The Lost Duke of Wyndham

“Children!” Jack cut in. “Listen to your mother.”

“She didn’t say anything,” John pointed out.

“Right,” Jack said. He frowned for a moment. “John, leave your sister alone. Mary, next time don’t step on the orange.”

“But—”

“I’m done here,” he announced.

And amazingly, they went on their way.

“That wasn’t too difficult,” he said.

Jack tore his eyes off Grace for just long enough to grin approvingly at Amelia. She grinned back, motioning with her head toward Grace, telling him in no uncertain terms to get back to the matter at hand.

“Grace,” Jack said, rubbing her hands softly with his. “My knee is beginning to hurt.”

She started to laugh.

“Say yes, Grace,” Amelia said.

“Listen to Amelia,” Jack said.

“Grace—” He scowled, then laughed. “What the devil is your middle name, anyway?”

“Catriona,” she whispered.

“Grace Catriona Eversleigh,” he said, loud and sure, “I love you. I love you with every inch of my heart, and I swear right now, before all who are assembled . . .” He looked around, catching sight of the rectory housekeeper, who was standing open-mouthed in the doorway. “ . . . even—devil it,” he muttered, “what is your name?”

“Mrs. Broadmouse,” she said, eyes wide.

“I do not know Mr. Audley’s mind, or his intentions, but if he is prepared to dare everything for love, then you should be, too.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

“Then that is all that matters.”

“I’ve heard it is a charming city,” she said.

“There is much to entertain.”

“It’s a pity. I don’t expect we shall be spending much time there.”

“No. The dowager is eager to be on her way.”

“Aren’t you?” she asked.

At that, he took a breath and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and he was nervous, and it felt as if he was being delivered to his downfall. “No,” he said. “To be honest, I’d be quite happy to stay right here, on this boat, at this railing, for the rest of my life.”

Grace turned to him with somber eyes.

“With you,” he said softly. “Here at this railing, with you.”

“I was going to say,” he said, trying to sound beleaguered and henpecked, “that my favorite subject of late is you.”

“What is there not to like about cupids?”

He perched himself on the arm of the opposite sofa.

“You don’t find them rather dangerous?”

“Chubby little babies?”

“Carrying deadly weapons,” he reminded her.

“They are not real arrows.”

“Your talents are for pointing guns and removing necklaces off ladies’ necks?”

“I charm the necklaces off their necks.” He shook his head in a perfect imitation of offense. “Kindly make the distinction.”

“Oh, please.”

“I charmed you.”

“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.