The journey to Butlersbridge proceeded much as Thomas had anticipated. Along with Jack and Lord Crowland, he rode horseback, the better to enjoy the fine weather. There was very little talk; they never quite managed to keep themselves in an even enough line to converse. Every now and then one of them would increase his pace or fall behind, and one horse would pass another. Perfunctory greetings would be exchanged.

Occasionally someone would comment on the weather.

Lord Crowland seemed rather interested in the native birds.

Thomas tried to enjoy the scenery. It was all very green, even more so than Lincolnshire, and he wondered about the annual rainfall. If precipitation here was higher, would that also translate into a better crop yield? Or would this be offset by—Stop.

Agriculture, animal husbandry…it was all academic now. He owned no land, no animals save for his horse, and maybe not even that.

He had nothing.

No one.

Amelia…

Her face entered his mind, unbidden and yet very welcome. She was so much more than he’d anticipated. He did not love her—he could not love her, not now. But somehow…he missed her. Which was ridiculous, as she was just in the carriage, some twenty yards behind. And he’d seen her at their noontime picnic. And they’d breakfasted together.

He had no reason to miss her.

And yet he did.

He missed her laugh, the way it might sound at a particularly enjoyable dinner party. He missed the warm glow of her eyes, the way they would look in the early morning light.

If he ever got to see her in the early morning light.

Which he wouldn’t.

But he missed it all the same.

He glanced over his shoulder, back at the carriage, half surprised to see that it looked exactly as it should, and not spitting flames through the windows.

His grandmother had been in fine form that afternoon. Now there was one thing he would not miss, once he was stripped of his title. The dowager Duchess of Wyndham had been more than an albatross on his back; she’d been a bloody Medusa, whose only purpose in life seemed to be to make his life as difficult as possible.

But his grandmother was not the only burden he’d be happy to shed. The endless paperwork. He’d not miss that. The lack of freedom. Everyone thought he could do as he pleased—all that money and power ought to lend a man utter control. But no, he was tied to Belgrave. Or he had been.

He thought of Amelia, her dreams of Amsterdam.

Well, hell. Come tomorrow, he could go to Amsterdam if he so desired. He could leave straight from Dublin. He could see Venice. The West Indies. There was nothing to stop him, no—

“Are you happy?”