemen must be appeased’ nonsense. We enjoyed ourselves however we could.”
“I suppose that left time for guests to roam Carymont and explore,” Sheridan said.
“And have assignations,” Uncle Noah added, slyly.
Mama swatted her brother with her reticule. “No one was having assignations, Noah. I was newly married and not about to risk my marriage for any man. And my husband wasn’t even there.” She glanced at Vanessa and colored. “Not that he would have done such a thing either.”
It was all Vanessa could do not to roll her eyes. How could Mama think Vanessa hadn’t noticed Papa’s many payments to ladies through the years? Vanessa had done the books for him from the time she was old enough to know what an account ledger was. Papa had been woefully bad at managing money. “The gathering at Carymont,” Vanessa mused aloud. “What was the occasion or was it just a typical house party?”
Her mother sighed. “We were supposed to be there to celebrate Grey’s christening. Instead—”
“Grey’s father died,” Sheridan said bluntly.
Vanessa groaned. She’d had no idea or she would never have brought it up. But her parents hadn’t revealed any details about the death of Grey’s father except to mention that Grey had been a mere infant at the time.
Uncle Noah’s gaze shot to Mama. “That was when it happened?”
“It was indeed.” Sheridan focused on Mama. “I wonder how the guests felt about that, Lady Eustace. It must have lowered their spirits dramatically.”
Mama waved her hand in the air. “Oh, let’s not talk about it. It’s . . . too awful and sad. Besides, the next act is about to begin.”
Sure enough, the orchestra began to play a more dramatic piece. Uncle Noah took his seat but Sheridan continued to lounge against the balustrade.
“Would you like a lemon drop, Your Grace?” Vanessa asked as she drew one out of her reticule, hoping to keep him there.
“Thank you, but no,” Sheridan drawled, flashing her the faintest of smiles. “I gave up sweets for Lent.”
When she and Uncle Noah chuckled, Vanessa’s mother frowned. “Lent was several months ago.”
Mama had never had much of a sense of humor.
“Exactly, Sister.” Uncle Noah smiled at Vanessa. “But I’ll take one of those lemon drops.” He snatched the comfit right out of Vanessa’s hand.
Then a boy took the stage and began a comic introduction to the second act, which effectively ended all conversation.
Looking frustrated—for no reason that Vanessa could tell—Sheridan pushed away from the balustrade, unwittingly drawing her attention to his fine physique. The man had the best-crafted calves she’d ever seen, not to mention a chest as broad as a pugilist’s and clearly capable of any test of strength. As if that weren’t enough to tempt a young lady, his hair . . . Oh, she must not even think of those glorious ash-brown curls. It made her want to run her fingers through them, a possibility that clearly escaped him, since he ignored Vanessa completely while twice more bending to whisper something to her mother, as if to renew their conversation.
Like a balloon deflating, she felt the air go out of her happiness. He was here to visit—to talk with—Mama, given that even after he took his seat behind her mother, he leaned forward to exchange remarks with her. Vanessa couldn’t understand why, but the point was he wasn’t here to be with her.
What must she do to get him to converse with her? Or notice her? If she couldn’t think of anything to pry him from Mama, she’d have to give up the foolish dream of marrying him and instead find some other safe, reliable, and preferably young man to wed.
Using Mama’s polemoscope, Vanessa surveyed the boxes nearby, racking her brain for something to say to Sheridan that might get his attention. Then she spotted Mr. Juncker.
Her mother and Sheridan were still murmuring, so she shushed them. “My favorite part is coming up,” she said sotto voce. “And I shall miss it for all your whispering.”
Sheridan and Mama fell silent. Vanessa waited, wondering if Sheridan would take the bait.
“You have a favorite part?” Sheridan finally asked, under his breath.
Her heart pounded. It was working, although she dearly wished she didn’t need the goad of Mr.
