The Lost Duke of Wyndham

“Jack, no!” Thomas yelled, but Jack was too quick, and even as Thomas caught hold of his arm, Jack managed to hurl the paper into the fire.

The fight drained from both of them in an instant, and they both stood transfixed, watching the paper curl and blacken.

“God in heaven,” Thomas whispered. “What have you done?”

Jack could not take his eyes off the fire. “I have saved us all.”

Grace had not expected to be included in the journey to the Maguiresbridge church. No matter how closely involved she had become in the matter of the Wyndham inheritance, she was not a member of the family. She wasn’t even a member of the household any longer.

But when the dowager discovered that Jack and Thomas went to the church without her, she had-and Grace did not believe this an exaggeration-gone mad. It required but a minute for her to recover, but for those first sixty seconds it was a terrifying sight. Even Grace had never witnessed the like.

And so when it was time to depart, Amelia had refused to leave without her. “Do not leave me alone with that woman,” she hissed in Grace’s ear.

“You won’t be alone,” Grace tried to explain. Her father would be going, of course, and Jack’s aunt had claimed a spot in the carriage as well.

“Please, Grace,” Amelia begged. She did not know Jack’s aunt, and she could not bear to sit next to her father. Not this morning.

The dowager had pitched a fit, which was not unexpected, but her tantrum only made Amelia more firm. She grabbed hold of Grace’s hand and nearly crushed her fingers.

“Oh, do what you wish,” the dowager had snapped. “But if you are not in the carriage in three minutes, I shall leave without you.”

Which was how it came to pass that Amelia, Grace, and Mary Audley were squeezed together on one side of the carriage, with the dowager and Lord Crowland on the other.

The ride to Maguiresbridge had seemed interminably long. Amelia looked out her window, the dowager out hers, and Lord Crowland and Mary Audley did the same. Grace, squeezed in the middle facing backwards, could do nothing but stare at the spot midway between the dowager’s and Lord Crowland’s heads.

Every ten minutes or so the dowager would turn to Mary and demand to know how much longer it would be until they reached their destination. Mary answered each query with admirable deference and patience, and then finally, to everyone’s relief, she said, “We are here.”

The dowager hopped down first, but Lord Crowland was close on her heels, practically dragging Amelia behind him. Mary Audley hurried out next, leaving Grace alone at the rear. She sighed. It seemed somehow fitting.

By the time Grace reached the front of the rectory, the rest of them were already inside, pushing through the door to another room, where, she presumed, Jack and Thomas were, along with the all-important church register.

An open-mouthed woman stood in the center of the front room, a cup of tea balanced precariously in her fingers.

“Good day,” Grace said with a rushed smile, wondering if the others had even bothered to knock.

“Where is it?” she heard the dowager demand, followed by the crash of a door slamming against a wall. “How dare you leave without me! Where is it? I demand to see the register!”

Grace made it to the doorway, but it was still blocked by the others. She couldn’t see in. And then she did the last thing she’d ever have expected of herself.

She shoved. Hard.

She loved him. She loved Jack. And whatever the day brought, she would be there. He would not be alone. She would not allow it.

She stumbled inside just as the dowager was screaming, “What did you find?”

Grace steadied herself and looked up. There he was. Jack. He looked awful.

Haunted.

Her lips formed his name, but she made no sound. She couldn’t have. It was as if her voice had been yanked right out of her. She had never seen him thus. His color was wrong-too pale, or maybe too flushed-she couldn’t quite tell. And his fingers were trembling. Couldn’t anyone else see that?

Grace turned to Thomas, because surely he would do something. Say something.

But he was staring at Jack. Just like everyone else. No one was speaking. Why wasn’t anyone speaking?

“He is Wyndham,” Jack finally said. “As he should be.”

Grace should have jumped for joy, but all she could think was-I don’t believe him.

He didn’t look right. He didn’t sound right.

The dowager turned on Thomas. “Is this true?”

Thomas did not speak.

The dowager growled with frustration and grabbed his arm. “Is…it…true?” she demanded.

Still, Thomas did not speak.

“There is no record of a marriage,” Jack insisted.

Grace wanted to cry. He was lying. It was so obvious…to her, to everyone. There was desperation in his voice, and fear, and-Dear God, was he doing this for her? Was he trying to forsake his birthright for her?

“Thomas is the duke,” Jack said again, looking frantically from person to person. “Why aren’t you listening? Why isn’t anyone listening to me?”

But there was only silence. And then:

“He lies.”

It was Thomas, in a voice that was low and even, and absolutely true.

Grace let out a choked sob and turned away. She could not bear to watch.

“No,” Jack said, “I’m telling you-”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Thomas snapped. “Do you think no one will find you out? There will be witnesses. Do you really think there won’t be any witnesses to the wedding? For God’s sake, you can’t rewrite the past.”

Grace closed her eyes.

“Or burn it,” Thomas said ominously. “As the case may be.”

Oh, Jack, she thought. What have you done?

“He tore the page from the register,” Thomas said. “He threw it into the fire.”

Grace opened her eyes, unable to not look at the hearth. There was no sign of paper. Nothing but black soot and ash under the steady orange flame.

“It’s yours,” Thomas said, turning to Jack. He looked him in the eye and then bowed.

Jack looked sick.

Thomas turned, facing the rest of the room. “I am-” He cleared his throat, and when he continued, his voice was even and proud. “I am Mr. Cavendish,” he said, “and I bid you all a good day.”

And then he left. He brushed past them and walked right out the door.

At first no one could speak. And then, in a moment that was almost grotesque, Lord Crowland turned to Jack and bowed. “Your grace,” he said.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. He turned to the dowager. “Do not allow this. He will make a better duke.”

“True enough,” Lord Crowland said, completely oblivious to Jack’s distress. “But you’ll learn.”

And then-Jack couldn’t help it-he started to laugh. From deep within him, his sense of the absurd rose to the fore, and he laughed. Because good God, if there was one thing he’d never be able to do, it was learn. Anything.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he said. He looked at the dowager. His desperation was gone, replaced by something else-something bitter and fatalistic, something cynical and grim. “You have no idea what you’ve done,” he told her. “No idea at all.”

“I have restored you to your proper place,” she said sharply. “As is my duty to my son.”

Jack turned. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her for one moment more. But there was Grace, standing near