Page 16

Grace turned. Elizabeth was watching her sister with concern.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Amelia snapped, which was enough, of course, to show that she was not.

The pair bickered for a moment, their voices low enough so Grace could not make out their exact words, and then Amelia rose, saying something about needing some air.

Thomas stood, of course, and Grace rose to her feet as well. Amelia passed by and even reached the doorway before Grace realized that Thomas did not intend to follow.

Good heavens, for a duke, his manners were abominable. Grace elbowed him in the ribs. Someone had to, she told herself. No one ever stood up to the man.

Thomas shot her a dirty look, but he obviously realized that she was in the right, because he turned to Amelia, nodded his head the barest of inches, and said, “Allow me to escort you.”

They departed, and Grace and Elizabeth sat silently for at least a minute before Elizabeth said resignedly, “They are not a good match, are they?”

Grace glanced at the door, even though they had long since departed. She shook her head.

It was huge. It was a castle, of course, and meant to be imposing, but really.

Jack stood, open-mouthed.

This was huge.

Funny how no one had mentioned that his father was from a ducal family. Had anyone even known? He had always assumed his father had been the son of some jolly old country squire, maybe a baronet or possibly a baron. He had always been told that he was sired by John Cavendish, not Lord John Cavendish, as he must have been styled.

And as for the old lady…Jack had realized that morning that she had never given her name, but surely she was the duchess. She was far too imperious to be a maiden aunt or widowed relation.

Good Lord. He was the grandson of a duke. How was that possible?

Jack stared at the structure before him. He was not a complete provincial. He’d traveled widely whilst in the army and had gone to school with the sons of Ireland’s most notable families. The aristocracy was not unknown to him. He did not consider himself uncomfortable in their midst.

But this…

This was huge.

How many rooms in the place? There had to be over a hundred. And what was the provenance? It didn’t look quite medieval, despite the crenellations at the top, but it was certainly pre-Tudor. Something important must have happened there. Houses did not get this big without stumbling into the occasional historic event. A treaty, maybe? Perhaps a royal visit? It sounded like the sort of thing that would have been mentioned in school, which was probably why he didn’t know it.

A scholar he was not.

The view of the castle as he’d approached had been deceptive. The area was heavy with trees, and the turrets and towers seemed to twinkle in and out of sight as he moved through the foliage. It was only when he reached the end of the drive that it had come completely into view—massive and amazing. The stone was gray in color, with a hint of a yellow undertone, and although its angles were mostly squared off, there was nothing boring about the facade. It dipped and rose, jutted out and swept back in. No long Georgian wall of windows was this.

Jack couldn’t even imagine how long it would take a newcomer to find his way around inside. Or how long it would take to find the poor fellow once he got himself lost.

And so he stood and stared, trying to take it in. What would it have been like to grow up there? His father had done so, and by all accounts he’d been a nice enough fellow. Well, by one account, he supposed—his Aunt Mary was the only person he knew who’d known his father well enough to pass along a story or two.

Still, it was difficult to imagine a family living there. His own home in Ireland had not been small by any standards, but still, with four children it often felt as if they were constantly crashing into one another. You couldn’t go ten minutes or even ten steps without being swept into a conversation with a cousin or a brother or an aunt or even a dog. (He’d been a good dog, God rest his furry little soul. Better than most people.)

They had known each other, the Audleys. It was, Jack had long since decided, a very good—and very uncommon—thing.

After a few minutes there was a small flurry of movement at the front door, then three women emerged. Two were blond. It was too far away to see their faces, but he could tell by the way they moved that they were young, and probably quite pretty.

Pretty girls, he’d long since learned, moved differently than the plain ones. It did not matter if they were aware of their beauty or not. What they weren’t was aware of their plainness. Which the plain ones always were.

Jack quirked a half smile. He supposed he was a bit of a scholar of women. Which, he’d often tried to convince himself, was as noble a subject as any.

But it was the third girl—the last to emerge from the castle—who captured his breath and held him motionless, unable to look away.

It was the girl from the carriage the night before. He was sure of it. The hair was the right color—shiny and dark, but it wasn’t such a unique shade that it couldn’t be found elsewhere. He knew it was her because…because…

Because he did.