At that, he took a breath and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and he was nervous, and it felt as if he was being delivered to his downfall. “No,” he said. “To be honest, I’d be quite happy to stay right here, on this boat, at this railing, for the rest of my life.”
Grace turned to him with somber eyes.
“With you,” he said softly. “Here at this railing, with you.”
He looked back out. The port of Dublin was more than a speck on the horizon now. Soon he would be able to make out buildings and ships. Off to his left he could hear Thomas and Amelia chatting. They were pointing out over the water, too, watching the port as it seemed to grow before their eyes.
Jack swallowed. The knot in his stomach was growing as well. Good God, it was almost funny. Here he was, back in Ireland, forced to face his family, whom he’d failed so many years before. And if that weren’t bad enough, he could very well find himself named the Duke of Wyndham, a position for which he was uniquely unqualified.
And then, because no injury should ever be without insult, he had to do it all in the company of the dowager.
He wanted to laugh. It was funny. It had to be funny. If it wasn’t funny, then he’d have to bloody well go and cry.
But he couldn’t seem to laugh. He looked out at Dublin, looming larger in the distance.
It was too late for laughter.
Several hours later, at the Queen’s Arms, Dublin
“It is not too late!”
“Ma’am,” Grace said, trying to be as calm and soothing as she could, “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.”
Grace bit her lip. They had been traveling over three days now, and one could almost chart the progress of their journey by the shortness of his temper. Every mile that brought them closer to Ireland had taken a notch out of his patience. He’d grown silent and withdrawn, so wholly unlike the man she knew.
The man she’d fallen in love with.
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 nearly time for supper. Grace had not eaten much on the sea journey, and now that she was back to standing on surfaces that did not pitch and roll beneath her, she was famished. The last thing she wanted was to press on toward Butlersbridge, the small village in County Cavan where Jack had grown up.
But the dowager was being her argumentative self, so they were standing in the front room of the inn, all six of them, while she attempted to dictate the speed and direction of their journey.
“Don’t you wish to have this matter settled, once and for all?” the dowager demanded of Jack.
“Not really,” was his insolent response. “Certainly not as much as I want a slice of shepherd’s pie and a tankard of ale.” Jack turned to the rest of them, and Grace ached at the expression in his eyes. He was haunted. But by what, she could not guess.
What demons awaited him here? Why had he gone so long between visits? He’d told her he had a lovely childhood, that he adored his adoptive family and would not have traded them for the world. Didn’t everyone wish for that? Didn’t he want to go home? Didn’t he understand how lucky he was to have a home to return to?
Grace would have given anything for that.
“Miss Eversleigh,” Jack said, with a courteous nod. “Lady Amelia.”
The two ladies bobbed their curtsies as he departed.
“I do believe he has the right idea of it,” Thomas murmured. “Supper sounds infinitely more appealing than a night on the roads.”
The dowager whipped her head toward him and glared.
“Not,” he said with an extremely dry look, “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 wandered off to the taproom.
“I shall take my supper in my room,” the dowager announced. Her tone was defiant, as if she expected someone to protest, but of course, no one did. “Miss Eversleigh,” she barked, “you may attend to me.”
Grace sighed wearily and started to follow.
“No,” Thomas said.
The dowager froze. “No?” she echoed, all ice.
Grace turned and looked at Thomas. What could he mean? There had been nothing unusual about the dowager’s order. Grace was her companion. This was exactly the sort of thing she had been hired to do.
But Thomas stared down his grandmother, a tiny, subversive smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Grace will dine with us. In the dining room.”
“She is my companion,” the dowager hissed.
“Not anymore.”
Grace held her breath as she watched the exchange. Matters between Thomas and his grandmother were never cordial, but this seemed to go quite beyond the usual. Thomas almost appeared to be enjoying himself.
“As I have not yet been removed from my position,” he said, speaking slowly, clearly savoring each word, “I took the liberty of making a few last minute provisions.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” the dowager demanded.
“Grace,” Thomas said, turning to her with friendship and memories in his eyes, “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.”