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“She is my companion,” the dowager hissed.

“Not anymore.”

Grace held her breath as she watched the exchange. Matters between Thomas and his grandmother were never cordial, but this seemed to go quite beyond the usual. Thomas almost appeared to be enjoying himself.

“As I have not yet been removed from my position,” he said, speaking slowly, clearly savoring each word, “I took the liberty of making a few last minute provisions.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” the dowager demanded.

“Grace,” Thomas said, turning to her with friendship and memories in his eyes, “you are officially relieved of your duties to my grandmother. When you return home, you will find a cottage deeded in your name, along with funds enough to provide an income for the rest of your life.”

“Are you mad?” the dowager sputtered.

Grace just stared at him in shock.

“I should have done it long ago,” he said. “I was too selfish. I couldn’t bear the thought of living with her”—he jerked his head toward his grandmother—“without you there to act as a buffer.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“Normally, I’d advise ‘thank you,’ but as I am the one thanking you, a mere ‘You are a prince among men’ would suffice.”

Grace managed a wobbly smile and whispered, “You are a prince among men.”

“It is always lovely to hear it,” Thomas said. “Now, would you care to join the rest of us for supper?”

Grace turned toward the dowager, who was red-faced with rage.

“You grasping little whore,” she spat. “Do you think I don’t know what you are? Do you think I would allow you in my home again?”

Grace stared at her in calm shock, then said, “I was about to say that I would offer you my assistance for the rest of the journey, since I would never dream of leaving a post without giving proper and courteous notice, but I believe I have reconsidered.” She turned to Amelia, holding her hands carefully at her sides. She was shaking. She was not sure if it was from shock or delight, but she was shaking. “May I share your room this evening?” she asked Amelia. Because certainly she was not going to remain with the dowager.

“Of course,” Amelia replied promptly. She linked her arm through Grace’s. “Let us have some supper.”

It was, Grace later decided, the finest shepherd’s pie she’d ever tasted.

Several hours later, Grace was up in her room staring out the window while Amelia slept.

Grace had tried to go to sleep, but her mind was still all abuzz over Thomas’s astounding act of generosity. Plus, she wondered where Jack had gone off to—he’d not been in the dining room when she and Thomas and Amelia arrived, and no one seemed to know what had happened to him.

Plus plus, Amelia snored.

Grace rather enjoyed the view of Dublin below. They were not in the city center, but the street was busy enough, with local folk going about their business, and plenty of travelers on their way into or out of the port.

It was strange, this newfound sense of freedom. She still could not believe that she was here, sharing a bed with Amelia and not curled up on an uncomfortable chair at the dowager’s bedside.

Supper had been a merry affair. Thomas was in remarkably good spirits, all things considered. He had not said anything more of his generous gift, but Grace knew why he’d done it. If Jack was found to be the true duke—and Thomas was convinced this would be the case—then she could not remain at Belgrave.

To have her heart broken anew, every day for the rest of her life—that, she could not bear.

Thomas knew that she’d fallen in love with Jack. She had not said so, not expressly, but he knew her well. He had to know. For him to act with such generosity, when she’d gone and fallen in love with the man who might very well be the cause of his downfall—

It brought tears to her eyes every time she thought of it.

And so now she was independent. An independent woman! She liked the sound of that. She would sleep until noon every day. She would read books. She would wallow in the sheer laziness of it all, at least for a few months, and then find something constructive to do with her time. A charity, perhaps. Or maybe she would learn to paint watercolors.

It sounded decadent. It sounded perfect.

And lonely.