The Lost Duke of Wyndham (22 page)

“Have you finished your lunch?” Amelia called out as she passed.

Grace nodded. “Yes. I am going to the carriage to see if the dowager needs anything.”

Amelia looked at her as if she'd gone mad.

Grace gave a little shrug. “Everybody deserves a second chance.” She thought about that, then added, mostly to herself, “
That,
I really do believe.” She marched over to the carriage. It was too high for her to climb up herself, and the grooms were nowhere in sight, so she called out, “Your grace! Your grace!”

There was no reply, so she said, a little louder, “Ma'am!”

The dowager's irate visage appeared in the open doorway. “What do
you
want?”

Grace reminded herself that she had not spent a lifetime of Sunday mornings in church for nothing. “I wished to inquire if you needed anything, your grace.”

“Why?”

Good heavens, she was suspicious. “Because I am a nice person,” Grace said, somewhat impatiently. And then she crossed her arms, waiting to see what the dowager said to that.

The dowager stared down at her for several moments, then said, “It is my experience that nice people don't need to advertise themselves as such.”

Grace wanted to inquire what sort of experience the dowager
had
with nice people, since it was her own experience that most nice people fled the dowager's presence.

But that seemed catty.

She took a breath. She did not have to do this. She did not have to help the dowager in any way. She was her own woman now, and she did not need to worry over her security.

But she was, as she had noted, a nice person. And she was determined to remain a nice person, regardless of her improved circumstances. She had waited upon the dowager for the last five years because she'd had to, not because she wanted to. And now…

Well, she still didn't want to. But she'd do it. Whatever the dowager's motives five years ago, she had saved Grace from a lifetime of unhappiness. And for that, she could spend an hour attending to the dowager. But more than that, she could
choose
to spend an hour attending to her.

It was amazing what a difference that made.

“Ma'am?” Grace said. That was all. Just
ma'am
. She'd said enough. It was up to the dowager now.

“Oh, very well,” she said irritably. “If you feel you must.”

Grace kept her face utterly serene as she allowed Lord Crowland (who had caught the latter half of the conversation and told Grace she was mad) to help her up. She took her prescribed seat—facing backward, as far from the dowager as possible—and folded her hands neatly in her lap. She did not know how long
they would be sitting here; the others had not seemed quite ready to quit their lunch.

The dowager was looking out the window; Grace kept her eyes on her hands. Every now and then she'd steal a glance up, and every time, the dowager was still turned away, her posture hard and stiff, her lips pinched tight.

And then—perhaps the fifth time Grace looked up—the dowager was staring straight at her.

“You disappoint me,” she said, her voice low—not quite hiss, but something close to it.

Grace held her silence. She held everything, it seemed—her posture, her breath. She did not know what to say, except that she would not apologize. Not for having the audacity to reach out for happiness.

“You were not supposed to leave.”

“I was but a servant, ma'am.”

“You were not supposed to leave,” the dowager said again, but this time something within her seemed to shake. Not quite her body, and not quite her voice.

Her heart
, Grace realized with a shock. Her heart was shaking.

“He is not what I expected,” the dowager said.

Grace blinked, trying to follow. “Mr. Audley?”

“Cavendish,” the dowager said sharply.

“You did not know that he existed,” Grace said, as gently as she was able. “How could you have expected anything?”

The dowager did not answer. Not that question, anyway. “Do you know why I took you into my home?” she asked instead.

“No,” Grace said softly.

The dowager's lips pressed together for a moment before she said, “It was not right. A person should not be alone in this world.”

“No,” Grace said again. And she believed it, with her whole heart.

“It was for the both of us. I took a terrible thing and turned it into good. For both of us.” Her eyes narrowed, boring into Grace's. “
You were not supposed to leave
.”

And then—good heavens, Grace could not believe she was saying it, but: “I will come visit you, should you wish.”

The dowager swallowed, and she looked straight ahead when she said, “That would be acceptable.”

Grace was saved from further reply by the arrival of Amelia, who informed them that they would depart momentarily. And indeed, she'd had barely enough time to settle into her seat when the carriage wheels creaked into motion, and they began to roll forward.

No one spoke.

It was better that way.

 

Several hours later, Grace opened her eyes.

Amelia was staring at her. “You fell asleep,” she said quietly, then put her finger to her lips as she motioned to the dowager, who had also dozed off.

Grace covered a yawn, then asked, “How much longer do you think we have until we get there?”

“I don't know.” Amelia gave a little shrug. “Perhaps an hour? Two?” She sighed then, and leaned back. She looked tired, Grace thought. They were all tired.

And scared.

“What will you do?” Grace asked, before she had the chance to think better of it.

Amelia did not open her eyes. “I don't know.”

It was not much of an answer, but then again, it hadn't been a fair question.

“Do you know what the funniest part of it is?” Amelia asked quite suddenly.

Grace shook her head, then remembered that Amelia's eyes were still closed and said, “No.”

“I keep thinking to myself, ‘This isn't fair. I should have a choice. I should not have to be traded and bartered like some sort of commodity.' But then I think, 'How is this any different? I was given to Wyndham years ago. I never made a complaint.'”

“You were just a baby,” Grace said.

Still, Amelia did not open her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet and full of recrimination. “I have had many years to lodge a complaint.”

“Amelia—”

“I have no one to blame but myself.”

“That's not true.”

Amelia finally opened her eyes. One of them, at least. “You're just saying that.”

“No, I'm not. I would,” Grace admitted, because it was true. “But as it happens, I am telling the truth. It isn't your fault. It's not anyone's fault, really.” She took a breath. Let it out. “I wish it were. It would be so much easier that way.”

“To have someone to blame?”

“Yes.”

And then Amelia whispered, “I don't want to marry him.”

“Thomas?” Grace asked. Amelia had spent so long as his fiancée, and they did not seem to have any great affection for one another.

Amelia looked at her curiously. “No. Mr. Audley.”

“Really?”

“You sound so shocked.”

“No, of course not,” Grace said hurriedly. What was she to say to Amelia—that she was so desperately in love with him herself that she could not imagine anyone not wanting him? “It's just that he's so handsome,” she improvised.

Amelia gave a little shrug. “I suppose.”

She
supposed
? Hadn't she ever seen him
smile
?

But then Amelia said, “Don't you find him a little
too
charming?”

“No.” Grace immediately looked down at her hands, because her
no
had come out in not at all the tone of voice she'd intended. And indeed, Amelia must have heard it, too, because her next words were—

“Grace Eversleigh, do you fancy Mr. Audley?”

Grace stammered and stumbled, and managed a rather croaky, “I—” before Amelia cut in with—

“You
do
.”

“It does not signify,” Grace said, because what was she supposed to say? To
Amelia
, who might or might not be engaged to marry him.

“Of course it signifies. Does he fancy you?”

Grace wanted to melt into the seat.

“No,” Amelia said, sounding highly amused. “Don't answer. I can see from your face that he does. Well. I certainly shall not marry him now.”

Grace swallowed. Her throat tasted bitter. “You should not refuse him on my account.”

“
What
did you just say?”

“I can't marry him if he's the duke.”

“Why not?”

Grace tried to smile, because really, it was sweet of Amelia to ignore the difference in their positions. But she could not quite manage it. “If he is the duke, he will need to marry someone suitable. Of
your
rank.”

“Oh, don't be silly,” Amelia scoffed. “It's not as if you grew up in an orphanage.”

“There will be scandal enough. He must not add to it with a sensational marriage.”

“An actress would be sensational. You will merely be a week's worth of gossip.”

It would be more than that, but Grace saw no point in arguing further. But then Amelia said—

“I do not know Mr. Audley's mind, or his intentions, but if he is prepared to dare everything for love, then you should be, too.”

Grace looked at her. How was it that Amelia suddenly looked so very wise? When had that happened? When had she stopped being Elizabeth's little sister and become…herself?

Amelia reached out and squeezed her hand. “Be a woman of courage, Grace.” She smiled then, murmuring something to herself as she turned and looked out the window.

Grace stared straight ahead, thinking…wondering…was Amelia right? Or was it just that she had never faced hardship? It was easy to talk about being
courageous when one had never come face-to-face with desperation.

What
would
happen if a woman of her background married a duke? Thomas's mother had not been an aristocrat, but when she married his father, he was only third in line to inherit, and no one had expected her to become a duchess. By all accounts, she had been dreadfully unhappy. Miserable, even.

But Thomas's parents had not loved each other. They had not even liked each other, from what Grace had heard.

But she loved Jack.

And he loved her.

Still, it would all be so much simpler if he turned out not to be the legitimate son of John Cavendish.

And then, out of nowhere, Amelia whispered, “We could blame the dowager.” As Grace turned to her in confusion, Amelia clarified, “For this. You said it would be easier if we had someone to blame.”

Grace looked over at the dowager, who was seated across from Amelia. She was snoring softly, and her head was perched at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. It was remarkable, but even in repose her mouth was pinched and unpleasant.

“It's certainly more her fault than anyone else's,” Amelia added, but Grace noted that she tossed a nervous glance at the dowager as she spoke.

Grace nodded, murmuring, “I cannot disagree with that.”

Amelia stared off into space for several seconds, and then, just when Grace was convinced that she did
not plan to respond, she said, “It didn't make me feel any better.”

“Blaming the dowager?”

“Yes.” Amelia's shoulders slumped a bit. “It's still horrible. The whole thing.”

“Dreadful,” Grace agreed.

Amelia turned and looked at her directly. “Sodding bad.”

Grace gasped. “Amelia!”

Amelia's face wrinkled in thought. “Did I use that correctly?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Oh, come now, don't tell me you haven't thought something just as unladylike.”

“I wouldn't
say
it.”

The look Amelia gave her was as clear as a dare. “But you thought it.”

Grace felt her lips twitch. “It's a damned shame.”

“A bloody inconvenience, if you ask me,” Amelia responded, fast enough so Grace knew she'd been saving that one.

“I have an advantage, you know,” Grace said archly.

“Oh, really?”

“Indeed.
I
am privy to the servants' talk.”

“Oh, come now, you won't be convincing me that the housemaids at Belgrave talk like the fishmonger.”

“No, but sometimes the footmen do.”

“In front of you?”

“Not on purpose,” Grace admitted, “but it happens.”

“Very well.” Amelia turned to her with quirked lips and humor in her eyes. “Do your worst.”

Grace thought for a moment and then, after darting a quick glance across the carriage to make sure that the dowager was still asleep, she leaned forward and whispered in Amelia's ear.

When she was through, Amelia drew back and stared at her, blinking three times before saying, “I'm not sure I know what that means.”

Grace frowned. “I don't think I do, either.”

“It sounds bad, though.”

“Sodding bad,” Grace said with a smile, and she patted Amelia's hand.

Amelia sighed. “A damned shame.”

“We're repeating ourselves,” Grace pointed out.

“I
know
,” Amelia said, with a fair bit of feeling. “But whose fault is it? Not ours. We've been far too sheltered.”

“Now that,” Grace announced with flair, “really
is
a damned shame.”

“A bloody inconvenience, if you ask me.”

“What the
devil
are the two of you talking about?”

Grace gulped, and she stole a glance at Amelia, who was staring at the now quite awake dowager with a similar look of horror.