“Not if she was in labor during the whole party.”
“Oh, right. I forgot she was in labor.”
“I don’t know how you could forget that,” Sheridan teased her. “She was in labor with you and Thorn.”
Gwyn made a face at him, and he laughed.
Then both sat quietly for a bit. Finally, Sheridan said, “I guess this means we’ll have to look into servants and other staff now. Because you and I both know Lady Norley isn’t some master criminal. I could believe it of Lady Hornsby perhaps and definitely of Lady Eustace, but Lady Norley is a likable lady who puts up with her arse of a husband because she loves her stepdaughter.”
Gwyn nodded. “That about sums her up.” She nudged his knee. “Meanwhile, how is married life treating you?”
“Pretty well, under the circumstances.”
“You did finally tell Vanessa about Helene, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“And you told Vanessa you’re in love with her now, right?”
He stiffened. “I’m not in love with Vanessa. I have great affection for her, and I certainly have a healthy desire for her, but love? I don’t want to be in love with her. The last time I was in love, it nearly destroyed me.”
“Yet here you are, completely whole again.” Gwyn shook her head. “Nobody wants to be in love. Why would anyone choose an emotion capable of ripping one’s heart to pieces?”
“Exactly what I was saying.”
“You’re missing my point. You don’t choose love; love chooses you. You have no say or recourse, and when it happens, resistance is pointless.”
“That sounds alarming.” It also sounded close to how he’d felt with Helene years ago. Actually, it was closer to how he felt with Vanessa now. Bloody hell.
Gwyn tried to stifle a yawn but wasn’t successful.
“You’re tired,” Sheridan said. “Why don’t you nap a bit on the way back?”
“Thank you. I believe I will.” She patted his hand, then put her head against the squabs and promptly went to sleep.
Gazing at her, he wondered if Vanessa would be so tired once she was enceinte. Would she eat strange foods? Would she even be happy to carry his child?
Will you try not to love your children, too, so you don’t suffer pain if one of them dies?
He grimaced, remembering what Vanessa had said about children. He should stop dwelling on that and turn his thoughts to figuring out where to go next in their investigation.
Unfortunately, by the time he and Gwyn reached her town house, he hadn’t come up with much of a plan. To his surprise, Joshua was apparently waiting for them to arrive, because before Sheridan’s footman could open the carriage door Joshua appeared at the bottom of the steps, cane in hand. “Hold up, Sheridan. I need to speak to you before you leave.”
Sheridan leaned out of the carriage window. “I’m meeting with Bonham in half an hour to go over the books, so this had better be important.”
“It’s damned important. Where are you meeting with Bonham?”
“At my house. Why?”
“Because this concerns him. And I should go with you.” Joshua glanced in the carriage and said, “You shouldn’t go, sweeting.”
“I want to hear what you found out. I’m part of this, too, you know.”
Joshua hesitated, but he probably knew better than to argue with Gwyn when she’d dug in her heels. “All right. But once we reach Sheridan’s, I’m sending you back home.”
That certainly sounded worrisome.
Joshua got in and took a seat beside his wife. As soon as they were off, he said, “I haven’t left town to confirm the details of Sir Noah’s past, but I did speak to a number of gentlemen who know him and will readily vouch for him. So I think we can rule him out.”
“Thank God,” Sheridan said. “I wasn’t looking forward to telling Vanessa I suspected her uncle of anything. Bad enough I suspected her mother. Who, by the way, is now excluded as a possibility.”
“I’m not surprised,” Joshua said. “I did as you asked regarding Bonham. Fortunately, once I discovered his previous identity, everything was fairly easy to investigate.”
Alarm caught Sheridan by the throat. “What previous identity?”
“Before your man of affairs was William Bonham, he was Henry Davenport.”
“Wait, that surname sounds familiar,” Sheridan said.
“You may have uncovered it accidentally in the course of questioning Lady Eustace,” Joshua said. “Did she ever mention a young man who killed himself when your mother refused to marry him?”
Sheridan felt as if a fist of ice closed around his heart. “Matthew Davenport. Yes. Died for love.”
“That was Bonham’s—Henry Davenport’s—older brother.”
“Dear heaven,” Gwyn whispered.
“As you might imagine, it’s no coincidence,” Joshua said. “After Matthew killed himself, his family fell on hard times. The scandal ruined Henry’s father, who was a barrister. He lost all his clients and his reputation. Eventually he and Henry’s mother ended up in debtors’ prison, where both died, leaving sixteen-year-old Henry to fend for himself. So the very clever Henry changed who he was in order to survive. Since he knew a good bit about the law, thanks to his father, he took the name of an obscure member of his mother’s family, long deceased, and somehow got a place as a clerk in a solicitor’s office.”
“I did know Bonham had a background in law,” Sheridan said. “That must be why Father sometimes referred to him as his solicitor.”
“Probably. The solicitor Bonham worked for was so impressed with his work as a law clerk that the man often took Bonham on trips made on behalf of their clients.” Joshua’s expression turned grim. “Guess who one of the solicitor’s more important clients, a wealthy banker, was a friend to.”
“Good God,” Sheridan said, his heart pounding. “Grey’s father.”
“Precisely. I daresay Bonham was shocked to hear that the house party he was attending with his employer was hosted by none other than Lydia Fletcher Pryde, the new Duchess of Greycourt, whom he probably saw as ruining his family.”
“I don’t understand.”
