A driver. Guards. Part of the staff. Household staff. I’ll have to pay them. How do I pay them? I don’t know how to get into the accounts.A flurry of thoughts runs through my head, crashing into each other as Father McCleary lays a gentle hand on my arm.
“Maeve.”
I flinch sharply, looking up at him. Concern is written all over every inch of his lined face. “Father.”
“I know…” He takes a slow breath. “This is a difficult time for you. Desmond?—”
“I’m surprised you said Mass for him and agreed to bury him, considering what he did.” I turn my gaze back to the grave. The six-foot hole. The lacquered coffin. It’s not my brother. I saw him in it, but it doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real.
Father McCleary pauses. “He wasn’t tried or convicted, Maeve. I know there’s other justice in this city, and perhaps your brother did all he was accused of. But despite my respectfor Ronan O’Malley, a summary execution isn’t a lawful one. According to the Church, your brother was in good standing, so I did what I could.” He hesitates. “And I thought it might give you some peace.”
My throat tightens.So Father McCleary does believe that Desmond did it, I think, as I stare at the dirt sprinkled across the top of the coffin. Today wasn’t for Desmond. It was for me.
An attempt to give me something to cling to in the midst of all this horror.
I force a smile. “That was thoughtful of you.” My voice sounds cracked, a doll-like whisper. “I… just need a few minutes alone with him.”
Father McCleary hesitates, then nods. “If you need anything at all, Maeve, come by the church. Or just call me. I can come to you if you need someone to talk to or if you need counsel. I mean it. Anything you need.”
I swallow hard, nodding. The umbrella shakes, sending a rain of droplets down, and I realize Father McCleary doesn’t have an umbrella of his own. He’s getting soaked, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“You should get inside, Father,” I manage. “Before you catch a cold.”
“As should you, Maeve.” He hesitates, then pats me gently on the arm before walking slowly away.
I’m left alone there, standing at my brother’s graveside. I look at the graves bracketing it, at the empty spot where I’ll someday lie. None of this feels real. It feels like a nightmare, like a horrible dream that they could all be gone.
Fear creeps through my veins, cold as the icy rain pelting my umbrella. I’m completely alone, unprotected in a dangerous world. The men who guard me don’t care for me; they care for the money they’ve been paid. I have to figure out how to run this estate now on my own, how to pay for everyone who works formy family, how to upkeep the house, how to do all of the things that I was never taught because I was the shadow, the quiet one, the one who would eventually be married off and forgotten about. The only reason I wasn’t is because my family started dropping like flies too close to when I turned eighteen.
Eighteen is too young for this. Too young for all this burden, all this responsibility. I’ve inherited everything with no idea of how to manage it, and I know there are wolves waiting for me in the dark, men who will want to take everything I have. Who will steal me, force me, drag me in front of a priest in order to claim what’s mine. Unless Ronan takes me under his protection, I’m nothing but a young, orphaned heiress with no protection, bleeding meat left out for any predator who wants it. And I can’t imagine why Ronan would protect me.
My sister hated him, mocked him, hurt him, betrayed him. My brother tried to hurt and steal—and then murder his sister. And now there’s only me.
A ghost in my own life.
There’s the sound of a throat clearing behind me, and I realize that I’ve been standing here for a long time… how long, I’m not entirely sure. The ground around Desmond’s grave has turned to mud. I’m so cold my teeth are chattering.
“Miss Connelly.” Brian, the head of my security, is behind me. “If you need to stay longer, we can, but the weather is getting worse. We should get you home.”
A part of me doesn’t want to move. A part of me wants to stay right here, until the rain freezes me through, until I collapse, until I no longer have to deal with any of this. Not my grief, or the inheritance waiting for me, or all of the dangers waiting, gathering, teeth bared as I walk into whatever tomorrow brings.
“Okay,” I hear myself say, my voice hollow. Brian takes my arm, and I follow him up the hill to the waiting car.
The drive home passes in a blur of rain-smeared glass and bare trees reaching up to a grey sky like clawed fingers. Everything feels dark, heavy, the weather a perfect match for my mood. I feel numb all the way through as Brian opens a door for me and I walk up the gravel path to the front door of the mansion I’ve lived in all my life.
I’m so cold that my skin stings when I step into the warmth of the house, my extremities tingling as I shed my coat and boots and drop the rain-soaked umbrella onto the gleaming wood of the foyer entrance. I rub my hands together, trying to get some warmth back in them.
The house feels cavernous and empty, yawning past me into the too-large expanse of it. Despite the warmth inside, the floor feels chilly against my bare feet as I pad down the hallway that leads into the main area of the house. I can hear the grandfather clock ticking just ahead, and it feels more ominous than usual, as if it’s ticking down to the moment when someone decides to take charge of my life.
If I were another sort of person, living a different life, I’d think that I’m the someone that should be doing that. But I’ve never had any control over my life. Someone else has always been in charge of every part of it—what I eat, what I do, what I learn, what my future will be. I have my clothes and my books and a few other things that I can make my own, but for the most part, my life has been wholly shaped by others.
I hear footsteps and look to see Mrs. Brady, the housekeeper, in the doorway that leads to the kitchen. She's been with our family for twenty years—longer than I’ve been alive—and the lines around her eyes have deepened considerably in the last few months. She takes one look at me, and her expression crumples with sympathy.
"Miss Maeve, you're soaked through. Let me draw you a bath."
I shake my head, water dripping from my hair onto the gleaming floor. "I'm fine. I just need to change."
"You'll catch your death," she insists, her hands on her hips as she takes in my bedraggled appearance. "Please, let me help you."
