“That must have been very difficult for her,” Jack commented, watching her go.
Grace had been examining the contents of a picnic basket, but at that she looked up. “Difficult?”
“There is no one to harass in the carriage,” he explained.
“I think she feels that we have all ganged up upon her.”
“We have.”
Grace looked conflicted. “Yes, but-”
Oh…
“No.” Grace shook her head. “I wouldn’t say that, but-”
“You are far too softhearted.”
At that she smiled. Sheepishly. “Perhaps.”
Once the blankets were laid out, Jack maneuvered them so they were seated a bit apart from the others. It was not very difficult-or very obvious-to do so; Amelia had sat down next to her father, who appeared to be delivering some sort of lecture, and Thomas had wandered off, probably in search of a tree that needed watering.
“Is this the road you traveled when you went to school in Dublin?” Grace asked, reaching for a slice of bread and cheese.
“Yes.”
He’d tried to keep the tightness out of his voice, but he must not have succeeded, because when he looked at her, she was regarding him in that unsettling way of hers. “Why don’t you want to go home?” she asked.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say that her imagination was too active, or, since he really ought to be reverting to form, something clever and grandiose, involving sunshine, twittering birds, and milk of human kindness.
Statements like that had got him out of far more delicate situations than this.
But he hadn’t the energy just now, nor the will.
And, anyway, Grace knew better. She knew
Or hide
“It’s complicated,” he said, because at least that wasn’t a lie.
She nodded and turned to her lunch. He waited for another question, but none were forthcoming. So he picked up an apple.
He looked over. She was cutting into a slice of roast chicken, her eyes on her utensils. He opened his mouth to speak, then decided not to, then brought the apple to his mouth.
Then didn’t bite into it.
“It’s been over five years,” he blurted out.
She looked up. “Since you’ve been home?”
He nodded.
“That’s a long time.”
“Very long.”
“Too long?”
His fingers tightened around the apple. “No.”
She took a few bites of her meal, then looked up. “Would you like me to slice that apple for you?”
He handed it over, mostly because he’d forgotten he was holding it. “I had a cousin, you know.” Bloody hell, where had that come from? He hadn’t meant to say anything about Arthur. He’d spent the last five years trying not to think about him, trying to make sure that Arthur’s was not the last face he saw before he fell asleep at night.
“I thought you’d said you had three cousins,” Grace said. She wasn’t looking at him; she gave every sign of giving her complete focus to the apple and knife in her hands.
“Only two now.”
She looked up, her eyes large with sympathy. “I am sorry.”
“Arthur died in France.” The words sounded rusty. He realized it had been a long time since he’d said Arthur’s name aloud. Five years, probably.
“With you?” Grace asked softly.
He nodded.
She looked down at the apple slices, now neatly arranged on a plate. She didn’t seem to know what to do with them.
“You’re not going to say that it wasn’t my fault?” he said, and he
“I wasn’t there,” she said.
His eyes flew to her face.
“I can’t imagine how it would have been your fault, but I wasn’t there.” She reached across the food and laid her hand briefly atop his. “I’m sorry. Were you close?”
He nodded, turning away and pretending to look at the trees. “Not so much when we were young. But after we left for school…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how to explain just what Arthur had done for him. “…we found much more in common.”
Her fingers tightened around his, and then she let go. “It is difficult to lose someone you love.”
He looked back at her once he was satisfied that his eyes would remain dry. “When you lost your parents…”
“It was horrible,” she answered. Her lips moved at the corners, but not into a smile. It was one of those flashes of movement-a tiny, little rush of emotion, escaping almost without notice. “I didn’t think I should die,” Grace said softly, “but I did not know how I would live.”
“I wish…” But he didn’t know what he wished. That he could have been there for her? What good would he have been? Five years ago he’d been broken, too.
“The dowager saved me,” she said. She smiled wryly. “Isn’t that funny?”
His brows rose. “Oh, come now. The dowager does nothing out of the goodness of her heart.”
“I did not say why she did it, just that she did. I should have been forced to marry my cousin if she had not taken me in.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I am glad you did not.”
“So am I,” she said, without any trace of tenderness. “He is awful.”
Jack chuckled. “And here I’d hoped you were relieved to have waited for me.”
She gave him an arch look and withdrew her hand. “You have not met my cousin.”
He finally took one of the apple pieces and bit into it. “We have an overabundance of odious relations, you and I.”
Her lips twisted in thought, and then her body twisted so that she could look back toward the carriage. “I should go to her,” she said.
“No, you shouldn’t,” Jack said firmly.
Grace sighed. She did not want to feel sorry for the dowager, not after what the dowager had said to her the night before. But her conversation with Jack had brought back memories…and reminded her just how very much she was indebted to her.
She turned back to Jack. “She is all alone.”
“She deserves to be alone.” He said this with great conviction, and more than a touch of surprise, as if he could not believe the matter might be under discussion.
“No one deserves to be alone.”
“Do you really believe that?”
She didn’t, but…“I want to believe it.”
He looked at her dubiously.
Grace started to rise. She looked this way and that, making sure no one could hear, and said, “You should not have been kissing my hand where people can see, anyway.”
