The Lost Duke of Wyndham Page 0,15

grandmother always favored her middle son," Thomas said, with a twist of his lips that Grace would not have called a smile. He glanced across the room, and then, as if suddenly realizing his future bride was present, said, "Lady Amelia."

"Your grace," she responded.

But he couldn't possibly have heard her. He was already back to Grace, saying, "You will of course support me if I lock her up?"

"Thom - " Grace began, cutting herself off at the last moment. She supposed that Elizabeth and Amelia knew that he had given her leave to use his given name while at Belgrave, but still, it seemed disrespectful to do so when others were present.

"Your grace," she said, enunciating each word with careful resolve. "You must grant her extra patience this day. She is distraught."

Grace sent up a prayer for forgiveness as she let everyone think the dowager had been upset by nothing more than an ordinary robbery. She wasn't precisely lying to Thomas, but she suspected that in this case the sin of omission could prove equally dangerous.

She made herself smile. It felt forced.

"Amelia? Are you unwell?"

Grace turned. Elizabeth was watching her sister with concern.

"I'm perfectly fine," Amelia snapped, which was enough, of course, to show that she was not.

The pair bickered for a moment, their voices low enough so Grace could not make out their exact words, and then Amelia rose, saying something about needing some air.

Thomas stood, of course, and Grace rose to her feet as well. Amelia passed by and even reached the doorway before Grace realized that Thomas did not intend to follow.

Good heavens, for a duke, his manners were abominable. Grace elbowed him in the ribs. Someone had to, she told herself. No one ever stood up to the man.

Thomas shot her a dirty look, but he obviously realized that she was in the right, because he turned to Amelia, nodded his head the barest of inches, and said, "Allow me to escort you."

They departed, and Grace and Elizabeth sat silently for at least a minute before Elizabeth said resignedly,

"They are not a good match, are they?"

Grace glanced at the door, even though they had long since departed. She shook her head.

It was huge. It was a castle, of course, and meant to be imposing, but really.

Jack stood, open-mouthed.

This was huge.

Funny how no one had mentioned that his father was from a ducal family. Had anyone even known? He had always assumed his father had been the son of some jolly old country squire, maybe a baronet or possibly a baron. He had always been told that he was sired by John Cavendish, not Lord John Cavendish, as he must have been styled.

And as for the old lady...Jack had realized that morning that she had never given her name, but surely she was the duchess. She was far too imperious to be a maiden aunt or widowed relation.

Good Lord. He was the grandson of a duke. How was that possible?

Jack stared at the structure before him. He was not a complete provincial. He'd traveled widely whilst in the army and had gone to school with the sons of Ireland's most notable families. The aristocracy was not unknown to him. He did not consider himself uncomfortable in their midst.

But this...

This was huge.

How many rooms in the place? There had to be over a hundred. And what was the provenance? It didn't look quite medieval, despite the crenellations at the top, but it was certainly pre-Tudor. Something important must have happened there. Houses did not get this big without stumbling into the occasional historic event. A treaty, maybe? Perhaps a royal visit? It sounded like the sort of thing that would have been mentioned in school, which was probably why he didn't know it.

A scholar he was not.

The view of the castle as he'd approached had been deceptive. The area was heavy with trees, and the turrets and towers seemed to twinkle in and out of sight as he moved through the foliage. It was only when he reached the end of the drive that it had come completely into view - massive and amazing. The stone was gray in color, with a hint of a yellow undertone, and although its angles were mostly squared off, there was nothing boring about the facade. It dipped and rose, jutted out and swept back in. No long Georgian wall of windows was this.

Jack couldn't even imagine how long it would take a newcomer to find his way around inside. Or how