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He didn’t look at her. He refused to look at her. She’d see far more in his face than the dowager ever would.

“Of course,” he said briskly. “Of course we must go.” Because really, what else could he say? Terribly sorry, but I can’t go to Ireland, as I killed my cousin?

Jack had been out of society for a number of years, but he was fairly certain this would not be considered good breakfast table conversation.

And yes, he knew that he had not pulled a trigger, and yes, he knew that he had not forced Arthur to buy a commission and enter the army along with him, and yes—and this was the worst of it—he knew that his aunt would never even dream of blaming him for Arthur’s death.

But he had known Arthur. And more importantly, Arthur had known him. Better than anyone. He’d known his every strength—and his every weakness—and when Jack had finally closed the door on his disastrous university career and headed off to the military, Arthur had refused to allow him to go alone.

And they both knew why.

“It might be somewhat ambitious to try to depart tomorrow,” Grace said. “You will have to secure passage, and—”

“Bah!” was the dowager’s response. “Wyndham’s secretary can manage it. It’s about time he earned his wages. And if not tomorrow, then the next day.”

“Will you wish for me to accompany you?” Grace asked quietly.

Jack was just about to interject that, damn yes, she’d be going, or else he would not, but the dowager gave her a haughty look and replied, “Of course. You do not think I would make such a journey without a companion? I cannot bring maids—the gossip, you know—and so I will need someone to help me dress.”

“You know that I am not very good with hair,” Grace pointed out, and to Jack’s horror, he laughed. It was just a short little burst of it, tinged with a loathsome nervous edge, but it was enough for both ladies to stop their conversation, and their meal, and turn to him.

Oh. Brilliant. How was he to explain this? Don’t mind me, I was simply laughing at the ludicrousness of it all. You with your hair, me with my dead cousin.

“Do you find my hair amusing?” the dowager asked sharply.

And Jack, because he had absolutely nothing to lose, just shrugged and said, “A bit.”

The dowager let out an indignant huff, and Grace positively glared at him.

“Women’s hair always amuses me,” he clarified. “So much work, when all anyone really wants is to see it down.”

They both seemed to relax a bit. His comment may have been risqué, but it took the personal edge off the insult. The dowager tossed one last irritated look in his direction, then turned to Grace to continue their previous conversation. “You may spend the morning with Maria,” she directed. “She will show you what to do. It can’t be that difficult. Pull one of the scullery maids up from the kitchen and practice upon her. She’ll be grateful for the opportunity, I’m sure.”

Grace looked not at all enthused, but she nodded and murmured, “Of course.”

“See to it that the kitchen work does not suffer,” the dowager said, finishing the last of her stewed apples. “An elegant coiffure is compensation enough.”

“For what?” Jack asked.

The dowager turned to him, her nose somehow looking pointier than usual.

“Compensation for what?” he restated, since he felt like being contrary.

The dowager stared at him a moment longer, then must have decided he was best ignored, because she turned back to Grace. “You may commence packing my things once you are done with Maria. And after that, see to it that a suitable story is set about for our absence.” She waved her hand in the air as if it were a trifle. “A hunting cottage in Scotland will do nicely. The Borders, I should think. No one will believe it if you say I went to the Highlands.”

Grace nodded silently.

“Somewhere off the well-trod path, however,” the dowager continued, looking as if she were enjoying herself. “The last thing I need is for one of my friends to attempt to see me.”

“Do you have many friends?” Jack asked, his tone so perfectly polite that she’d be wondering all day if she’d been insulted.

“The dowager is much admired,” Grace said quickly, perfect little companion that she was.

Jack decided not to comment.

“Have you ever been to Ireland?” Grace asked the dowager. But Jack caught the angry look she shot him before turning to her employer.

“Of course not.” The dowager’s face pinched. “Why on earth would I have done so?”