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“You still are,” she said softly, still staring ahead.
“No.” He almost smiled. He had no idea why. “We both know that isn’t true.”
“I don’t know anything of the sort,” she said, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were fierce, protective. “Do you plan to give up your birthright based upon a painting? You could probably pull five men out of the rookeries of London who could pass for someone in one of the paintings at Belgrave. It is a resemblance. Nothing more.”
“Jack Audley is my cousin,” he said. He had not uttered the words many times; there was a strange relief in doing so. “All that remains to be seen is if his birth was legitimate.”
“That is still quite a hurdle.”
“One that I am sure will be easily reached. Church records…witnesses…there will be proof.” He faced front then, presumably staring at the same spot on the horizon. He could see why she’d been mesmerized. The sun had dipped low enough so one could look in its direction without squinting, and the sky held the most amazing shades of pink and orange.
He could look at it forever. Part of him wanted to.
“I did not think you were a man to give up so easily,” she said.
“Oh, I’m not giving up. I’m here, aren’t I? But I must make plans. My future is not what I’d thought.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her begin to protest, so he added, with a smile, “Probably.”
Her jaw tensed, then released. Then, after a few moments, she said, “I like the sea.”
So did he, he realized, even with his queasy stomach. “You’re not seasick?” he asked.
“Not at all. Are you?”
“A little,” he admitted, which made her smile. He caught her eye. “You like when I am indisposed, don’t you?”
Her lips pressed together a bit; she was embarrassed.
He loved that.
“I do,” she confessed. “Well, not indisposed, exactly.”
“Weak and helpless?” he suggested.
“Yes!” she replied, with enough enthusiasm that she immediately blushed.
He loved that, too. Pink suited her.
“I never knew you when you were proud and capable,” she hastened to add.
It would have been so easy to pretend to misunderstand, to say something about how they had known each other all of their lives. But of course they had not. They had known the other’s name, and their shared destiny, but that was all. And Thomas was finally coming to realize that it was not much.
Not enough.
“I’m more approachable when I’m sotted?” he tried to joke.
“Or seasick,” she said kindly.
He laughed at that. “I’m lucky the weather is so fair. I’m told the seas are usually much less forgiving. The captain said that crossing from Liverpool to Dublin is often more difficult than the entire passage from the West Indies to England.”
Her eyes lit with interest. “That can’t be.”
Thomas shrugged. “I only repeat what he told me.”
She considered this for a moment, then said, “Do you know, this is the farthest I have ever been from home?”
He leaned a little closer. “Me, too.”
“Really?” Her face showed her surprise.
“Where would I have gone?”
He watched with amusement as she considered this. Her face moved through a number of expressions, and then finally she said, “You are so fond of geography. I would have thought you would travel.”
“I would like to have done.” He watched the sunset. It was melting away too quickly for his tastes. “Too many responsibilities at home, I suppose.”
“Will you travel if—” She cut herself off, and he did not need to be looking at her to picture the expression on her face precisely.
“If I am not the duke?” he finished for her.
She nodded.
“I expect so.” He gave a little shrug. “I am not sure where.”
Amelia turned to him suddenly. “I have always wanted to see Amsterdam.”
“Really.” He looked surprised. Maybe even intrigued. “Why is that?”
“All those lovely Dutch paintings, I think. And the canals.”
“Most people travel to Venice for the canals.”
She knew that, of course. Maybe that was part of the reason she’d never wanted to go there. “I want to see Amsterdam.”
“I hope you shall,” he said. He was quiet for just long enough to make the moment noticeable. And then, softly: “Everybody should be able to realize at least one of their dreams.”
Amelia turned. He was looking at her with the most gentle expression. It nearly broke her heart. What was left of it, at least. So she looked away. It was too hard otherwise. “Grace went below,” she said.
“Yes, you’d said.”
“Oh.?
? How embarrassing. “Yes, of course. The fan.” He did not reply, so she added, “There was something about soup, as well.”
“Soup,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“I could not decipher the message,” Amelia admitted.
He gave her a rather dry half smile. “Now there is one responsibility I am not sorry to shed.”
A little laugh rose in Amelia’s throat. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, trying to force it down. “That was terribly rude of me.”
“Not at all,” he assured her. His face dipped closer to hers, his expression terribly conspiratorial. “Do you think Audley will have the nerve to send her away?”
“You didn’t.”
He held up his hands. “She’s my grandmother.”
“She is his, as well.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know her, lucky chap.” He leaned toward her. “I suggested the Outer Hebrides.”
“Oh, stop.”
“I did,” he insisted. “Told Audley I was thinking of buying something there, just so I could maroon her.”
This time she did laugh. “We should not be speaking of her this way.”
“Why is it,” he mused, “that everyone I know speaks of crotchety old ladies who, underneath their acerbic exteriors, have a heart of gold?”
She looked at him with amusement.
“Mine doesn’t,” he said, almost as if he could not quite believe the unfairness of it all.
She tried not to smile. “No.” She gave up. She sputtered, then grinned. “She doesn’t.”
He looked at her, and their eyes caught each other’s amusement, and they both burst out laughing.
“She’s miserable,” Thomas said.
“She doesn’t like me,” Amelia said.
“She doesn’t like anyone.”
“I think she likes Grace.”
“No, she just dislikes her less than she dislikes everyone else. She doesn’t even like Mr. Audley, even as she works so tirelessly to gain him the title.”
“She doesn’t like Mr. Audley?”
