Julia Quinn - The Lost Duke of Wyndham

“I don’t know that they would care to know you, either,” commented Mr. Audley, who had entered the room behind Thomas.

The dowager lifted a brow, as if to point out her own magnificence.

“Mary Audley is my late mother’s sister,” Mr. Audley stated. “She and her husband, William Audley, took me in at my birth. They raised me as their own and, at my request, gave me their name. I don’t care to relinquish it.” He looked coolly at the dowager, as if daring her to comment.

She did not, much to Grace’s surprise.

And then he turned to her, offering her an elegant bow. “You may refer to me as Mr. Audley if you wish, Miss Eversleigh.”

Grace bobbed a curtsy. She was not certain if this was a requirement, since no one had any clue as to his rank, but it seemed only polite. He had bowed, after all.

She glanced at the dowager, who was glaring at her, and then at Thomas, who somehow managed to look amused and annoyed at the same time.

“She can’t sack you for using his legal name,” Thomas said with his usual hint of impatience. “And if she does, I shall retire you with a lifelong bequest and have her sent off to some far-flung property.”

Mr. Audley looked at Thomas with surprise and approval before turning to Grace and smiling. “It’s tempting,” he murmured. “How far can she be flung?”

“I am considering adding to our holdings,” Thomas replied. “The Outer Hebrides are lovely this time of year.”

“You’re despicable,” the dowager hissed.

“Why do I keep her on?” Thomas wondered aloud. He walked over to a cabinet and poured himself a drink.

“She is your grandmother,” Grace said, since someone had to be the voice of reason.

“Ah yes, blood.” Thomas sighed. “I’m told it’s thicker than water. Pity.” He looked over at Mr. Audley. “You’ll soon learn.”

Grace half expected Mr. Audley to bristle at Thomas’s tone of condescension, but his face remained blandly unconcerned. Curious. It seemed the two men had forged some sort of truce.

“And now,” Thomas announced, looking squarely at his grandmother, “my work here is done. I have returned the prodigal son to your loving bosom, and all is right with the world. Not my world,” he added, “but someone’s world, I’m sure.”

“Not mine,” Mr. Audley said, when no one else seemed inclined to comment. And then he unleashed a smile-slow, lazy, and meant to paint himself as the careless rogue he was. “In case you were interested.”

Thomas looked at him, his nose crinkling in an expression of vague indifference. “I wasn’t.”

Grace’s head bobbed back to Mr. Audley. He was still smiling. She looked to Thomas, waiting for him to say something more.

He dipped his head toward her in wry salute, then tossed back his liquor in one shockingly large swallow. “I am going out.”

“Where?” demanded the dowager.

Thomas paused in the doorway. “I have not yet decided.”

Which meant, Grace was sure, anywhere but here.

And that, Jack decided, was his cue to leave as well.

Not that he had any great love for the duke. Indeed, he’d had quite enough of his marvelous lordliness for one day and was perfectly happy to see his back as he left the room. But the thought of remaining here with the dowager…

Even Miss Eversleigh’s delightful company was not enough of a temptation to endure more of that.

“I believe I shall retire as well,” he announced.

“Wyndham did not retire,” the dowager said peevishly. “He went out.”

“Then I shall retire,” Jack said. He smiled blandly. “End of sentence.”

“It’s barely dark,” the dowager pointed out.

“I’m tired.” It was true. He was.

“My John used to stay up until the wee hours,” she said softly.

Jack sighed. He did not want to feel sorry for this woman. She was hard, ruthless, and thoroughly unlikable. But she had, apparently, loved her son. His father. And she’d lost him.

A mother shouldn’t outlive her children. He knew this as well as he knew how to breathe. It was unnatural.

And so instead of pointing out that her John had most likely never been kidnapped, strangled, blackmailed, and stripped of his (albeit paltry) livelihood, all in one day, he walked forward and set her ring-the very one he had all but snatched from her finger-on the table next to her. His own was in his pocket. He was not quite prepared to share its existence with her. “Your ring, madam,” he said.

She nodded, then took it into her hands.

“What is the D for?” he asked. His whole life, he’d wondered. He might as well gain something from this debacle.

“Debenham. My birth surname.”

Ah. It made sense. She’d have given her own heirlooms to her favorite son.

“My father was the Duke of Runthorpe.”

“I am not surprised,” he murmured. She could decide for herself if that was a compliment. He bowed. “Good evening, your grace.”

The dowager’s mouth tightened with disappointment. But she seemed to recognize that if there had been a battle that day, she was the only one who had emerged victorious, and she was surprisingly gracious as she said, “I shall have supper sent up.”

Jack nodded and murmured his thanks, then turned to exit.

“Miss Eversleigh will show you to your room.”

At that Jack snapped to attention, and when he looked Miss Eversleigh’s way, he saw that she had, too.

He had been expecting a footman. Possibly the butler. This was a delightful surprise.

“Is that a problem, Miss Eversleigh?” the dowager asked. Her voice sounded sly, a little bit taunting.

“Of course not,” Miss Eversleigh replied. Her eyes were clouded but not entirely unreadable. She was surprised. He could see it by the way her lashes seemed to reach a little higher toward her brows. She was not used to being ordered to tend to anyone except the dowager. Her employer, he decided, did not like to share her. And as his eyes fell again to her lips, he decided that he was in complete accord. If she were his, if he had any right to her…he would not wish to share her, either.

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.