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Jack thought he saw Crowland cringe. “It’s not pretty in there,” he said in a low voice.

Jack quirked a brow.

“The dowager,” Crowland said, shuddering. “Amelia begged me to let her ride after we watered the horses.”

“That would be too cruel to Grace,” Jack said.

“That’s what I told Amelia.”

“As you were fleeing the carriage,” Thomas murmured, smiling just a little.

Crowland cocked his head. “I would never claim otherwise.”

“And I would never chastise you for it.”

Jack listened to the exchange with little interest. By his estimation, they were about halfway to Butlersbridge, and it was growing increasingly difficult to find humor in the inane. “There is a clearing a mile or so ahead,” he said. “I’ve stopped there before. It’s suitable for a picnic.”

The two other men nodded their agreement, and about five minutes later they’d found the spot. Jack dismounted and went immediately to the carriage. A groom was helping the ladies down, but as Grace would be the last to alight, it was easy enough for him to position himself so he might take her hand when she emerged.

“Mr. Audley,” Grace said. She was nothing but polite, but her eyes shone with a secret warmth.

“Miss Eversleigh.” He looked down at her mouth. The corners were moving slightly…very slightly. She wanted to smile. He could see it.

He could feel it.

“I will eat in the carriage,” the dowager announced sharply. “Only heathens eat on the ground.”

Jack tapped his chest and grinned. “Proud to be a heathen.” He quirked his head toward Grace. “And you?”

“Very proud.”

The dowager marched once around the perimeter of the field—to stretch her legs, she said—and then disappeared back inside the carriage.

“That must have been very difficult for her,” Jack commented, watching her go.

Grace had been examining the contents of a picnic basket, but at that she looked up. “Difficult?”

“There is no one to harass in the carriage,” he explained.

“I think she feels that we have all ganged up upon her.”

“We have.”

Grace looked conflicted. “Yes, but—”

Oh…no. He was not going to listen to her make excuses for the dowager. “Don’t tell me that you harbor any sympathy toward her.”

“No.” Grace shook her head. “I wouldn’t say that, but—”

“You are far too softhearted.”

At that she smiled. Sheepishly. “Perhaps.”

Once the blankets were laid out, Jack maneuvered them so they were seated a bit apart from the others. It was not very difficult—or very obvious—to do so; Amelia had sat down next to her father, who appeared to be delivering some sort of lecture, and Thomas had wandered off, probably in search of a tree that needed watering.

“Is this the road you traveled when you went to school in Dublin?” Grace asked, reaching for a slice of bread and cheese.

“Yes.”