Page 123 of The Lost Duke of Wyndham

“Oh, do what you wish,” the dowager had snapped. “But if you are not in the carriage in three minutes, I shall leave without you.”

Which was how it came to pass that Amelia, Grace, and Mary Audley were squeezed together on one side of the carriage, with the dowager and Lord Crowland on the other.

The ride to Maguiresbridge had seemed interminably long. Amelia looked out her window, the dowager out hers, and Lord Crowland and Mary Audley did the same. Grace, squeezed in the middle facing backwards, could do nothing but stare at the spot midway between the dowager’s and Lord Crowland’s heads.

Every ten minutes or so the dowager would turn to Mary and demand to know how much longer it would be until they reached their destination. Mary answered each query with admirable deference and patience, and then finally, to everyone’s relief, she said, “We are here.”

The dowager hopped down first, but Lord Crowland was close on her heels, practically dragging Amelia behind him. Mary Audley hurried out next, leaving Grace alone at the rear. She sighed. It seemed somehow fitting.

By the time Grace reached the front of the rectory, the rest of them were already inside, pushing through the door to another room, where, she presumed, Jack and Thomas were, along with the all-important church register.

An open-mouthed woman stood in the center of the front room, a cup of tea balanced precariously in her fingers.

“Good day,” Grace said with a rushed smile, wondering if the others had even bothered to knock.

“Where is it?” she heard the dowager demand, followed by the crash of a door slamming against a wall. “How dare you leave without me! Where is it? I demand to see the register!”

Grace made it to the doorway, but it was still blocked by the others. She couldn’t see in. And then she did the last thing she’d ever have expected of herself.

She shoved. Hard.

She loved him. She loved Jack. And whatever the day brought, she would be there. He would not be alone. She would not allow it.

She stumbled inside just as the dowager was screaming, “What did you find?”

Grace steadied herself and looked up. There he was. Jack. He looked awful.

Haunted.

Her lips formed his name, but she made no sound. She couldn’t have. It was as if her voice had been yanked right out of her. She had never seen him thus. His color was wrong—too pale, or maybe too flushed—she couldn’t quite tell. And his fingers were trembling. Couldn’t anyone else see that?

Grace turned to Thomas, because surely he would do something. Say something.

But he was staring at Jack. Just like everyone else. No one was speaking. Why wasn’t anyone speaking?

“He is Wyndham,” Jack finally said. “As he should be.”

Grace should have jumped for joy, but all she could think was—I don’t believe him.

He didn’t look right. He didn’t sound right.

The dowager turned on Thomas. “Is this true?”

Thomas did not speak.

The dowager growled with frustration and grabbed his arm. “Is…it…true?” she demanded.

Still, Thomas did not speak.

“There is no record of a marriage,” Jack insisted.

Grace wanted to cry. He was lying. It was so obvious…to her, to everyone. There was desperation in his voice, and fear, and—Dear God, was he doing this for her? Was he trying to forsake his birthright for her?

“Thomas is the duke,” Jack said again, looking frantically from person to person. “Why aren’t you listening? Why isn’t anyone listening to me?”

But there was only silence. And then:

“He lies.”

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