Crowland eyed him with something approaching revulsion. Thomas, not Audley, who appeared just in from a ride, all windblown and roguishly handsome.
Or so Thomas assumed. It was difficult to know just what the ladies saw in the man.
“Er, Father,” Amelia said hastily, “may I present Mr. Audley? He is a house guest at Belgrave. I made his acquaintance the other day when I was here visiting Grace.”
“Where is Grace?” Thomas wondered aloud. Everyone else was in attendance. It seemed almost unkind to leave her out.
“Just down the hall, actually,” Audley said, eyeing him curiously. “I was walking—”
“I’m sure you were,” Thomas cut in. He turned back to Lord Crowland. “Right. You wished to know my intentions.”
“This might not be the best time,” Amelia said nervously. Thomas pushed down a sharp stab of remorse. She thought she was staving off some sort of repudiation, when the truth was far worse.
“No,” he said, drawing the syllable out as if he were actually pondering the matter. “This might be our only time.”
Why was he keeping this a secret? What could he possibly have to gain? Why not just get the whole damned thing out in the open?
Grace arrived then. “You wished to see me, your grace?”
Thomas’s brows rose with some surprise, and he looked about the room. “Was I that loud?”
“The footman heard you…” Her words trailed off, and she motioned toward the hall, where the eavesdropping servant presumably still loitered.
“Do come in, Miss Eversleigh,” he said, sweeping his arm in welcome. “You might as well have a seat at this farce.”
Grace’s brow knitted with concern, but she came into the room, taking a spot near the window. Away from everyone else.
“I demand to know what is going on,” Crowland said.
“Of course,” Thomas said. “How rude of me. Where are my manners? We’ve had quite an exciting week at Belgrave. Quite beyond my wildest imaginings.”
“Your meaning?” Crowland said curtly.
Thomas gave him a bland look. “Ah, yes. You probably should know—this man right here”—he flicked a wrist toward Audley—“is my cousin. He might even be the duke.” Still looking at Lord Crowland, he shrugged insolently, almost enjoying himself. “We’re not sure.”
Chapter 14
Oh dear God.
Amelia stared at Thomas, and then at Mr. Audley, and then at Thomas, and then—
Everyone was looking at her now. Why was everyone looking at her? Had she spoken? Had she said it aloud?
“The trip to Ireland…” her father was saying.
“Is to determine his legitimacy,” Thomas said. “It’s going to be quite a party. Even my grandmother is going.”
Amelia stared at him in horror. He was not himself. This was wrong. This was all wrong.
It could not be happening. She shut her eyes. Tight.
Please, someone say that this was not happening.
And then came her father’s grim voice. “We will join you.”
Her eyes flew open. “Father?”
“Stay out of this, Amelia,” he said. He didn’t even look at her when he said it.
“But—”
“I assure you,” Thomas put in, and he wasn’t looking at her, either, “we will make our determinations with all possible haste and report back to you immediately.”
“My daughter’s future hangs in the balance,” her father returned hotly. “I will be there to examine the papers.”
Thomas’s voice turned to ice. “Do you think we try to deceive you?”
Amelia took a step toward them. Why wasn’t anyone acknowledging her? Did they think her invisible? Meaningless in this horrible tableau?
“I only look out for my daughter’s rights.”
“Father, please.” Amelia placed her hand on his arm. Someone had to talk to her. Someone had to listen. “Please, just a moment.”
“I said stay out of this!” her father roared, and he threw back his arm. Amelia had not expected this rejection and she stumbled back, crashing into an end table.
Thomas was immediately at her side, taking her arm and helping her back to her feet. “Apologize to your daughter,” he said, his tone deadly.
Her father looked stunned. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“Apologize to her!” Thomas roared.
“Your grace,” Amelia said quickly, “please, do not judge my father too harshly. These are exceptional circumstances.”
“No one knows that more clearly than I.” As Thomas said this to her, his eyes never left her father’s face. “Apologize to Amelia,” he said, “or I will have you removed from the estate.”
Amelia held her breath. They were all holding their breath, it seemed, except perhaps Thomas, who looked like an ancient warrior, demanding his due.
“I’m sorry,” her father said, blinking in confusion. “Amelia”—he turned, finally looking at her—“you know I—”
“I know,” she said, cutting him off. It was enough. She knew her father, knew his normally benign ways.
“Who is this man?” her father asked, motioning to Mr. Audley.
“He is the son of my father’s elder brother.”
“Charles?” Amelia gasped in dismay. The man her mother was to have married?
“John.”
The one who’d died at sea. The dowager’s favorite.
Her father nodded, pale and shaken. “Are you certain of this?”
Thomas only shrugged. “You may look at the portrait yourself.”
“But his name—”
“Was Cavendish at birth,” Mr. Audley said. “I went by Cavendish-Audley at school. You may check the records, should you wish.”
“Here?” her father asked.
“In Enniskillen. I only came to England after serving in the army.”
Amelia’s father nodded approvingly. He’d always wanted to join the military, she remembered. He couldn’t, of course. He’d gained the earldom at the age of seventeen, with no male heirs behind him. Crowland could not risk losing the last earl before he’d had a chance to procreate. As it was, he’d had five daughters. Amelia wondered if he sometimes wished he’d just gone into the army. The outcome would have been the same, as far as the earldom was concerned.
“I am satisfied that he is a blood relation,” Thomas said quietly. “All that remains is to determine whether he is also one by law.”
“This is a disaster,” her father muttered, and he walked over to the window to look out.
All eyes followed him—what else were they meant to look at, in such a silent room?
“I signed the contract in good faith,” he said, still staring out over the lawn. “Twenty years ago, I signed the contract.”
Amelia’s eyes widened. She’d never heard her father speak this way. His voice was tense, barely controlled, like a string pulled taut and trembling, just waiting to snap.
Abruptly, he turned around. “Do you understand?” he demanded, and it was difficult to know just who he was yelling at until his eyes came to rest on Thomas’s face.
“Your father came to me with his plans, and I agreed to them, believing you to be the rightful heir to the dukedom. She was to be a duchess. A duchess! Do you think I would have signed away my daughter had I known you were nothing but…but…”
Her father’s face turned red and ugly as he tried to figure out just what Thomas was. Or would be, if Mr. Audley’s claim was authenticated. Amelia felt sick. For herself. For Thomas.
“You may call me Mr. Cavendish, if you so desire,” Thomas said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “If you think it might help you to accustom yourself to the idea.”
But her father was not finished. “I will not allow my daughter to be cheated. If you do not prove to be the right and lawful Duke of Wyndham, you may consider the betrothal null and void.”
No!
Amelia wanted to shout it. He couldn’t just tear it all up. He
couldn’t do this to her. She looked frantically to Thomas. Surely he would say something. Something had happened between them. They were no longer strangers. He liked her. He cared for her. He would fight for her.
But no.
Her heart sank. Crushed under its own leaden weight.
Apparently he would not.
Because when her mind cleared enough for her to focus on his face, she saw that he was nodding. And he said, “As you wish.”
“As you wish,” she echoed, unable to believe it. But no one heard her. It was just a whisper. Just a horror-struck whisper from a woman no one seemed to notice.
They weren’t looking at her. None of them. Not even Grace.
And then her father turned, and he looked at Mr. Audley, and he pointed his finger at him. “If that is the case,” he said, “if you are the Duke of Wyndham, you will marry her.”
Later that night, and every night for many weeks, Amelia relived that moment in her head. She saw her father move, turning, pointing. She saw his lips form the words. Heard his voice. Saw the shock on everyone’s faces.
Saw the horror on Mr. Audley’s.
And every time, when it all played out again, she said something different. Something clever, or something cutting. Maybe something witty, or something furious.
But always something.