Mr. Cavendish, I Presume
Page 68

“Me?” Thomas looked over at Jack in some surprise, then realized he’d been whistling. Whistling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so. “I suppose I am. It’s a rather fine day, don’t you think?”
“A fine day,” Jack echoed.
“None of us is trapped in the carriage with that evil old hag,” Crowland announced. “We should all be happy.” Then he added, “Pardon,” since the evil old hag was, after all, grandmother to both of his companions.
“Pardons unnecessary on my account,” Thomas said, feeling rather jovial. “I agree with your assessment completely.”
“Will I have to live with her?” Jack blurted out.
Thomas looked over and grinned. Was he only just now realizing the extent of his burdens? “The Outer Hebrides, my man, the Outer Hebrides.”
“Why didn’t you do it?” Jack demanded.
“Oh, believe me, I will, on the off chance I still possess any power over her tomorrow. And if I don’t . . . ”
Thomas shrugged. “I’ll need some sort of employment, won’t I? I always wished to travel. Perhaps I shall be your scout. I’ll find the oldest, coldest place on the island. I shall have a rollicking good time.”
“For God’s sake,” Jack swore. “Stop talking like that.”
Thomas regarded him curiously but he did not inquire. Not for the first time, he wondered just what, exactly, was going on in his cousin’s head. Jack’s face had taken on a haggard air, and his eyes were bleak.
He did not want to go home. No, he was afraid to go home.
Thomas felt a spark of something in his chest. Sympathy, he supposed, for a man he ought to despise. But there was nothing to say. Nothing to ask.
And so he didn’t. For the rest of the journey he said nothing. Hours passed, and the air around him chilled with the night. They passed through charming little villages, through the larger, busier Cavan town, and then finally through Butlersbridge.
It ought to look sinister, Thomas thought. The shadows ought to be stretched and misshapen, and there should have been strange animal sounds, howling through the night.
This was where his life would be pulled out from beneath him. It did not seem right that it should appear so picturesque.
Jack was just a bit ahead, and he’d slowed down considerably. Thomas drew up alongside, then slowed his horse to keep an even pace. “Is this the road?” he asked quietly.
Jack nodded. “Just around the bend.”
“They are not expecting you, are they?”
“No.” Jack nudged his horse on into a trot, but Thomas held his to a walk, allowing Jack to go on ahead. There were some things a man needed to do alone.
At the very least, he could attempt to hold the dowager back while Jack made his homecoming.
He slowed as best as he could, positioning his mount so the carriage was forced to slow as well. At the end of the short drive he could see Jack dismount, climb the front steps, and knock on the door. A shaft of light streamed out when it was opened, but Thomas could not hear any words that were exchanged.
The carriage was parked to the side of the entry-way, and the dowager was helped down by one of the grooms. She started to charge forward, but Thomas quickly slid from his saddle and grabbed her arm to hold her back.
“Let go of me,” she snapped, attempting to break free.
“For the love of God, woman,” Thomas shot back,
“give him a moment with his relatives.”
“We are his relatives.”
“Have you not a single ounce of sensibility?”
“There are far greater matters at stake than—”
“There is nothing that cannot wait two more minutes.
Nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m certain you think so.”
Thomas swore, and not under his breath. “I have come this far, have I not? I have treated him with civility, and even lately with respect. I have listened to your vitriol and incessant complaining. I have ridden across two countries, slept in the bottom of a boat, and even—and this, I might add, was really the final insult—handed over my fiancée. I believe I have proven that I am prepared for whatever this place has to offer.
But by all that is holy, I will not give up what shred of human decency I have managed to retain after growing up in a house with you.”
Over her shoulder he could see Grace and Amelia, both open-mouthed, both staring.
“The man,” he said through gritted teeth, “can have two bloody minutes with his family.”
His grandmother stared at him for one long, icy second, and then said, “Do not curse in my presence.”
Thomas was so dumbfounded by her complete lack of response to anything he’d said that he loosened his grip on her arm, and she wrenched away, hurrying over to the front steps, just behind Jack, who was embracing a woman Thomas imagined was his aunt.
“Ahem,” the dowager said, as only she could.
Thomas strode forward, ready to intercede if necessary.
“You must be the aunt,” the dowager said to the woman on the steps.
Mrs. Audley just stared at her. “Yes,” she finally replied. “And you are . . . ?”
“Aunt Mary,” Jack cut in, “I am afraid I must introduce you to the dowager Duchess of Wyndham.”
Mrs. Audley let go of him and curtsied, stepping aside as the dowager swept past her. “The Duchess of Wyndham?” she echoed. “Good heavens, Jack, couldn’t you have sent notice?”
Jack’s smile was grim. “It is better this way, I assure you.” He turned to Thomas. “The Duke of Wyndham,”