way to Cloverhill in the morning. He didn’t want-
The door opened. Jack held his hands tightly behind his back. He’d tried leaving them at his sides, but they started to shake.
He saw the light of the candle first, and then the man behind it, wrinkled and stooped.
“Master Jack?”
Jack swallowed. “Wimpole,” he said. Good heavens, the old butler must be nearing eighty, but of course his aunt would have kept him on, for as long as he wished to work, which, knowing Wimpole, would be until the day he died.
“We were not expecting you,” Wimpole said.
Jack tried for a smile. “Well, you know how I like a surprise.”
“Come in! Come in! Oh, Master Jack, Mrs. Audley will be so
“I am afraid that I brought a few guests,” Jack explained. The dowager had already been helped down from the carriage, and Grace and Amelia were right behind her. Thomas had grabbed onto his grandmother’s arm-hard, from the looks of it-to give Jack a few moments alone, but the dowager was already showing signs of impending outrage.
“Wimpole?” came a feminine voice. “Who is here at this hour?”
Jack stood stiffly, hardly able to breathe. It was his aunt Mary. She sounded exactly the same. It was as if he’d never left…
Except it wasn’t. If he’d never left, his heart wouldn’t be pounding, his mouth wouldn’t be dry. And most of all, he wouldn’t feel so bloody terrified. Scared spitless at seeing the one person who had loved him his entire life, with her whole heart and without condition.
“Wimpole? I-” She’d rounded the corner and was staring at him like a ghost. “Jack?”
“In the flesh.” He tried for a jovial tone but couldn’t quite manage it, and deep inside, down where he kept his blackest moments, he wanted to cry. Right there, in front of everyone, it was twisting and writhing inside of him, bursting to get out.
“Jack!” she cried out, and she hurled herself forward, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, Jack. Jack, my dear sweet boy. We’ve missed you so.” She was covering his face with kisses, like a mother would her son.
Like she should have been able to do for Arthur.
“It is good to see you, Aunt Mary,” he said. He pulled her tight then and buried his face in the crook of her neck, because she
“Oh, Jack,” she said, smiling through her tears, “I ought to horsewhip you for staying away so long. Why would you do such a thing? Don’t you know how worried we were? How-”
Mary stopped and turned, still holding Jack’s face in her hands. The dowager had made her way to the front entrance and was standing behind him on the stone steps.
“You must be the aunt,” she said.
Mary just stared at her. “Yes,” she finally replied. “And you are…?”
“Aunt Mary,” Jack said hastily, before the dowager could speak again, “I am afraid I must introduce you to the dowager Duchess of Wyndham.”
Mary let go of him and curtsied, stepping aside as the dowager swept past her. “The
Jack smiled tightly. “It is better this way, I assure you.”
The rest of the traveling party came forward at that moment, and Jack completed the introductions, trying not to notice his aunt going from paler to palest after he identified the Duke of Wyndham and the Earl of Crowland.
“Jack,” she whispered frantically, “I haven’t the rooms. We have nothing grand enough-”
“Please, Mrs. Audley,” Thomas said with a deferential bow, “do not put yourself out on my accord. It was unforgivable for us to arrive without notice. I would not expect you to go to any great lengths. Although”-he glanced over at the dowager, who was standing in the hall with a sour look on her face-“perhaps your finest room for my grandmother. It will be easier for everyone.”
“Of course,” Mary said quickly. “Please, please, it’s chilly. You must all come inside. Jack, I do need to tell you-”
“Where is your church?” the dowager demanded.
“Our church?” Mary asked, looking to Jack in confusion. “At this hour?”
“I do not intend to worship,” the dowager snapped. “I wish to inspect the records.”
“Does Vicar Beveridge still preside?” Jack asked, trying to cut the dowager off.
“Yes, but he will surely be abed. It’s half nine, I should think, and he is an early riser. Perhaps in the morning. I-”
“This is a matter of dynastic importance,” the dowager cut in. “I don’t care if it’s after midnight. We-”
“I care,” Jack cut in, silencing her with an icy expression. “You are not going to pull the vicar out of bed. You have waited this long. You can bloody well wait until morning.”
“Jack!” Mary gasped. She turned to the dowager. “I did not raise him to speak this way.”
“No, you didn’t,” Jack said, which was the closest he was going to come to an apology while the dowager was staring him down.
“You were his mother’s sister, weren’t you?” the dowager said.
Mary looked a bit baffled at the sudden change of topic. “I am.”
“Were you present at her wedding?”
“I was not.”
Jack turned to her in surprise. “You weren’t?”
“No. I could not attend. I was in confinement.” She gave Jack a rueful look. “I never told you. It was a stillbirth.” Her face softened. “Just one of the reasons I was so happy to have
“We shall make for the church in the morning,” the dowager announced, uninterested in Mary’s obstetrical history. “First thing. We shall find the papers and be done with it.”
“The papers?” Mary echoed.
“Proof of the marriage,” the dowager bit off. She looked upon Mary with icy condescension, then dismissed her with a flick of her head, adding, “Are you daft?”
It was a good thing Thomas pulled her back, because Jack would have gone for her throat.
“Louise was not married in the Butlersbridge church,” Mary said. “She was married at Maguiresbridge. In County Fermanagh, where we grew up.”
“How far is that?” the dowager demanded, trying to yank her arm free of Thomas’s grasp.
“Twenty miles, your grace.”
The dowager muttered something quite unpleasant. Jack could not make out the exact words, but Mary blanched. She turned to him with an expression nearing alarm. “Jack? What is this all about? Why do you need proof of your mother’s marriage?”
He looked at Grace, who was standing a bit behind his aunt. She offered him a tiny nod of encouragement, and he cleared his throat and said, “My father was her son.”
Mary looked over at the dowager in shock. “Your father…John Cavendish, you mean…”
Thomas stepped forward. “May I intercede?”
Jack felt exhausted. “Please do.”
“Mrs. Audley,” Thomas said, with more dignity and collection than Jack could ever have imagined, “if there is proof of your sister’s marriage, then your nephew is the true Duke of Wyndham.”
“The true Duke of-” Mary covered her mouth in shock. “No. It’s not possible. I remember him. Mr. Cavendish. He was-” She waved her arms in the air as if trying to describe him with gestures. Finally, after several attempts at a more verbal explanation, she said, “He would not have kept such a thing from us.”
“He was not the heir at the time,” Thomas told her, “and had no reason to believe he would become so.”
