The Lost Duke of Wyndham (Two Dukes of Wyndham, #1)(29)

He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to touch her, just a soft brush of hand against skin, so fleeting that it could only be deemed accidental.

But more than any of that, he wanted use of her name.

Grace.

He liked it. He found it soothing.

"See to his comfort, Miss Eversleigh."

Jack turned to the dowager with widening eyes. She sat like a statue, her hands folded primly in her lap, but the corners of her mouth were tilted ever so slightly up, and her eyes looked cunning and amused.

She was giving Grace to him. As clear as day, she was telling him to make use of her companion, if that was his desire.

Good Lord. What sort of family had he fallen into?

"As you wish, ma'am," Miss Eversleigh replied, and in that moment Jack felt soiled, almost dirty, because he was quite certain she had no idea that her employer was attempting to whore her off on him.

It was the most appalling sort of bribe. Stay the night, and you can have the girl.

It sickened him. Doubly so, because he wanted the girl. He just didn't want her given to him.

"It is most kind of you, Miss Eversleigh," he said, feeling as if he had to be extra polite to make up for the dowager. They reached the door, and then, before he forgot, he turned back. He and the duke had spoken only tersely on their outing, but on one matter they had been in accord. "Oh, by the by, should anyone ask, I am a friend of Wyndham's. From years gone by."

"From university?" Miss Eversleigh suggested.

Jack fought back a grim chuckle. "No. I did not attend."

"You did not attend!" the dowager gasped. "I was led to believe you'd had a gentleman's education."

"By whom?" Jack inquired, ever so politely.

She sputtered at that for a moment, and then finally she scowled and said, "It is in your speech."

"Felled by my accent." He looked at Miss Eversleigh and shrugged. "Pommy R's and proper H's. What's a man to do?"

But the dowager was not prepared to let the subject drop. "You are educated, are you not?"

It was tempting to claim he'd been schooled with the local lads, if only to witness her reaction. But he owed his aunt and uncle better than that, and so he turned to the dowager and said, "Portora Royal, followed by two months at Trinity College - Dublin, that is, not Cambridge - and then six years serving in His Majesty's army and protecting you from invasion." He cocked his head to the side. "I'll take those thanks now, if you will."

The dowager's lips parted with outrage.

"No?" He lifted his brows. "Funny how no one seems to care that they still speak English and curtsy to good King George."

"I do," Miss Eversleigh said. And when he looked at her, she blinked and added, "Er, thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, and it occurred to him that this was the first time he'd had cause to say it.

Sadly, the dowager was not unique in her sense of entitlement. Soldiers were occasionally feted, and it was true that the uniforms were quite effective when attracting the ladies, but no one ever thought to say thank you. Not to him, and especially not to the men who'd suffered permanent injury or disfigurement.

"Tell everyone we shared fencing lessons," Jack said to Miss Eversleigh, ignoring the dowager as best he could. "It's as good a ruse as any. Wyndham says he's passable with a sword?"

"I do not know," she said.

Of course she wouldn't. But no matter. If Wyndham had said he was passable, then he was almost certainly a master. They would be well-matched if ever they had to offer proof of their lie. Fencing had been his best subject in school. It was probably the only reason they had kept him to age eighteen.

"Shall we?" he murmured, tilting his head toward the door.

"The blue silk bedroom," the dowager called out sourly.

"She does not like to be left out of a conversation, does she?" Jack murmured, so that only Miss Eversleigh could hear.

He'd known she could not answer, not with her employer so close, but he saw her eyes dart away, as if trying to hide her amusement.

"You may retire for the night as well, Miss Eversleigh," the dowager directed.

Grace turned in surprise. "You don't wish for me to attend to you? It's early yet."

"Nancy can do it," she replied with a pinch of her lips. "She's an acceptable hand with buttons, and what's more, she doesn't say a word. I find that to be an exceptionally good trait in a servant."

As Grace held her tongue more often than not, she decided to take that as a compliment, rather than the rear-door insult it was meant to be. "Of course, ma'am," she said, bobbing a demure curtsy. "I shall see you in the morning, then, with your chocolate and the newspaper."

Mr. Audley was already at the door and was holding out his hand to motion for her to precede him, so she walked out into the hall. She had no idea what the dowager was up to, giving her the rest of the evening off, but she was not going to argue further.

"Nancy is her maid," she explained to Mr. Audley once he reached her side.

"I'd guessed."

"It's most odd." She shook her head. "She - "

Mr. Audley waited rather patiently for her to finish her sentence, but Grace decided the better of it. She had been going to say that the dowager hated Nancy. In fact, the dowager complained most bitterly and at painful length each time she had a day out and Nancy served as a substitute.