Page 56 of The Lost Duke of Wyndham

“It is said to have a soothing effect on one’s temperament,” Jack said.

“Thus far,” the dowager retorted, “I am not much impressed with its influences upon one’s manners.”

He smiled. “You find me impolite?”

“I find you impertinent.”

Jack turned to Grace with a sad sigh. “And here I thought I was meant to be the prodigal grandson, able to do no wrong.”

“Everyone does wrong,” the dowager said sharply. “The question is how little wrong one does.”

“I would think,” Jack said quietly, “that it is more important what one does to rectify the wrong.”

“Or perhaps,” the dowager snapped angrily, “one could manage not to make the mistake in the first place.”

Jack leaned forward, interested now. “What did my father do that was so very very wrong?”

“He died,” she said, and her voice was so bitter and full of chill that Jack heard Grace suck in her breath from across the table.

“Surely you cannot blame him for that,” Jack murmured. “A freak storm, a leaky boat…”

“He should never have stayed so long in Ireland,” the dowager hissed. “He should never have gone in the first place. He was needed here.”

“By you,” Jack said softly.

The dowager’s face lost some of its usual stiffness, and for a moment he thought he saw her eyes grow moist. But whatever emotion came over her, it was swiftly tamped down, and she stabbed at her bacon and bit off, “He was needed here. By all of us.”

Grace suddenly stood. “I will go find Maria now, your grace, if that is amenable.”

Jack rose along with her. There was no way she was leaving him alone with the dowager. “I believe you promised me a tour of the castle,” he murmured.

Grace looked from the dowager to him and back again. Finally the dowager flicked her hand in the air and said, “Oh, take him about. He should see his birthright before we leave. You may have your session with Maria later. I will remain and await Wyndham.”

But as they reached the doorway, they heard her add softly, “If that is indeed still his name.”

Grace was too angry to wait politely outside the doorway, and indeed, she was already halfway down the hall before Mr. Audley caught up with her.

“Is this a tour or a race?” he asked, his lips forming that now familiar smile. But this time it did nothing but raise her ire.

“Why did you bait her?” she burst out. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“The comment about her hair, do you mean?” he asked, and he gave her one of those annoying innocent whatever-could-I-have-done-wrong looks. When of course he had to have known, perfectly well.

“Everything,” she replied hotly. “We were having a perfectly lovely breakfast, and then you—”

“You might have been having a perfectly lovely breakfast,” he cut in, and his voice held a newly sharp edge. “I was conversing with Medusa.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to make things worse by provoking her.”

“Isn’t that what his holiness does?”

Grace stared at him in angry confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “The duke. I’ve not noticed that he holds his tongue in her presence. I thought to emulate.”

“Mr. Aud—”

“Ah, but I misspoke. He’s not holy, is he? Merely perfect.”

---