He slowed as best as he could, positioning his mount so the carriage was forced to slow as well. At the end of the short drive he could see Jack dismount, climb the front steps, and knock on the door. A shaft of light streamed out when it was opened, but Thomas could not hear any words that were exchanged.

The carriage was parked to the side of the entry-way, and the dowager was helped down by one of the grooms. She started to charge forward, but Thomas quickly slid from his saddle and grabbed her arm to hold her back.

“Let go of me,” she snapped, attempting to break free.

“For the love of God, woman,” Thomas shot back, “give him a moment with his relatives.”

“We are his relatives.”

“Have you not a single ounce of sensibility?”

“There are far greater matters at stake than—”

“There is nothing that cannot wait two more minutes. Nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m certain you think so.”

Thomas swore, and not under his breath. “I have come this far, have I not? I have treated him with civility, and even lately with respect. I have listened to your vitriol and incessant complaining. I have ridden across two countries, slept in the bottom of a boat, and even—and this, I might add, was really the final insult—handed over my fiancée. I believe I have proven that I am prepared for whatever this place has to offer. But by all that is holy, I will not give up what shred of human decency I have managed to retain after growing up in a house with you.”

Over her shoulder he could see Grace and Amelia, both open-mouthed, both staring.

“The man,” he said through gritted teeth, “can have two bloody minutes with his family.”

His grandmother stared at him for one long, icy second, and then said, “Do not curse in my presence.”

Thomas was so dumbfounded by her complete lack of response to anything he’d said that he loosened his grip on her arm, and she wrenched away, hurrying over to the front steps, just behind Jack, who was embracing a woman Thomas imagined was his aunt.

“Ahem,” the dowager said, as only she could.

Thomas strode forward, ready to intercede if necessary.

“You must be the aunt,” the dowager said to the woman on the steps.

Mrs. Audley just stared at her. “Yes,” she finally replied. “And you are…?”

“Aunt Mary,” Jack cut in, “I am afraid I must introduce you to the dowager Duchess of Wyndham.”

Mrs. Audley let go of him and curtsied, stepping aside as the dowager swept past her. “The Duchess of Wyndham?” she echoed. “Good heavens, Jack, couldn’t you have sent notice?”

Jack’s smile was grim. “It is better this way, I assure you.” He turned to Thomas. “The Duke of Wyndham,” he said, motioning with his arm. “Your grace—my aunt, Mrs. Audley.”