And they both knew why.
“It might be somewhat ambitious to try to depart tomorrow,” Grace said. “You will have to secure passage, and-”
“Bah!” was the dowager’s response. “Wyndham’s secretary can manage it. It’s about time he earned his wages. And if not tomorrow, then the next day.”
“Will you wish for me to accompany you?” Grace asked quietly.
Jack was just about to interject that,
“You know that I am not very good with hair,” Grace pointed out, and to Jack’s horror, he laughed. It was just a short little burst of it, tinged with a loathsome nervous edge, but it was enough for both ladies to stop their conversation, and their meal, and turn to him.
Oh. Brilliant. How was he to explain this?
“Do you find my hair amusing?” the dowager asked sharply.
And Jack, because he had absolutely nothing to lose, just shrugged and said, “A bit.”
The dowager let out an indignant huff, and Grace positively glared at him.
“Women’s hair always amuses me,” he clarified. “So much work, when all anyone really wants is to see it down.”
They both seemed to relax a bit. His comment may have been risque, but it took the personal edge off the insult. The dowager tossed one last irritated look in his direction, then turned to Grace to continue their previous conversation. “You may spend the morning with Maria,” she directed. “She will show you what to do. It can’t be that difficult. Pull one of the scullery maids up from the kitchen and practice upon her. She’ll be grateful for the opportunity, I’m sure.”
Grace looked not at all enthused, but she nodded and murmured, “Of course.”
“See to it that the kitchen work does not suffer,” the dowager said, finishing the last of her stewed apples. “An elegant coiffure is compensation enough.”
“For what?” Jack asked.
The dowager turned to him, her nose somehow looking pointier than usual.
“Compensation for what?” he restated, since he felt like being contrary.
The dowager stared at him a moment longer, then must have decided he was best ignored, because she turned back to Grace. “You may commence packing my things once you are done with Maria. And after that, see to it that a suitable story is set about for our absence.” She waved her hand in the air as if it were a trifle. “A hunting cottage in Scotland will do nicely. The Borders, I should think. No one will believe it if you say I went to the Highlands.”
Grace nodded silently.
“Somewhere off the well-trod path, however,” the dowager continued, looking as if she were enjoying herself. “The last thing I need is for one of my friends to attempt to see me.”
“Do you have many friends?” Jack asked, his tone so perfectly polite that she’d be wondering all day if she’d been insulted.
“The dowager is much admired,” Grace said quickly, perfect little companion that she was.
Jack decided not to comment.
“Have you ever been to Ireland?” Grace asked the dowager. But Jack caught the angry look she shot him before turning to her employer.
“Of course not.” The dowager’s face pinched. “Why on earth would I have done so?”
“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.”
She could do nothing but stare. What had Thomas done to earn such contempt? By all rights Thomas should be the one in a blackened mood. He probably
“His grace, it is, isn’t it?” Mr. Audley continued, his voice losing none of his derision. “I’m not so uneducated that I don’t know the correct forms of address.”
“I never said you were. Neither, I might add, did the dowager.” Grace let out an irritated exhale. “She shall be difficult all day now.”
“She isn’t normally difficult?”
Good heavens, she wanted to hit him. Of course the dowager was normally difficult. He knew that. What could he possibly have to gain by remarking upon it other than the enhancement of his oh so dry and wry persona?
