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Dear God, he’d thought he’d missed it, but this…

This was something more. This was an ache, a true, pounding pain in his chest; an empty hole; a sob, forever caught in his throat.

This was home.

Jack wanted to stop, to take a moment to gaze at the graceful old house, but he heard the carriage drawing closer and knew that he could not keep everyone at bay while he indulged his own nostalgia.

The last thing he wanted was for the dowager to barge in ahead of him (which he was quite certain she would do), so he rode up to the entrance, dismounted, and walked up the steps on his own. He closed his eyes and drew a long breath, and then, since he wasn’t likely to amass any more courage in the next few minutes, he lifted the brass knocker and brought it down.

There was no immediate reply. This was not a surprise. It was late. They were unexpected. The butler might have retired for the night. There were so many reasons they should have got rooms in the village and made their way to Cloverhill in the morning. He didn’t want—

The door opened. Jack held his hands tightly behind his back. He’d tried leaving them at his sides, but they started to shake.

He saw the light of the candle first, and then the man behind it, wrinkled and stooped.

“Master Jack?”

Jack swallowed. “Wimpole,” he said. Good heavens, the old butler must be nearing eighty, but of course his aunt would have kept him on, for as long as he wished to work, which, knowing Wimpole, would be until the day he died.

“We were not expecting you,” Wimpole said.

Jack tried for a smile. “Well, you know how I like a surprise.”

“Come in! Come in! Oh, Master Jack, Mrs. Audley will be so pleased to see you. As will—” Wimpole stopped, peering out the door, his wizened old eyes creasing into a squint.

“I am afraid that I brought a few guests,” Jack explained. The dowager had already been helped down from the carriage, and Grace and Amelia were right behind her. Thomas had grabbed onto his grandmother’s arm—hard, from the looks of it—to give Jack a few moments alone, but the dowager was already showing signs of impending outrage.

“Wimpole?” came a feminine voice. “Who is here at this hour?”

Jack stood stiffly, hardly able to breathe. It was his aunt Mary. She sounded exactly the same. It was as if he’d never left…

Except it wasn’t. If he’d never left, his heart wouldn’t be pounding, his mouth wouldn’t be dry. And most of all, he wouldn’t feel so bloody terrified. Scared spitless at seeing the one person who had loved him his entire life, with her whole heart and without condition.

“Wimpole? I—” She’d rounded the corner and was staring at him like a ghost. “Jack?”

“In the flesh.” He tried for a jovial tone but couldn’t quite manage it, and deep inside, down where he kept his blackest moments, he wanted to cry. Right there, in front of everyone, it was twisting and writhing inside of him, bursting to get out.

“Jack!” she cried out, and she hurled herself forward, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, Jack. Jack, my dear sweet boy. We’ve missed you so.” She was covering his face with kisses, like a mother would her son.

Like she should have been able to do for Arthur.

“It is good to see you, Aunt Mary,” he said. He pulled her tight then and buried his face in the crook of her neck, because she was his mother, in every way that mattered. And he’d missed her. By God, he’d missed her, and in that moment it did not matter that he’d hurt her in the worst way imaginable. He just wanted to be held.

“Oh, Jack,” she said, smiling through her tears, “I ought to horsewhip you for staying away so long. Why would you do such a thing? Don’t you know how worried we were? How—”

“Ahem.”

Mary stopped and turned, still holding Jack’s face in her hands. The dowager had made her way to the front entrance and was standing behind him on the stone steps.

“You must be the aunt,” she said.

Mary just stared at her. “Yes,” she finally replied. “And you are…?”

“Aunt Mary,” Jack said hastily, before the dowager could speak again, “I am afraid I must introduce you to the dowager Duchess of Wyndham.”

Mary let go of him and curtsied, stepping aside as the dowager swept past her. “The Duchess of Wyndham?” she echoed, looking at Jack with palpable shock. “Good heavens, Jack, couldn’t you have sent notice?”

Jack smiled tightly. “It is better this way, I assure you.”