The Lost Duke of Wyndham (Two Dukes of Wyndham, #1)(55)

"How politely said, Lady Amelia," Jack commented. "Does anyone care for their company?"

Her eyes widened in shock, and it occurred to him that perhaps he should have limited his insult to the dowager alone, but just then Wyndham strode back into the room, looking angry and arrogant.

And almost certainly worthy of whatever sort of insult Jack might give to him.

"Amelia," he said with brisk indifference, "I am afraid I will not be able to see you home. I do apologize."

"Of course," she said, as if she could possibly say anything else.

"I shall make every arrangement for your comfort. Perhaps you would like to select a book from the library?"

"Can you read in a coach?" Jack queried.

"Can you not?" she returned.

"I can," he replied with great flair. "I can do almost anything in a coach. Or with a coach," he added, with a smile toward Grace, who stood in the doorway.

Wyndham glared at him and grabbed his fiancee's arm, hauling her rather unceremoniously to her feet.

"It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Audley," Lady Amelia said.

"Yes," he said lightly, "it does seem that you are leaving."

"Amelia," the duke said, his voice even more abrupt than before. He led her from the room.

Jack followed them to the doorway, looking for Grace, but she had disappeared. Ah well, perhaps that was for the best.

He glanced toward the window. The skies had darkened, and it appeared that rain would be imminent.

Time for that walk, he decided. The rain would be cold. And wet. And precisely what he needed.


  
After five years at Belgrave, Grace had become, if not accustomed, then at least aware of just what could be accomplished with a bit of prestige and a great deal of money. Nonetheless, even she was amazed at how quickly their travel plans fell into place. Within three days a private yacht had been reserved to ferry them from Liverpool to Dublin and then wait at the dock - for as long as necessary, apparently - until they were ready to return to England.

One of Thomas's secretaries had been dispatched to Ireland to arrange for their stay. Grace had felt nothing but pity for the poor man as he was forced to listen to - and then repeat, twice - the dowager's copious and highly detailed instructions. She herself was used to the dowager's ways, but the secretary, accustomed to dealing with a far more reasonable employer, looked nearly ready to cry.

Only the best of inns would do for such a traveling party, and of course they would expect the finest set of rooms in each establishment.

If the rooms were already reserved, the innkeepers would have to make arrangements to place the other travelers elsewhere. The dowager told Grace that she liked to send someone ahead in cases like these. It was only polite to give the innkeepers a bit of notice so they could find alternate accommodations for their other guests.

Grace thought it would have been more polite not to give the boot to people whose only crime was to reserve a room prior to the dowager, but all she could do was offer the poor secretary a sympathetic smile. The dowager wasn't going to change her ways, and besides, she'd already launched into her next set of instructions, which pertained to cleanliness, food, and the preferred dimensions of hand towels.

Grace spent her days dashing about the castle, preparing for the voyage and passing along important messages, since the other three inhabitants seemed determined to avoid one another.

The dowager was as surly and rude as ever, but now there was an underlying layer of giddiness that Grace found disconcerting. The dowager was excited about the upcoming journey. It was enough to leave even the most experienced of companions uneasy; the dowager was never excited about anything.

Pleased, yes; satisfied, often (although un satisfied was a far more frequent emotion). But excited? Grace had never witnessed it.

It was odd, because the dowager did not seem to like Mr. Audley very well, and it was clear that she respected him not at all. And as for Mr. Audley - he returned the sentiment in spades. He was much like Thomas in that regard. It seemed to Grace that the two men might have been fast friends had they not met under such strained circumstances.

But while Thomas's dealings with the dowager were frank and direct, Mr. Audley was much more sly.

He was always provoking the dowager when in her company, always ready with a comment so subtle that Grace could only be sure of his meaning when she caught his secret smile.

There was always a secret smile. And it was always for her.

Even now, just thinking about it, she found herself hugging her arms to her body, as if holding it tightly against her heart. When he smiled at her, she felt it - as if it were more than something to be seen. It landed upon her like a kiss, and her body responded in kind - a little flip in her stomach, pink heat on her cheeks. She maintained her composure, because that was what she'd been trained to do, and she even managed her own sort of reply - the tiniest of curves at the corners of her mouth, maybe a change in the way she held her gaze. She knew he saw it, too. He saw everything. He liked to play at being obtuse, but he had the keenest eye for observation she had ever known.

And all through this, the dowager pressed forward, single-minded in her determination to wrest the title from Thomas and give it to Mr. Audley. When the dowager spoke of their upcoming journey, it was never if they found proof, it was when they found it. Already she had begun to plan how best to announce the change to the rest of society.