The Lost Duke of Wyndham (Two Dukes of Wyndham 1) - Page 3

He smiled slightly, and then, after a moment of somewhat awkward silence, said, "You did not mention why you're up and about so late. Surely you deserve a rest as well. "

"I. . . er. . . " There seemed to be no way to avoid telling him. If nothing else, he'd notice the massive empty spot on the gallery wall the next day. "Your grandmother has a strange request. "

"All of her requests are strange," he replied immediately.

"No, this one. . . well. . . " Grace's eyes flicked up in exasperation. How was it her life had come to this? "I don't suppose you'd like to help me remove a painting from the gallery. "

"A painting. "

She nodded.

"From the gallery. "

She nodded again.

"I don't suppose she's asking for one of those modestly sized square ones. "

"With the bowls of fruit?"

He nodded.

"No. " When he did not comment, she added, "She wants the portrait of your uncle. "

"Which one?"

"John. "

He nodded, smiling slightly, but without any humor. "He was always her favorite. "

"But you never knew him," Grace said, because the way he'd said it - it almost sounded as if he'd witnessed her favoritism.

"No, of course not. He died before I was born. But my father spoke of him. "

It was clear from his expression that he did not wish to discuss the matter further. Grace could not think of anything more to say, however, so she just stood there, waiting for him to collect his thoughts.

Which apparently he did, because he turned to her and asked, "Isn't that portrait life-sized?"

Grace pictured herself wrestling it from the wall. "I'm afraid so. "

For a moment it looked as if he might turn toward the gallery, but then his jaw squared and he was once again every inch the forbidding duke. "No," he said firmly. "You will not get that for her this evening. If she wants the bloody painting in her room, she can ask a footman for it in the morning. "

Grace wanted to smile at his protectiveness, but by this point she was far too weary. And besides that, when it came to the dowager, she had long since learned to follow the road of least resistance. "I assure you, I want nothing more than to retire this very minute, but it is easier just to accommodate her. "

"Absolutely not," he said imperiously, and without waiting, he turned and marched up the stairs. Grace watched him for a moment, and then, with a shrug, headed off to the gallery. It couldn't be that difficult to take a painting off a wall, could it?

But she made it only ten paces before she heard Thomas bark her name.

She sighed, stopping in her tracks. She should have known better. The man was as stubborn as his grandmother, not that he would appreciate the comparison.

She turned and retraced her steps, hurrying along when she heard him call out for her again. "I'm right here," she said irritably. "Good gracious, you'll wake the entire house. "

He rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you were going to get the painting by yourself. "

"If I don't, she will ring for me all night, and then I will never get any sleep. "

He narrowed his eyes. "Watch me. "

"Watch you what?" she asked, baffled.

"Dismantle her bell cord," he said, heading upstairs with renewed determination.

"Dismantle her. . . Thomas!" She ran up behind him, but of course could not keep up. "Thomas, you can't!"

He turned. Grinned even, which she found somewhat alarming. "It's my house," he said. "I can do anything I want. "

And while Grace digested that on an exhausted brain, he strode down the hall and into his grandmother's room. "What," she heard him bite off, "do you think you're doing?"

Grace let out a breath and hurried after him, entering the room just as he was saying, "Good heavens, are you all right?"

"Where is Miss Eversleigh?" the dowager asked, her eyes darting frantically about the room.

"I'm right here," Grace assured her, rushing forward.

"Did you get it? Where is the painting? I want to see my son. "

"Ma'am, it's late," Grace tried to explain. She inched forward, although she wasn't sure why. If the dowager started spouting off about the highwayman and his resemblance to her favorite son, it wasn't as if she would be able to stop her.

But still, the proximity at least gave the illusion that she might be able to prevent disaster.

"Ma'am," Grace said again, gently, softly. She gave the dowager a careful look.

"You may instruct a footman to procure it for you in the morning," Thomas said, sounding slightly less imperious than before, "but I will not have Miss Eversleigh undertaking such manual labor, and certainly not in the middle of the night. "

"I need the painting, Thomas," the dowager said, and Grace almost reached out to take her hand. She sounded pained. She sounded old. And she certainly did not sound like herself when she said, "Please. "

Grace glanced at Thomas. He looked uneasy. "Tomorrow," he said. "First thing, if you wish it. "

"But - "

"No," he interrupted. "I am so

rry you were accosted this evening, and I shall certainly do whatever is necessary - within reason - to facilitate your comfort and health, but this does not include whimsical and ill-timed demands. Do you understand me?"

They stared at each other for so long that Grace wanted to flinch. Then Thomas said sharply, "Grace, go to bed. " He didn't turn around.

Grace held still for a moment, waiting for what, she didn't know - disagreement from the dowager? A thunderbolt outside the window? When neither was forthcoming, she decided she could do nothing more that evening and left the room. As she walked slowly down the hall, she could hear them arguing - nothing violent, nothing impassioned. But then, she'd not have expected that. Cavendish tempers ran cold, and they were far more likely to attack with a frozen barb than a heated cry.

Grace let out a long, uneven breath. She would never get used to this. Five years she had been at Belgrave, and still the resentment that ran back and forth between Thomas and his grandmother shocked her.

And the worst part was - there wasn't even a reason! Once, she had dared to ask Thomas why they held each other in such contempt. He just shrugged, saying that it had always been that way. She'd disliked his father, Thomas said, his father had hated him, and he himself could have done quite well without either of them.

Grace had been stunned. She'd thought families were meant to love each other. Hers had. Her mother, her father. . . She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She was being maudlin. Or maybe it was because she was tired. She didn't cry about them any longer. She missed them - she would always miss them. But the great big gaping hole their deaths had rent in her had healed.

And now. . . well, she'd found a new place in this world. It wasn't the one she'd anticipated, and it wasn't the one her parents had planned for her, but it came with food and clothing, and the opportunity to see her friends from time to time.

But sometimes, late at night as she lay in her bed, it was just so hard. She knew she should not be ungrateful - she was living in a castle, for heaven's sake. But she had not been brought up for this. Not the servitude, and not the sour dispositions. Her father had been a country gentleman, her mother a well-liked member of the local community. They had raised her with love and laughter, and sometimes, as they sat before the fire in the evening, her father would sigh and say that she was going to have to remain a spinster, because surely there was no man in the county good enough for his daughter.

And Grace would laugh and say, "What about the rest of England?"

"Not there, either!"

"France?"

"Good heavens, not. "

"The Americas?"

"Are you trying to kill your mother, gel? You know she gets seasick if she so much as sees the beach. "

And they all somehow knew that Grace would marry someone right there in Lincolnshire, and she'd live down the road, or at least just a short ride away, and she would be happy. She would find what her parents had found, because no one expected her to marry for any reason other than love. She'd have babies, and her house would be full of laughter, and she would be happy.

She'd thought herself the luckiest girl in the world.

But the fever that had struck the Eversleigh house was cruel, and when it broke, Grace was an orphan. At seventeen, she could hardly remain on her own, and indeed, no one had been sure what to do with her until her father's affairs were settled and the will was read.

Grace let out a bitter laugh as she pulled off her wrinkled clothing and readied herself for bed. Her father's directives had only made matters worse. They were in debt; not deeply so, but enough to render her a burden. Her parents, it seemed, had always lived slightly above their means, presumably hoping that love and happiness would carry them through.

And indeed they had. Love and happiness had stood up nicely to every obstacle the Eversleighs had faced.

Except death.

Sillsby - the only home Grace had ever known - was entailed. She'd known that, but not how eager her cousin Miles would be to assume residence. Or that he was still unmarried. Or that when he pushed her against a wall and jammed his lips against hers, she was supposed to let him, indeed thank the toad for his gracious and benevolent interest in her.

Instead she had shoved her elbow into his ribs and her knee up against his -

Well, he hadn't been too fond of her after that. It was the only part of the whole debacle that still made her smile.

Furious at the rebuff, Miles had tossed her out on her ear. Grace had been left with nothing. No home, no money, and no relations (she refused to count him among the last).

Enter the dowager.

News of Grace's predicament must have traveled fast through the district. The dowager had swooped in like an icy goddess and whisked her away. Not that there had been any illusion that she was to be a pampered guest. The dowager had arrived with full retinue, stared down Miles until he squirmed (literally; it had been a most enjoyable moment for Grace), and then declared to her, "You shall be my companion. "

Before Grace had a chance to accept or decline, the dowager had turned and left the room. Which just confirmed what they all knew - that Grace had never had a choice in the matter to begin with.

That had been five years ago. Grace now lived in a castle, ate fine food, and her clothing was, if not the latest stare of fashion, well-made and really quite pretty. (The dowager was, if nothing else, at least not cheap. )

She lived mere miles from where she had grown up, and as most of her friends still resided in the district, she saw them with some regularity - in the village, at church, on afternoon calls. And if she didn't have a family of her own, at least she had not been forced to have one with Miles.

But much as she appreciated all the dowager had done for her, she wanted something more.

Or maybe not even more. Maybe just something else.

Unlikely, she thought, falling into bed. The only options for a woman of her birth were employment and marriage. Which, for her, meant employment. The men of Lincolnshire were far too cowed by the dowager to ever make an overture in Grace's direction. It was well-known that Augusta Cavendish had no desire to train a new companion.

It was even more well-known that Grace hadn't a farthing.

She closed her eyes, trying to remind herself that the sheets she'd slid between were of the highest quality, and the candle she'd just snuffed was pure beeswax. She had every physical comfort, truly.

But what she wanted was. . .

It didn't really matter what she wanted. That was her last thought before she finally fell asleep.

And dreamed of a highwayman.

Tags: Julia Quinn Two Dukes of Wyndham Romance
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