“Of course.” Tobias cleared his throat. “Whatever you have arranged shall be entirely appropriate, I am certain. Is there anything you require? Anything I might do to ease your burden?”
“You are most considerate, but I believe everything is well in hand.” She moved toward the door, avoiding his gaze. “Mrs. Boldwood has been assisting with Henry, and the staff have been extraordinarily helpful throughout this trying period. I am quite adequately supported.”
But not comforted, Tobias thought, observing the rigid set of her shoulders. Supported, yes—but utterly alone in your grief.
“Nevertheless,” he said, following her toward the door, “please do not hesitate to call upon me should you have need of anything whatsoever. I am entirely at your disposal.”
She paused in the doorway, not quite meeting his gaze. “You are very good, my lord. I shall certainly remember your kind offer.”
Then she was gone, sweeping from the room with Henry clutched protectively against her, leaving Tobias alone with the faint trace of lavender that lingered in her wake and a profound sense that he had somehow failed to say everything that required saying.
For the next few hours, Tobias walked through the manor like a ghost. With all the arrangements taken care of, there was nothing for him to do—and he was wholly uncomfortable with being the Lord Redmond as of yet.
The funeral commenced precisely at two o’clock. The small church on the estate grounds was filled with neighbors, tenants, and distant relations—all come to pay their final respects to a man who had been universally respected if not universally loved.
Tobias stood at the front of the church, still feeling as though he was wearing borrowed robes whenever anyone greeted him by his new title. Behind him, he could hear the rustle of fabric, the occasional muffled sob, the whispered exchanges of those who had known Edward far better than he ever had.
But his attention remained fixed upon Amelia.
She sat in the first pew with Henry upon her lap, the child quiet throughout the lengthy service. Her posture remained perfectly erect, her face a study in composed grief. While Lady Wimberley wept openly into her handkerchief, while Edward’s elderly aunt collapsed in tears—Amelia sat motionless, dry-eyed. He, too, remained dry-eyed as the vicar spoke of Edward’s many virtues.
His dedication to the estate. His exemplary management of affairs. His proper conduct in all things. No one spoke about who Edward was as a person, and a deep discomfort took hold of Tobias. What would it have been like had he been the one to pass? Would anyone have spoken of his warmth, his care, his personality? Or would he have been reduced to the odd achievement and reputation of a rake, like his brother was reduced to what he had done over who he had been?
Here and there, people wept as the coffin was lowered into the grave. Amelia, however, remained silent. She kept her composure as mourners offered condolences. After the third or fourth one, Tobias realised that it was he who ought to receive it and he stepped up to stand next to her—not unaware of the grateful glance she sent his way.
At last, the visitors departed—every last one of them. Only then did Amelia turn to the door, Tobias following closely behind.
It was he who finally broke the silence that had been growing between them as of late. “You conducted yourself admirably,”he said, rather awkwardly. “Edward… would have been satisfied with the arrangements. It was… a beautiful service.”
She glanced at him briefly, then nodded. “Thank you, my lord. I am relieved to have met expectations.”
Her voice was rather flat, making him immensely uncomfortable. He reached for her, but thought better of it and thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Amelia?—”
“Forgive me.” She interrupted gently. “Henry requires his rest, and I find myself rather fatigued. If you will excuse me? I would like to retire now.”
She did not wait for his response. Instead, she moved past him toward the house quietly. Tobias watched her go, watched her disappear into the shadows of the entrance hall, and wondered what thoughts occupied the mind behind that perfect mask.
Before he could think too much of it, however, he was surrounded by servants—each wanting to say or ask something about estate matters. It seemed, he thought with a grimace, that the head of the house would not have been given time to mourn had he wanted to.
Evening had settled over Redmond Park when Tobias finally found himself alone in the library—the room that had first been his father’s, then his brother’s sanctuary. He wondered if it would ever truly be his. It still carried traces of his brother’s presence: the pipe stand beside the chair, the particular arrangement of books, the faint scent of tobacco and leather.
Tobias poured himself a brandy he did not truly desire and sank into the chair behind the desk. The events of the day pressed upon him with suffocating weight. The funeral. The mourners. Amelia’s composure. All of it was… simply overwhelming.
His gaze fell upon the desk’s surface, meticulously organized as Edward had left it. Estate ledgers. Correspondence requiring attention. Legal documents regarding the transfer of the title.
And there, tucked into the drawer, a bundle of letters tied with faded ribbon.
Tobias knew he should not pry. Knew that whatever correspondence Edward had preserved was not meant for another’s perusal. Yet his hand reached for the bundle almost of its own volition, compelled by some need to understand his elusive older brother.
The letters were old, dating back five years. The courtship period, Tobias realized with a start. Before Edward and Amelia’s marriage. It was odd that his brother had kept it—he had not taken Edward to be sentimental, though it filled him with relief that perhaps he was. That perhaps there was some warmth in his brother after all.
The relief faded when he opened the first letter.
Miss Langford,
I trust this letter finds you in adequate health. I am writing to inform you that I have given some thought to the matter we discussed during our recent encounter, and I believe a union between our families would prove mutually advantageous.
Your father has indicated his approval of such an arrangement, and I find your comportment and breeding to be entirely suitable for the position of Viscountess Redmond. You possess the necessary qualities of deportment and discretion that the role demands…
