The following day, at the Queen’s Arms, Dublin
Do you think,” Thomas murmured, leaning down to speak his words in Amelia’s ear, “that there are packets leaving directly from Dublin port, heading to the Outer Hebrides?”
She made a choking sound, followed by a very stern look, which amused him to no end. They were standing, along with the rest of their traveling party, in the front room of the Queen’s Arms, where Thomas’s secretary had arranged for their rooms on the way to Butlersbridge, the small village in County Cavan where Jack Audley had grown up. They had reached the port of Dublin in the late afternoon, but by the time they collected their belongings and made their way into town, it was well after dark. Thomas was tired and hungry, and he was fairly certain that Amelia, her father, Grace, and Jack were as well.
His grandmother, however, was having none of it.
“It is not too late!” she insisted, her shrill voice filling every corner of the room. They were now on minute three of her tantrum. Thomas suspected that the entire neighborhood had been made aware that she wished to press on toward Butlersbridge that evening.
“Ma’am,” Grace said, in that calm, soothing way of hers, “it is past seven. We are all tired and hungry, and the roads are dark and unknown to us.”
“Not to him,” the dowager snapped, jerking her head toward Jack.
“I am tired and hungry,” Jack snapped right back, “and thanks to you, I no longer travel the roads by moonlight.”
Thomas bit back a smile. He might actually grow to like this fellow.
“Don’t you wish to have this matter settled, once and for all?” the dowager demanded.
“Not really,” Jack answered. “Certainly not as much as I want a slice of shepherd’s pie and a tankard of ale.”
“Hear hear,” Thomas murmured, but only Amelia heard.
It was strange, but his mood had been improving the closer they got to their destination. He would have thought he’d grow more and more tortured; he was about to lose everything, after all, right down to his name. By his estimation, he ought to be snapping off heads by now.
But instead he felt almost cheerful.
Cheerful. It was the damnedest thing. He’d spent the entire morning on deck with Amelia, swapping tales and laughing uproariously. It had been enough to make his stomach forget to be seasick.
Thank the Lord, he thought, for very large favors. It had been a close thing, the night before—keeping the three bites he’d eaten of supper in his belly, where it belonged.
He wondered if his odd amiability was because he had already accepted that Jack was the rightful duke. Once he had stopped fighting that, he just wanted to get the whole bloody mess over and done with. The waiting, truly, was the hardest part.
He’d gotten his affairs in order. He’d done everything required for a smooth transition. All that was left was to get it done. And then he could go off and do whatever it was he would have done had he not been tied to Belgrave.
Somewhere in the midst of his ponderings he realized that Jack was leaving, presumably to get that slice of shepherd’s pie. “I do believe he has the right idea of it,” Thomas murmured. “Supper sounds infinitely more appealing than a night on the roads.”
His grandmother whipped her head around and glared at him.
“Not,” Thomas added, “that I am attempting to delay the inevitable. Even soon-to-be-dispossessed dukes get hungry.”
Lord Crowland laughed aloud at that. “He has you there, Augusta,” he said jovially, and he wandered off to the taproom.
“I shall take my supper in my room,” the dowager announced. Or really, it was more of a bark. “Miss Eversleigh, you may attend to me.”
Grace sighed wearily and started to follow.
“No,” Thomas said.
“No?” the dowager echoed.
Thomas allowed himself a small smile. He truly had got all of his affairs in order. “Grace will dine with us,” he told his grandmother. “In the dining room.”
“She is my companion,” the dowager hissed.
Oh, he was enjoying this. Far more than he’d thought. “Not anymore.” He smiled genially at Grace, who was staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. “As I have not yet been removed from my position,” he said, “I took the liberty of making a few last minute provisions.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” the dowager demanded.
He ignored her. “Grace,” he said, “you are officially relieved of your duties to my grandmother. When you return home, you will find a cottage deeded in your name, along with funds enough to provide an income for the rest of your life.”
“Are you mad?” the dowager sputtered.
Grace just stared at him in shock.
“I should have done it long ago,” he said. “I was too selfish. I couldn’t bear the thought of living with her”—he jerked his head toward his grandmother—“without you there to act as a buffer.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Grace whispered.
He shrugged modestly. “Normally, I’d advise ‘Thank you,’ but as I am the one thanking you, a mere ‘You are a prince among men’ would suffice.”
Grace managed a wobbly smile and whispered, “You are a prince among men.”
“It is always lovely to hear it,” Thomas said. “Now, would you care to join the rest of us for supper?”
Grace turned toward the dowager, who was red-faced with rage.
“You grasping little whore,” she spat. “Do you think I don’t know what you are? Do you think I would allow you in my home again?”
Thomas was about to intercede, but then he realized that Grace was handling the situation with far more aplomb than he could ever have managed.
Her face calm and impassive, she said, “I was about to say that I would offer you my assistance for the rest of the journey, since I would never dream of leaving a post without giving proper and courteous notice, but I believe I have reconsidered.” She turned to Amelia. “May I share your room this evening?”
“Of course,” Amelia replied promptly. She linked her arm through Grace’s. “Let us have some supper.”
It was a magnificent exit, Thomas decided as he followed them, even if he could not see his grandmother’s face. But he could well imagine it, red and sputtering. A cooler clime would do her good. Truly. He would have to take it up with the new duke.
“That was magnificent!” Amelia gushed, once they’d entered the dining room. “Oh, my goodness, Grace, you must be so thrilled.”
Grace looked dazed. “I hardly know what to say.”
“You needn’t say anything,” Thomas told her. “Just enjoy your supper.”
“Oh, I shall.” She turned to Amelia, looking as if she might burst out laughing at any moment. “I suspect this shall be the finest shepherd’s pie I have ever tasted.”
And then she did burst out laughing. They all did. They had their supper, the three of them, and they laughed and laughed and laughed.
And as Thomas drifted off to sleep that night, his ribs still aching from the laughter, it occurred to him that he could not recall a finer evening.
Amelia had enjoyed herself at supper as well. So much so, in fact, that the tension of the following morning hit her like a slap. She thought she’d risen early; Grace was still sleeping soundly when she slipped from the room to find breakfast. But when she reached the inn’s private dining room, her father was already there, as was the dowager. There was no sneaking away; they had both seen her instantly, and besides, she was famished.
She supposed she could put up with her father’s lectures (they had been coming with increasing frequency) and the dowager’s venom (this had always been frequent) if it meant she could partake of whatever it was creating that heavenly, eggy aroma coming from the sideboard.
Eggs, probably.
She smiled. At least she could still amuse herself. That had to count for something.
“Good morning, Amelia,” her father said as she sat down with her plate.
She dipped her chin in polite greeting. “Father.” She then glanced over at the dowager. “Your grace.”
The dowager pursed her lips and made a noise, but other than that did not acknowledge her.
“Did you sleep well?” her father inquired.
“Very well, thank you,” she replied, though it was not quite true. She and Grace had shared a bed, and Grace moved around a lot.
“We depart in half an hour,” the dowager said crisply.
Amelia had managed to fork one bite of eggs into her mouth, and took advantage of the time it took to chew to glance over at the doorway, which remained empty. “I don’t think the others will be ready. Grace is still—”
“She is of no concern.”
“You can’t go anywhere without the two dukes,” Lord Crowland pointed out.
“Is that supposed to be funny?” the dowager demanded.
Lord Crowland shrugged. “How else am I meant to refer to them?”
Amelia knew she ought to have been outraged. It was a most cavalier statement, all things considered. But her father was so offhand, and the dowager so offended—she decided it made far more sense to be amused.
“Sometimes I do not know why I work so hard to advance your entry into my family,” the dowager said to Amelia, giving her a scathing glare.
Amelia swallowed, wishing she had a retort, because for once she rather thought she’d have been brave enough to say it. But nothing came to mind, at least nothing as fabulously cutting and witty as she would have liked, and so she clamped her mouth shut and stared at a spot on the wall over the dowager’s shoulder.
“There is no call for such talk, Augusta,” Lord Crowland said. And then, as she glared at him for his use of her name—he was one of the few who did, and it always infuriated her—he added, “A less equable man than I might take insult.”
Fortunately, the chilly moment was broken by Thomas’s arrival. “Good morning,” he said smoothly, taking his seat at the table. He seemed not at all perturbed that no one returned his greeting. Amelia supposed that her father was too busy attempting to put the dowager in her place, and the dowager—well, she rarely returned anyone’s greeting, so this was hardly out of character.
As for herself, she would have liked to have said something. Really, it was all very lovely now, not feeling so cowed in Thomas’s presence. But when he sat—directly across from her—she’d looked up, and he’d looked up, and—
It wasn’t that she was intimidated, exactly. It was just that she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
His eyes were that blue.
Except for the stripe, of course. She loved that stripe. She loved that he thought it was silly.
“Lady Amelia,” he murmured.
She nodded her greeting, managing, “Duke,” since your grace contained far too many syllables.
“I am leaving,” the dowager abruptly announced, her chair scraping angrily across the floor as she rose to her feet. She waited a moment, as if expecting someone to comment upon her departure. When no one did (really, Amelia thought, did she honestly think anyone would attempt to stop her?) the dowager added, “We depart in thirty minutes.” Then she turned the full force of her glare on her. “You will ride with me in the carriage.”
Amelia wasn’t sure why the dowager felt the need to announce it. She’d been stuck with the dowager in the carriage across England; why should Ireland be any different? Still, something about her tone turned the stomach, and as soon as the dowager was gone, she let out a weary sigh.
“I think I might be seasick,” she said, allowing herself to slump.
Her father gave her an impatient look, then rose to refill his plate. But Thomas smiled. It was mostly with his eyes, but still, she felt a kinship, warm and lovely, and perhaps enough to banish the feeling of dread that was beginning to pool in her heart.
“Seasick on land?” he murmured, his eyes smiling.
“My stomach feels sour.”
“Turning?”
“Flipping,” she affirmed.
“Strange, that,” he said dryly, popping a piece of bacon into his mouth and finishing off the bite before continuing. “My grandmother is capable of many things—I cannot imagine that plague, famine, or pestilence would be beyond her abilities. But seasickness…” He chuckled. “I’m almost impressed.”
Amelia sighed, looking down at her food, which was now only slightly more appetizing than a plate of worms. She pushed it away. “Do you know how long it will take to get to Butlersbridge?”
“Most of the day, I should think, especially if we stop for lunch.”
Amelia glanced at the door through which the dowager had just exited. “She won’t want to.”
Thomas shrugged. “She won’t have a choice.”
Amelia’s father returned to the table just then, his plate heaping full. “When you become duchess,” he said to her, rolling his eyes as he sat, “your first order should be to banish her to the dower house.”
When she became duchess. Amelia swallowed uncomfortably. It was still just awful, her own father so blithe about her future. He truly did not care which of the two men she married, so long as he was proven to be the rightful duke.
She looked at Thomas. He was busy eating. So she kept her eyes on him. And waited, and waited…until he finally noticed her attention and met her gaze. He gave a little shrug, which she was unable to interpret.
Somehow that made her feel even worse.
Mr. Audley was the next to arrive for breakfast, followed about ten minutes later by Grace, who appeared to have rushed down, all pink-cheeked and breathless.
“Is the food not to your liking?” Grace asked her, looking down at Amelia’s barely touched plate as she took the seat recently vacated by the dowager.
“I’m not hungry,” Amelia said, even as her stomach rumbled. There was a difference, she was coming to realize, between hunger and appetite. The former she had, the latter not at all.
Grace gave her a quizzical look, then ate her own breakfast, or at least as much of it as she could in the three minutes before the innkeeper arrived, looking somewhat pained.
“Er, her grace…” he began, wringing his hands. “She is in the carriage.”
“Presumably abusing your men?” Thomas queried.
The innkeeper nodded miserably.
“Grace has not finished her meal,” Mr. Audley said coolly.
“Please,” Grace insisted, “let us not delay on my account. I’m quite satisfied. I—”
She coughed then, looking terribly embarrassed, and Amelia had the singular sensation of having been left out of a joke.
“I overfilled my dish,” Grace finally finished, motioning toward her plate, which was still well over half full.
“Are you certain?” Thomas asked her. She nodded, but Amelia noticed that she shoveled several more forkfuls into her mouth as everyone rose to their feet.
The men went ahead to see to the horses, and Amelia waited while Grace wolfed down a bit more.
“Hungry?” she asked, now that it was just the two of them.
“Starving,” Grace confirmed. She wiped her mouth with her serviette and followed Amelia out. “I didn’t want to provoke the dowager.”
Amelia turned, raising her brows.
“Further,” Grace clarified, since they both knew that the dowager was always acting provoked about something or other. And sure enough, when they reached the carriage, the dowager was snapping away about this and that, apparently unsatisfied with the temperature of the hot brick that had been placed at her feet in the carriage.
A hot brick? Amelia nearly sagged. It was not a warm day, but nor was it the least bit chilly. They were going to roast in that carriage.
“She is in fine form today,” Grace murmured.
“Amelia!” the dowager barked.
Amelia reached out and grabbed Grace’s hand. Tightly. She had never in her life been so grateful for another person’s presence. The thought of spending another day in the carriage with the dowager, without Grace as a buffer…
She couldn’t bear it.
“Lady Amelia,” the dowager repeated, “did you not hear me call your name?”
“I’m sorry, your grace,” Amelia said, dragging Grace with her as she stepped forward. “I did not.”
The dowager’s eyes narrowed. She knew when she was being lied to. But she clearly had other priorities, because she flicked her head toward Grace and said, “She may ride with the driver.”
Said with all the affection one might show to a mealworm.
Grace started to move, but Amelia yanked her back. “No,” she said to the dowager.
“No?”
“No. I wish for her company.”
“I do not.”
Amelia thought of all the times she’d marveled at Thomas’s cool reserve, at the way he could flay people with a stare. She took a breath, allowing some of that memory to seep into her, and then she turned it on the dowager.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the dowager snapped, after Amelia had stared her down for several seconds. “Bring her up, then. But do not expect me to make conversation.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Amelia murmured, and she climbed up, Grace following behind.
Unfortunately for Amelia, and for Grace, and for Lord Crowland, who had decided to ride in the carriage after they’d stopped to water the horses, the dowager decided to make conversation after all.
Although conversation did imply a certain two-sidedness that Amelia was quite certain did not exist within the confines of their carriage.
There were many directives, and twice that complaints. But conversation was in short supply.
Amelia’s father lasted only thirty minutes before he banged on the front wall, demanding to be let out.
Traitor, Amelia thought. He’d planned since her birth to place her in the dowager’s household, and he could not manage more than a half an hour?
He made a rather feeble attempt at apology at lunch—not for attempting to force her to marry someone against her will, just for leaving the carriage that morning—but whatever sympathy she might have had for him vanished when he began to lecture her about her future and his decisions regarding thereof.
Her only respite came after lunch, when both the dowager and Grace nodded off. Amelia just stared out the window, watching Ireland roll by, listening to the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. And all the while she could not help but wonder how this had all come to pass. She was far too sensible to think herself dreaming, but really—how could one’s life be so completely altered, almost overnight? It did not seem possible. Just last week she was Lady Amelia Willoughby, fiancée to the Duke of Wyndham. And now she was…
Dear heavens, it was almost comical. She was still Lady Amelia Willoughby, fiancée to the Duke of Wyndham.
But nothing was the same.
She was in love. With what was possibly the wrong man. And did he love her? She couldn’t tell. He liked her, of that she felt sure. He admired her. But love?
No. Men like Thomas did not fall in love so quickly. And if they did—if he did—it would not be with someone like her, someone he’d known his entire life. If Thomas fell into an overnight sort of love, it would be with a beautiful stranger. He’d see her across a crowded room, he’d be struck by a powerful feeling, a knowledge that they shared a destiny. A passion.
That was how Thomas would fall in love.
If he fell in love.
She swallowed, hating the lump in her throat, hating the smell in the air, hating the way she could see the specks of dust floating through the late afternoon sunlight.
There was a lot to hate that afternoon.
Across from her, Grace began to stir. Amelia watched the process. It was actually rather fascinating to watch someone wake up; she didn’t think she’d ever done so before. Finally Grace opened her eyes, and Amelia said quietly, “You fell asleep.” She put a finger to her lips, motioning with her head toward the dowager.
Grace covered a yawn, then asked, “How much longer do you think we have until we get there?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps an hour? Two?” Amelia sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes. She was tired. They were all tired, but she was feeling selfish just then and preferred to dwell upon her own exhaustion. Maybe she could nod off. Why was it that some people fell asleep so easily in carriages, and others—most notably herself—couldn’t seem to do it anywhere but a bed? It didn’t seem fair, and—
“What will you do?”
It was Grace’s voice. And much as Amelia wanted to feign ignorance, she found that she could not do it. It didn’t much matter, anyway, since the answer would be wholly unsatisfying. She opened her eyes. Grace looked as if she wished she had not asked.
“I don’t know,” Amelia said. She leaned back against the seat cushion and closed her eyes again. She liked traveling with her eyes closed. She felt the rhythm of the wheels better. It was soothing. Well, most of the time. Not today. Not on her way to some heretofore unknown village in Ireland, where her future would be decided by the contents of a church register.
Not today, after her father had lectured her for the entire luncheon meal, leaving her feeling rather like a recalcitrant child.
Not today, when—
“Do you know what the funniest part of it is?” Amelia asked, the words coming forth before she realized what she was saying.
“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.’”
She said this all to the darkness of her own eyelids. It was strangely more satisfying that way.
“You were just a baby,” Grace said.
“I have had many years to lodge a complaint.”
“Amelia—”
“I have no one to blame but myself.”
“That’s not true.”
She finally opened her eyes. One of them, at least. “You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not. I would,” Grace said, “but as it happens, I am telling the truth. It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault, really. 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?”
Thomas? Whatever was she thinking? “No,” Amelia said. “Mr. Audley.”
Grace’s lips parted with surprise. “Really?”
“You sound so shocked.”
“No, of course not,” Grace quickly replied. “It’s just that he’s so handsome.”
Amelia gave a little shrug. “I suppose. Don’t you find him a little too charming?”
“No.”
Amelia looked at Grace with newfound interest. Her no had been a tad bit more defensive than she would have expected. “Grace Eversleigh,” she said, lowering her voice as she darted a quick look toward the dowager, “do you fancy Mr. Audley?”
And then it was more than obvious that she did, because Grace stammered and spluttered, and made a noise that sounded rather like a toad.
Which amused Amelia to no end. “You do.”
“It does not signify,” Grace mumbled.
“Of course it signifies,” Amelia replied pertly. “Does he fancy you? No, don’t answer, I can see from your face that he does. Well. I certainly shall not marry him now.”
“You should not refuse him on my account,” Grace said.
“What did you just say?”
“I can’t marry him if he’s the duke.”
Amelia wanted to swat her. How dare she give up on love? “Why not?”
“If he is the duke, he will need to marry someone suitable.” Grace gave her a sharp look. “Of your rank.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. 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.” She waited for Grace to comment, but she looked so flustered, and so…so…sad. Amelia could hardly bear it. She thought of Grace, in love with Mr. Audley, and she thought of herself, drifting on the tide of other people’s expectations.
This wasn’t how she wanted to be.
This wasn’t who she wanted to be.
“I do not know Mr. Audley’s mind,” she said, “or his intentions, but if he is prepared to dare everything for love, then you should be, too.” She reached out and squeezed Grace’s hand. “Be a woman of courage, Grace.” She smiled then, as much for herself as for Grace.
And she whispered, “I shall be one, too.”