“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 repudia-tion, 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
O h 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.”