Page 95 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

If he ever got to see her in the early morning light.

Which he wouldn’t.

But he missed it all the same.

He glanced over his shoulder, back at the carriage, half surprised to see that it looked exactly as it should, and not spitting flames through the windows.

His grandmother had been in fine form that afternoon. Now there was one thing he would not miss, once he was stripped of his title. The dowager Duchess of Wyndham had been more than an albatross on his back; she’d been a bloody Medusa, whose only purpose in life seemed to be to make his life as difficult as possible.

But his grandmother was not the only burden he’d be happy to shed. The endless paperwork. He’d not miss that. The lack of freedom. Everyone thought he could do as he pleased—all that money and power ought to lend a man utter control. But no, he was tied to Belgrave. Or he had been.

He thought of Amelia, her dreams of Amsterdam.

Well, hell. Come tomorrow, he could go to Amsterdam if he so desired. He could leave straight from Dublin. He could see Venice. The West Indies. There was nothing to stop him, no—

“Are you happy?”

“Me?” Thomas looked over at Jack in some surprise, then realized he’d been whistling. Whistling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so. “I suppose I am. It’s a rather fine day, don’t you think?”

“A fine day,” Jack echoed.

“None of us is trapped in the carriage with that evil old hag,” Crowland announced. “We should all be happy.” Then he added, “Pardon,” since the evil old hag was, after all, grandmother to both of his companions.

“Pardons unnecessary on my account,” Thomas said, feeling rather jovial. “I agree with your assessment completely.”

“Will I have to live with her?” Jack blurted out.

Thomas looked over and grinned. Was he only just now realizing the extent of his burdens? “The Outer Hebrides, my man, the Outer Hebrides.”

“Why didn’t you do it?” Jack demanded.

“Oh, believe me, I will, on the off chance I still possess any power over her tomorrow. And if I don’t…” Thomas shrugged. “I’ll need some sort of employment, won’t I? I always wished to travel. Perhaps I shall be your scout. I’ll find the oldest, coldest place on the island. I shall have a rollicking good time.”

“For God’s sake,” Jack swore. “Stop talking like that.”

Thomas regarded him curiously but he did not inquire. Not for the first time, he wondered just what, exactly, was going on in his cousin’s head. Jack’s face had taken on a haggard air, and his eyes were bleak.

He did not want to go home. No, he was afraid to go home.

Thomas felt a spark of something in his chest. Sympathy, he supposed, for a man he ought to despise. But there was nothing to say. Nothing to ask.

And so he didn’t. For the rest of the journey he said nothing. Hours passed, and the air around him chilled with the night. They passed through charming little villages, through the larger, busier Cavan town, and then finally through Butlersbridge.

It ought to look sinister, Thomas thought. The shadows ought to be stretched and misshapen, and there should have been strange animal sounds, howling through the night.

This was where his life would be pulled out from beneath him. It did not seem right that it should appear so picturesque.

Jack was just a bit ahead, and he’d slowed down considerably. Thomas drew up alongside, then slowed his horse to keep an even pace. “Is this the road?” he asked quietly.

Jack nodded. “Just around the bend.”

“They are not expecting you, are they?”

“No.” Jack nudged his horse on into a trot, but Thomas held his to a walk, allowing Jack to go on ahead. There were some things a man needed to do alone.

At the very least, he could attempt to hold the dowager back while Jack made his homecoming.

He slowed as best as he could, positioning his mount so the carriage was forced to slow as well. At the end of the short drive he could see Jack dismount, climb the front steps, and knock on the door. A shaft of light streamed out when it was opened, but Thomas could not hear any words that were exchanged.

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