Page 94 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

Amelia looked at Grace with newfound interest. Her no had been a tad bit more defensive than she would have expected. “Grace Eversleigh,” she said, lowering her voice as she darted a quick look toward the dowager, “do you fancy Mr. Audley?”

And then it was more than obvious that she did, because Grace stammered and spluttered, and made a noise that sounded rather like a toad.

Which amused Amelia to no end. “You do.”

“It does not signify,” Grace mumbled.

“Of course it signifies,” Amelia replied pertly. “Does he fancy you? No, don’t answer, I can see from your face that he does. Well. I certainly shall not marry him now.”

“You should not refuse him on my account,” Grace said.

“What did you just say?”

“I can’t marry him if he’s the duke.”

Amelia wanted to swat her. How dare she give up on love? “Why not?”

“If he is the duke, he will need to marry someone suitable.” Grace gave her a sharp look. “Of your rank.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s not as if you grew up in an orphanage.”

“There will be scandal enough. He must not add to it with a sensational marriage.”

“An actress would be sensational. You will merely be a week’s worth of gossip.” She waited for Grace to comment, but she looked so flustered, and so…so…sad. Amelia could hardly bear it. She thought of Grace, in love with Mr. Audley, and she thought of herself, drifting on the tide of other people’s expectations.

This wasn’t how she wanted to be.

This wasn’t who she wanted to be.

“I do not know Mr. Audley’s mind,” she said, “or his intentions, but if he is prepared to dare everything for love, then you should be, too.” She reached out and squeezed Grace’s hand. “Be a woman of courage, Grace.” She smiled then, as much for herself as for Grace.

And she whispered, “I shall be one, too.”

Chapter 17

The journey to Butlersbridge proceeded much as Thomas had anticipated. Along with Jack and Lord Crowland, he rode horseback, the better to enjoy the fine weather. There was very little talk; they never quite managed to keep themselves in an even enough line to converse. Every now and then one of them would increase his pace or fall behind, and one horse would pass another. Perfunctory greetings would be exchanged.

Occasionally someone would comment on the weather.

Lord Crowland seemed rather interested in the native birds.

Thomas tried to enjoy the scenery. It was all very green, even more so than Lincolnshire, and he wondered about the annual rainfall. If precipitation here was higher, would that also translate into a better crop yield? Or would this be offset by—Stop.

Agriculture, animal husbandry…it was all academic now. He owned no land, no animals save for his horse, and maybe not even that.

He had nothing.

No one.

Amelia…

Her face entered his mind, unbidden and yet very welcome. She was so much more than he’d anticipated. He did not love her—he could not love her, not now. But somehow…he missed her. Which was ridiculous, as she was just in the carriage, some twenty yards behind. And he’d seen her at their noontime picnic. And they’d breakfasted together.

He had no reason to miss her.

And yet he did.

He missed her laugh, the way it might sound at a particularly enjoyable dinner party. He missed the warm glow of her eyes, the way they would look in the early morning light.

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