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“But we were told—”

“I’d rather have been dismissed for bad behavior than stupidity,” he said softly.

“You did it all on purpose?”

He dipped his chin.

“Oh, my God.” She sank into a chair. “Why didn’t you say something? We could have hired a tutor.”

“It wouldn’t have helped.” And then, when she looked up at him in confusion he said, almost helplessly, “The letters dance. They flip about. I can never tell the difference between a d and a b, unless they are uppercase, and even then I—”

“You’re not stupid,” she cut in, and her voice was sharp.

He stared at her.

“You are not stupid. If there is a problem it is with your eyes, not your mind. I know you.” She stood, her movements shaky but determined, and then she touched his cheek with her hand. “I was there the moment you were born. I was the first to hold you. I have been with you for every scrape, every tumble. I have watched your eyes light, Jack. I have watched you think.

“How clever you must have been,” she said softly, “to have fooled us all.”

“Arthur helped me all through school,” he said as evenly as he was able. “I never asked him to. He said he liked—” He swallowed then, because the memory was rising in his throat like a cannonball. “He said he liked to read aloud.”

“I think he did like that.” A tear began to roll down her cheek. “He idolized you, Jack.”

Jack fought the sobs that were choking his throat. “I was supposed to protect him.”

“Soldiers die, Jack. Arthur was not the only one. He was merely…” She closed her eyes and turned away, but not so fast that Jack didn’t see the flash of pain on her face.

“He was merely the only one who mattered to me,” she whispered. She looked up, straight into his eyes. “Please, Jack, I don’t want to lose two sons.”

She held out her arms, and before Jack knew it, he was there, in her embrace. Sobbing.

He had not cried for Arthur. Not once. He’d been so full of anger—at the French, at himself—that he had not left room for grief.

But now here it was, rushing in. All the sadness, all the times he’d witnessed something amusing and Arthur had not been there to share it with. All the milestones he had celebrated alone. All the milestones Arthur would never celebrate.

He cried for all of that. And he cried for himself, for his lost years. He’d been running. Running from himself. And he was tired of it. He wanted to stop. To stay in one place.

With Grace.

He would not lose her. He did not care what he had to do to ensure their future, but ensure it he would. If Grace said that she could not marry the Duke of Wyndham, then he would not be the Duke of Wyndham. Surely there was some measure of his destiny that was still under his control.

“I need to see to the guests,” Mary whispered, pulling gently away.

Jack nodded, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes. “The dowager…” Good lord, what was there to say about the dowager, except: “I’m so sorry.”

“She shall have my bedchamber,” Mary said.

Normally Jack would have forbidden her to give up her room, but he was tired, and he suspected she was tired, and tonight seemed like the perfect time to put ease before pride. And so he nodded. “That is very kind of you.”

“I suspect it’s something closer to self-preservation.”

He smiled at that. “Aunt Mary?”

She’d reached the door, but she stopped with her hand on the knob, turning back around to face him. “Yes?”

“Miss Eversleigh,” he said.

Something lit in his aunt’s eyes. Something romantic. “Yes?”