Chapter Seventeen
Five days later, at sea
This was not the first time Jack had crossed the Irish Sea. It was not even the second or the third. He wondered if the unease would ever leave him, if he would someday be able to look down at the dark, swirling waters below and not think of his father slipping beneath the surface, meeting his death.
Even before he had met the Cavendishes, when his father was just a wispy figment in his mind, he'd disliked this crossing.
And yet here he stood. At the railing. He could not seem to help himself. He could not be on the water and not look out. Out, and then down.
It was a gentle voyage this time, although that did little to comfort him. It was not that he feared for his own safety. It was just that it all felt so morbid, skimming atop his father's grave. He wanted it done. He wanted to be back on land. Even, he supposed, if that land was Ireland.
The last time he'd been home. . .
Jack pinched his lips together, and then he pinched his eyes shut. The last time he had been home was to bring back Arthur's body.
It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. Not just because his heart had broken anew with every mile, and not even because he'd dreaded his arrival at home. How could he face his aunt and uncle, delivering to them their dead son?
As if all that hadn't been enough, it was damned hard to move a body from France to England to Ireland.
He'd had to find a coffin, which was surprisingly difficult in the middle of a war. "Supply and demand,"
one of his friends told him after their first unsuccessful attempt to obtain a coffin. There were a lot of dead bodies strewn about. Coffins were the ultimate luxury on a battlefield.
But he had persisted, and he'd followed to the letter the directions he'd been given by the undertaker, filling the wooden coffin with sawdust and sealing it with tar. Even then the smell eventually seeped through, and by the time he reached Ireland, no driver would take the cargo. He'd had to buy his own wagon to get his cousin home.
The journey had disrupted his own life, too. The army refused his request to be allowed to move the body, and he was forced to sell off his commission. It was a small price to pay, to be able to do this one last service for his family. But it had meant that he'd had to leave a position for which he was - finally - a perfect fit. School had been a misery, failure after failure. He'd muddled through, mostly with help from Arthur, who, seeing his struggles, had come quietly to his aid.
But university - good God, he still could not believe he'd been encouraged to go. He had known it would be a disaster, but Portora Royal boys went on to university. It was as simple as that. But Arthur was a year behind, and without him, Jack didn't have a prayer. Failure would have been too mortifying, so he got himself booted out. Not that it took much imagination to find ways to behave in a manner unbecoming of a Trinity College student.
He had returned home, supposedly in disgrace, and it was decided that he might do well in the army. So off he went. It had been a perfect fit. Finally, a place he could succeed and thrive without books and papers and quills. It wasn't that he was unintelligent. It was just that he hated books and papers and quills. They gave him a headache.
But that was all over, and now here he was, on his way back to Ireland for the first time since Arthur's funeral service, and he might be the Duke of Wyndham, which would ensure him a bloody lifetime of books and papers and quills.
And headaches.
He glanced off to his left and saw Thomas standing by the bow with Amelia. He was pointing toward something - probably a bird, since Jack could not see anything else of interest. Amelia was smiling, perhaps not broadly, but enough at least to ease some of the guilt Jack was feeling about the scene back at Belgrave when he had refused to marry her. It wasn't as if he could have done anything else. Did they really think he would roll over and say, Oh, yes, give me anyone! I'll just show up at the church and be grateful.
Not that there was anything wrong with Lady Amelia. In fact, one could (and probably would) do much worse, if one were to be forced into marriage. And if he hadn't met Grace. . .
He might have been willing to do it.
He heard someone approaching, and when he turned, there she was, as if summoned by his thoughts.
She'd left off her bonnet, and her dark hair was ruffling in the breeze.
"It's very pleasant out here," she said, leaning against the railing next to him.
He nodded. He had not seen much of her on the voyage. The dowager had elected to remain in her cabin, and Grace was required to attend to her. She did not complain, of course. She never complained, and in truth, he supposed she did not have reason to do so. It was her job, after all, to remain by the dowager's side. Still, he could not imagine a less palatable position. And he knew he could never have lasted in the post.
Soon, he thought. Soon she would be free. They would be married, and Grace would never have to even see the dowager again if that was her desire. Jack did not care if the old bat was his grandmother. She was unkind, selfish, and he had no intention of exchanging another word with her once this was all through. If he turned out to be the duke, he would damn well buy that farm in the Outer Hebrides and send her packing. And if he wasn't, he planned to take Grace by the hand, lead her from Belgrave and never look back.
It was a rather happy dream, to tell the truth.
Grace looked down, watching the water. "Isn't it strange," she mused, "how quickly it seems to move by. "
Jack glanced up at the sail. "It is a good wind. "
"I know. It makes perfect sense, of course. " She looked up and smiled. "It is just that I have never been on a boat before. "
"Never?" It did seem difficult to imagine.
She shook her head. "Not like this. My parents took me out rowing on a lake once, but that was just for merry. " She looked back down. "I have never seen water rushing by like this. It makes me wish I could lean down and dip my fingers in. "
"It's cold," Jack said.
"Well, yes, of course. " She leaned out, her throat arching as she seemed to catch the wind on her face.
"But I'd still like to touch it. "
He shrugged. He ought to be more voluble, especially with her, but he thought he could see the first hint of land on the horizon, and his belly was clenching and twisting.
"Are you all right?" Grace asked.
"I'm fine. "
"You look a bit green. Are you seasick?"
He wished. He never got seasick. He was landsick. He didn't want to go back. He'd woken up in the middle of the night, stuck down in his small berth, clammy with sweat.
He had to go back. He knew he did. But that didn't mean a very large part of him didn't want to turn coward and flee.
He heard Grace's breath catch, and when he looked at her, she was pointing out, her face alight with excitement.
It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Is that Dublin?" she asked. "Over there?"
He nodded. "The port. The town proper is a bit farther in. "
She craned her neck, which would have been amusing had he not been in such a wretched mood. There was no way she could have seen anything from this distance. "I've heard it is a charming city," she said.
"There is much to entertain. "
"It's a pity. I don't expect we shall be spending much time there. "
"No. The dowager is eager to be on her way. "
"Aren't you?" she asked.
At that, he took a breath and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and he was nervous, and it felt as if he was being delivered to his downfall. "No," he said. "To be honest, I'd be quite happy to stay right here, on this boat, at this railing, for the rest of my life. "
Grace turned to him with somber eyes.
"With you," he said softly. "Here at this railing, with you. "
He looked back out. The port of Dublin was more t
han a speck on the horizon now. Soon he would be able to make out buildings and ships. Off to his left he could hear Thomas and Amelia chatting. They were pointing out over the water, too, watching the port as it seemed to grow before their eyes.
Jack swallowed. The knot in his stomach was growing as well. Good God, it was almost funny. Here he was, back in Ireland, forced to face his family, whom he'd failed so many years before. And if that weren't bad enough, he could very well find himself named the Duke of Wyndham, a position for which he was uniquely unqualified.
And then, because no injury should ever be without insult, he had to do it all in the company of the dowager.
He wanted to laugh. It was funny. It had to be funny. If it wasn't funny, then he'd have to bloody well go and cry.
But he couldn't seem to laugh. He looked out at Dublin, looming larger in the distance.
It was too late for laughter.
Several hours later, at the Queen's Arms, Dublin
"It is not too late!"
"Ma'am," Grace said, trying to be as calm and soothing as she could, "it is past seven. We are all tired and hungry, and the roads are dark and unknown to us. "
"Not to him," the dowager snapped, jerking her head toward Jack.
"I am tired and hungry," Jack snapped right back, "and thanks to you, I no longer travel the roads by moonlight. "
Grace bit her lip. They had been traveling over three days now, and one could almost chart the progress of their journey by the shortness of his temper. Every mile that brought them closer to Ireland had taken a notch out of his patience. He'd grown silent and withdrawn, so wholly unlike the man she knew.
The man she'd fallen in love with.
They had reached the port of Dublin in the late afternoon, but by the time they collected their belongings and made their way into town, it was nearly time for supper. Grace had not eaten much on the sea journey, and now that she was back to standing on surfaces that did not pitch and roll beneath her, she was famished. The last thing she wanted was to press on toward Butlersbridge, the small village in County Cavan where Jack had grown up.
But the dowager was being her argumentative self, so they were standing in the front room of the inn, all six of them, while she attempted to dictate the speed and direction of their journey.
"Don't you wish to have this matter settled, once and for all?" the dowager demanded of Jack.
"Not really," was his insolent response. "Certainly not as much as I want a slice of shepherd's pie and a tankard of ale. " Jack turned to the rest of them, and Grace ached at the expression in his eyes. He was haunted. But by what, she could not guess.
What demons awaited him here? Why had he gone so long between visits? He'd told her he had a lovely childhood, that he adored his adoptive family and would not have traded them for the world. Didn't everyone wish for that? Didn't he want to go home? Didn't he understand how lucky he was to have a home to return to?
Grace would have given anything for that.
"Miss Eversleigh," Jack said, with a courteous nod. "Lady Amelia. "
The two ladies bobbed their curtsies as he departed.
"I do believe he has the right idea of it," Thomas murmured. "Supper sounds infinitely more appealing than a night on the roads. "
The dowager whipped her head toward him and glared.
"Not," he said with an extremely dry look, "that I am attempting to delay the inevitable. Even soon-to-be-dispossessed dukes get hungry. "