by Julia Quinn
Amelia stared at the dowager in horror. For a moment it looked as if she might cry. Which could not be possible. The woman was biologically incapable of tears. She was sure of it.
Grace stepped forward, stunning them all when she placed her arm around the dowager’s shoulders. “Ma’am,” she said soothingly, “it has been a difficult day.”
“It has not been difficult,” the dowager snapped, shaking her off. “It has been anything but difficult.”
“Ma’am,” Grace said again, and again Amelia marveled at the gentle calmness of her voice.
“Leave me alone!” the dowager roared. “I have a dynasty to worry about! You are nothing! Nothing!”
Grace lurched back. Amelia saw her throat work, and she could not tell if she was near tears or absolute fury.
“Grace?” she said carefully, and she wasn’t even sure what she was asking, just that she thought she should say something.
Grace responded with a quick little shake of her head that clearly meant don’t ask, leaving Amelia to wonder just what, exactly, had happened the night before. Because no one was acting normally. Not Grace, not the dowager, and certainly not Wyndham.
Apart from his disappearance from the scene. That, at least, was precisely as expected.
“We will accompany Lady Amelia and her sister back to Burges Park,” the dowager ordered. “Miss Eversleigh, have our carriage readied at once. We will ride with our guests and then return in our own conveyance.”
Grace’s lips parted with surprise, but she was accustomed to the dowager and her furious whims, and so she nodded and hurried toward the front of the castle.
“Elizabeth!” Amelia said desperately, spotting her sister in the doorway. The traitorous wretch had already turned on the ball of her foot and was attempting to slink away, leaving her to deal with the dowager by herself.
Amelia reached out and grabbed her elbow, reeling her in with a teeth-grinding, “Sister, dear.”
“My tea,” Elizabeth said feebly, motioning toward the drawing room.
“Is cold,” Amelia said firmly.
Elizabeth attempted a weak smile in the dowager’s direction, but the expression did not make it much beyond grimace.
“Sarah,” the dowager said.
Elizabeth didn’t bother to correct her.
“Or Jane,” the dowager snapped. “Which is it?”
“Elizabeth,” Elizabeth said.
The dowager’s eyes narrowed, as if she didn’t quite believe her, and her nostrils flared most unattractively as she said, “I see you accompanied your sister again.”
“She accompanied me,” Elizabeth said, in what Amelia was quite certain was the most controversial sentence she’d ever uttered in the dowager’s presence.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Er, I was returning the books my mother borrowed,” Elizabeth stammered.
“Bah! Your mother doesn’t read, and we all know it. It’s a silly and transparent excuse to send her”—at this she motioned to Amelia—“into our midst.”
Amelia’s lips parted with surprise, because she’d always thought that the dowager wanted her in her midst. Not that the dowager liked her, just that she wanted her to hurry up and marry her grandson so she might start growing little Wyndhams in her belly.
“It’s an acceptable excuse,” the dowager grumbled, “but it hardly seems to be working. Where is my grandson?”
“I do not know, your grace,” Amelia answered. Which was the absolute truth. He’d not given her any indication of his plans when he abandoned her earlier. He’d apparently kissed her so senseless he hadn’t thought any explanations were necessary.
“Stupid chit,” the dowager muttered. “I don’t have time for this. Does no one understand their duty? I’ve heirs dying off right and left, and you”—at this she shoved Amelia in the shoulder—“can’t even lift your skirts to—”
“Your grace!” Amelia exclaimed.
The dowager’s mouth clamped shut, and for a moment Amelia thought she might have realized she’d gone too far. All she did, however, was narrow her eyes to vicious little slits and stalk off.
“Amelia?” Elizabeth said, moving to her side.
Amelia blinked. Several times. Quickly. “I want to go home.”
Elizabeth nodded comfortingly.
Together the sisters walked toward the front door. Grace was giving instructions to a footman, so they walked outside and waited for her in the drive. The afternoon had grown a bit chilly, but Amelia would not have cared if the heavens had opened up and drenched them both. She just wanted to be out of that wretched house. “I’m not coming next time,” she said to Elizabeth, hugging her arms to her chest. If Wyndham wished to finally court her, he could come to see her.
“I’m not coming, either,” Elizabeth said, glancing dubiously back at the house. Grace emerged at that moment, so she waited for her to step into the drive, then linked her arm in hers and asked, “Was it my imagination or was the dowager worse than usual?”
“Much worse,” Amelia agreed.
Grace sighed, and her face moved a little, as if she were thinking the better of the first set of words that had come to mind. Finally, she just said, “It’s…complicated.”
There didn’t seem to be anything to say in response to that, so Amelia watched curiously as Grace pretended to adjust the straps of her bonnet, and then—
Grace froze.
They all froze. And then Amelia and Elizabeth followed Grace’s stare. There was a man at the end of the drive, much too far away to see his face, or really anything other than the dark hue of his hair and the fact that he sat atop a horse as if he’d been born to the saddle.
The moment hung suspended in time, silent and still, and then, seemingly for no reason at all, he rode away.
Amelia’s lips came together to ask Grace who he was, but before she could speak, the dowager stepped outside and barked, “Into the carriage!” And as Amelia did not wish to enter into any sort of dialogue with her, she decided to follow orders and keep her mouth shut.
A few moments later they were all settled into the Crowland carriage, Grace and Elizabeth facing back, Amelia stuck facing front next to the dowager. She kept her face forward, focusing on a little spot behind Grace’s ear. If she could just hold this pose for the next half an hour, she might escape without having to lay eyes on the dowager.
“Who was that man?” Elizabeth asked.
No response.
Amelia shifted her gaze to Grace’s face. This was most interesting. She was pretending that she had not heard Elizabeth’s query. It was easy to see through the ruse if one was facing her; the right corner of her mouth had tightened with concern.
“Grace?” Elizabeth said again. “Who was it?”
“No one,” Grace said quickly. “Are we ready to depart?”
“Do you know him, then?” Elizabeth asked, and Amelia wanted to muzzle her. Of course Grace knew him. It had been clear as day.
“I do not,” Grace said sharply.
“What are you talking about?” the dowager asked, all irritation.
“There was a man at the end of the drive,” Elizabeth explained. Amelia wanted desperately to kick her, but there was just no way; she was seated across from the dowager and completely unreachable.
“Who was it?” the dowager demanded.
“I do not know,” Grace answered. “I could not see his face.”
Which wasn’t a lie. Not the second part, at least. He’d stood much too far away for any of them to have seen his face. But Amelia would have bet her dowry that Grace had known exactly who he was.
“Who was it?” the dowager thundered, her voice rising over the sound of the wheels, beginning their rumble down the drive.
“I don’t know,” Grace repeated, but they could all hear the cracks that were forming in her voice.
The dowager turned to Amelia, her eyes as biting as her voice. “Did you see him?”
Amelia’s eyes caught Grace
’s. Something passed between them.
Amelia swallowed. “I saw no one, ma’am.”
The dowager dismissed her with a snort, turning the full weight of her fury on Grace. “Was it he?”
Amelia sucked in her breath. Who were they talking about?
Grace shook her head. “I don’t know,” she stammered. “I couldn’t say.”
“Stop the carriage,” the dowager yelled, lurching forward and shoving Grace aside so she could bang on the wall separating the cabin and the driver. “Stop, I tell you!”
The carriage came to a sudden halt, and Amelia, who had been sitting face-front beside the dowager, tumbled forward, landing at Grace’s feet. She tried to get up, but the dowager had reached across the carriage and clamped her hand around Grace’s chin.
“I will give you one more chance, Miss Eversleigh,” she hissed. “Was it he?”
Amelia stopped breathing.
Grace did not move, and then, very slightly, she nodded.
And the dowager went mad.
Amelia had just regained her seat when she had to duck to avoid being decapitated by her walking stick. “Turn the carriage around!” the dowager was yelling. They slowed, then turned sharply when the dowager screeched, “Go! Go!”
In less than a minute they were back at the front of Belgrave Castle, and Amelia was staring in horror as the dowager shoved Grace out of the carriage. She and Elizabeth both rose to stare out the doorway as the dowager hopped down after her.
“Was Grace limping?” Elizabeth asked.
“I—” She’d been about to say, I don’t know, but the dowager had cut her off, slamming the carriage door shut without a word.
“What just happened?” Elizabeth asked as the carriage lurched forward toward home.
“I have no idea,” Amelia whispered. She turned and watched the castle receding into the distance. “None at all.”
Chapter 6
Later that day, Thomas was sitting in his study, reflecting upon the rather enticing curve of his fiancée’s backside (as he pretended to inspect some contracts his secretary had drawn up). It was a most pleasant pastime, and he might well have continued in this manner through to supper if not for the tremendous commotion that erupted in the hall.
“Don’t you want to know my name?” an unfamiliar male voice called out.
Thomas paused, setting down his pen but not otherwise making any motion to rise. He didn’t really care to investigate, and when he heard nothing more in the next few moments, he decided to return to his contracts. He’d just dipped his point in ink when his grandmother’s voice rent the air as only her voice could.
“Will you leave my companion alone!”
At that, Thomas stood. Possible harm to his grandmother could be easily ignored, but not to Grace. He strode into the corridor and glanced out toward the front. Good Lord. What was his grandmother up to now? She was standing by the drawing room door, a few paces away from Grace, who looked as miserable and mortified as he had ever seen her. Next to Grace was a man Thomas had never seen before.
Whose hands his grandmother appeared to have had bound behind his back.
Thomas groaned. The old bat was a menace.
He moved forward, intending to free the man with an apology and a bribe, but as he approached the threesome, he heard the bloody cur whisper to Grace, “I might kiss your mouth.”
“What the devil?” Thomas demanded. He closed the distance between them. “Is this man bothering you, Grace?”
She shook her head quickly, but he saw something else on her face. Something very close to panic. “No, no,” she said, “he’s not. But—”
Thomas turned on the stranger. He did not like the look in Grace’s eyes. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” was the other man’s reply. That and a rather disrespectful smirk.
“I am Wyndham,” Thomas shot back, prepared to put an end to this nonsense. “And you are in my home.”
The man’s expression changed. Or rather it flickered. For just a moment, and then it was back to insolence. He was tall, almost as tall as Thomas, and of a similar age. Thomas disliked him instantly.
“Ah,” the other man said, suddenly all charm. “Well, in that case, I am Jack Audley. Formerly of His Majesty’s esteemed army, more recently of the dusty road.”
Thomas opened his mouth to tell him just what he thought of that answer, but his grandmother beat him to the punch. “Who are these Audleys?” she demanded, striding angrily to his side. “You are no Audley. It is there in your face. In your nose and chin and in every bloody feature save your eyes, which are quite the wrong color.”
Thomas turned to her with impatient confusion. What could she possibly be blithering on about this time?
“The wrong color?” the other man responded. “Really?” He turned to Grace, his expression all innocence and cheek. “I was always told the ladies like green eyes. Was I misinformed?”
“You are a Cavendish!” the dowager roared. “You are a Cavendish, and I demand to know why I was not informed of your existence.”
A Cavendish? Thomas stared at the stranger, and then at his grandmother, and then back to the stranger. “What the devil is going on?”
No one had an answer, so he turned to the only person he deemed trustworthy. “Grace?”
She did not meet his eyes. “Your grace,” she said with quiet desperation, “perhaps a word in private?”
“And spoil it for the rest of us?” Mr. Audley said. He let out a self-righteous huff. “After all I’ve been through…”
Thomas looked at his grandmother.
“He is your cousin,” she said sharply.
He paused. He could not have heard that correctly. He looked to Grace, but she added, “He is the highwayman.”
While Thomas was attempting to digest that, the insolent sod turned so that they might all make note of his bound hands and said, “Not here of my own volition, I assure you.”
“Your grandmother thought she recognized him last night,” Grace said.
“I knew I recognized him,” the dowager snapped. She flicked her hand toward the highwayman. “Just look at him.”
The highwayman looked at Thomas and said, as if he were as baffled as the rest of them, “I was wearing a mask.”
Thomas brought his left hand to his forehead, his thumb and fingers rubbing and pinching hard at the headache that had just begun to pound. Good God. And then he thought—the portrait.
Bloody hell. So that was what that had been about. At half three in the godforsaken morning, Grace had been up and about, trying to yank the portrait of his dead uncle off the wall and—
“Cecil!” he yelled.
A footman arrived with remarkable speed.
“The portrait,” Thomas snapped. “Of my uncle.”
The footman’s Adam’s apple bobbed with dismay. “The one we just brought up to—”
“Yes. In the drawing room.” And when Cecil did not move fast enough, Thomas practically barked, “Now!”
He felt a hand on his arm. “Thomas,” Grace said quietly, obviously trying to settle his nerves. “Please, allow me to explain.”
“Did you know about this?” he demanded, shaking her off.
“Yes,” she said, “but—”
He couldn’t believe it. Grace. The one person he had come to trust for complete honesty. “Last night,” he clarified, and he realized that he bloody well treasured last night. His life was sorely lacking in moments of pure, unadulterated friendship. The moment on the stairs, bizarre as it was, had been one of them. And that, he thought, had to explain the gut-punched feeling he got when he looked at her guilty face. “Did you know last night?”
“I did, but Thomas—”
“Enough,” he spat. “Into the drawing room. All of you.”
Grace tried to get his attention again, but he ignored her. Mr. Audley—his bloody cousin!—had his lips puckered together, as if he might whistle a happy tune at any moment. And his grandmother…well, the
devil only knew what she was thinking. She looked dyspeptic, but then again, she always looked dyspeptic. But she was watching Audley with an intensity that was positively frightening. Audley, for his part, seemed not to notice her maniacal stare. He was too busy ogling Grace.
Who looked miserable. As well she should.
Thomas swore viciously under his breath and slammed the door to the drawing room shut once they were all out of the hall. Audley held up his hands and cocked his head to the side. “D’you think you might…?”
“For the love of Christ,” Thomas muttered, grabbing a letter opener off a nearby writing table. He grasped one of Audley’s hands and with one angry swipe sliced through the bindings.
“Thomas,” Grace said, situating herself in front of him. Her eyes were urgent as she said, “I really think you ought to let me speak with you for a moment before—”
“Before what?” he snapped. “Before I am informed of another long-lost cousin whose head may or may not be wanted by the Crown?”
“Not by the Crown, I think,” Audley said mildly, “but surely a few magistrates. And a vicar or two.” He turned to the dowager. “Highway robbery is not generally considered the most secure of all possible occupations.”
“Thomas.” Grace glanced nervously over at the dowager, who was glowering at her. “Your grace,” she corrected, “there is something you need to know.”
“Indeed,” he bit off. “The identities of my true friends and confidantes, for one thing.”
Grace flinched as if struck, but Thomas brushed aside the momentary pang of guilt that struck his chest. She’d had ample time to fill him in the night before. There was no reason he should have come into this situation completely unprepared.
“I suggest,” Audley said, his voice light but steady, “that you speak to Miss Eversleigh with greater respect.”
Thomas froze. Who the hell did this man think he was? “I beg your pardon.”
Audley’s head tilted very slightly to the side, and he seemed to lick the inside of his teeth before saying, “Not used to being spoken to like a man, are we?”