“Are you mad?” the dowager sputtered.
Grace just stared at him in shock.
“I should have done it long ago,” he said. “I was too selfish. I couldn’t bear the thought of living with her”-he jerked his head toward his grandmother-“without you there to act as a buffer.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
“Normally, I’d advise ‘thank you,’ but as I am the one thanking you, a mere ‘You are a prince among men’ would suffice.”
Grace managed a wobbly smile and whispered, “You are a prince among men.”
“It is always lovely to hear it,” Thomas said. “Now, would you care to join the rest of us for supper?”
Grace turned toward the dowager, who was red-faced with rage.
“You grasping little whore,” she spat. “Do you think I don’t know what you are? Do you think I would allow you in my home again?”
Grace stared at her in calm shock, then said, “I was about to say that I would offer you my assistance for the rest of the journey, since I would never dream of leaving a post without giving proper and courteous notice, but I believe I have reconsidered.” She turned to Amelia, holding her hands carefully at her sides. She was shaking. She was not sure if it was from shock or delight, but she was shaking. “May I share your room this evening?” she asked Amelia. Because certainly she was not going to remain with the dowager.
“Of course,” Amelia replied promptly. She linked her arm through Grace’s. “Let us have some supper.”
It was, Grace later decided, the finest shepherd’s pie she’d ever tasted.
Several hours later, Grace was up in her room staring out the window while Amelia slept.
Grace had tried to go to sleep, but her mind was still all abuzz over Thomas’s astounding act of generosity. Plus, she wondered where Jack had gone off to-he’d not been in the dining room when she and Thomas and Amelia arrived, and no one seemed to know what had happened to him.
Plus plus, Amelia snored.
Grace rather enjoyed the view of Dublin below. They were not in the city center, but the street was busy enough, with local folk going about their business, and plenty of travelers on their way into or out of the port.
It was strange, this newfound sense of freedom. She still could not believe that she was here, sharing a bed with Amelia and not curled up on an uncomfortable chair at the dowager’s bedside.
Supper had been a merry affair. Thomas was in remarkably good spirits, all things considered. He had not said anything more of his generous gift, but Grace knew why he’d done it. If Jack was found to be the true duke-and Thomas was convinced this would be the case-then she could not remain at Belgrave.
To have her heart broken anew, every day for the rest of her life-that, she could not bear.
Thomas knew that she’d fallen in love with Jack. She had not said so, not expressly, but he knew her well. He had to know. For him to act with such generosity, when she’d gone and fallen in love with the man who might very well be the cause of his downfall-
It brought tears to her eyes every time she thought of it.
And so now she was independent. An independent woman! She liked the sound of that. She would sleep until noon every day. She would read books. She would wallow in the sheer laziness of it all, at least for a few months, and then find something constructive to do with her time. A charity, perhaps. Or maybe she would learn to paint watercolors.
It sounded decadent. It sounded perfect.
And lonely.
No, she decided firmly, she would find friends. She had many friends in the district. She was glad she would not be leaving Lincolnshire, even if it did mean that she might occasionally cross paths with Jack. Lincolnshire was home. She knew everyone, and they knew her, and her reputation would not be questioned, even if she did set up her own home. She would be able to live in peace and respectability.
It would be a good thing.
But lonely.
No. Not lonely. She would have funds. She could go visit Elizabeth, who would be married to her earl in the South. She could join one of those women’s clubs her mother had so adored. They’d met every Tuesday afternoon, claiming they were there to discuss art and literature and the news of the day, but when the meetings were held at Sillsby, Grace had heard far too much laughter for those topics.
She would not be lonely.
She refused to be lonely.
She looked back at Amelia, snoring away on the bed. Poor thing. Grace had often envied the Willoughby girls their secure places in society. They were daughters of an earl, with impeccable bloodlines and generous dowries. It was odd, really, that her future should now be so well-defined while Amelia’s was so murky.
But she had come to realize that Amelia was no more in control of her own fate than she herself had been. Her father had chosen her husband before she could even speak, before he knew who she was, what she was like. How could he know, looking upon an infant of less than one year, whether she would be suited for life as a duchess?
All of her life, Amelia had been stuck, waiting for Thomas to get around to marrying her. And even if she did not end up marrying either of the two Dukes of Wyndham, she’d still find herself obliged to follow her father’s dictates.
Grace was turning back toward the window when she heard a noise in the hall. Footsteps, she decided. Male. And because she could not help herself, she hurried to her door, opened it a crack, and peered out.
Jack.
He looked rumpled and tired and achingly heartsick. He was squinting in the dark, trying to figure out which room was his.
Grace-the-companion might have retreated back into her room, but Grace-the-woman-of-independent-means was somewhat more daring, and she stepped out, whispering his name.