For just a moment, Chalmers betrayed his own grief. He opened his mouth to say something, but after a moment, simply closed it again. Shaking his head, he turned for the door to bring in the Dowager.
Georgie and her mother immediately stood. And for the second time in her life, she was the recipient of unheard-of comfort. Her grandmother also wrapped her in her arms and simply held on. It almost broke Georgie all over again.
“I saw the girls,” Grandmama said, her own voice sounding a bit shaky. “They have suffered too much. Too much.”
Georgie gave her grandmama one final hug and separated herself. “I wish I could make it better.”
“Move home,” Grandmama said. “Let them run about with our brood for a bit.”
Georgie sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
For a long moment, Grandmama just looked at her in silence. “You must tell the bees,” she finally said.
Georgie reared back as if she had been slapped. “No,” she said, stepping away. Lifting her hand, she waved at her grandmother as if shooing her away. “No.”
Grandmama frowned. “You know they must be told.”
Georgie turned around. “Not yet. Not…yet. The girls are not ready.”
I am not ready¸she thought wildly as she rubbed at the fresh pain in her chest. She didn’t bother to consider that in fact she would never be ready.
“Georgie…”
She shook her head. “Let them pretend for a while that everything is still all right. Don’t rile them until we need to.”
She knew that her grandmama was looking at her mother, as if for support. She had no idea what her mother did. Her own eyes were closed, and she was digging the heels of her hands into them to stop further tears. She had to calm down before the girls returned. She had to be their rock now. No more tears. No wailing as if the banshee hovered in the room.
Two days.
Two. Days.
Georgie almost couldn’t believe it, but her grandmama finally nodded and backed off. They sat like civilized people and discussed arrangements for the memorial stone and service. Eventually the girls returned, giving Grandmama a stiff little curtsy, and Grandmama held her arms out as well.
At least the girls would get all the support they needed. Perhaps it had been a good thing after all that Georgie had been forced down the aisle, even for two days, so that the girls, who had so often been deserted and discarded, had the cushion of their new family to comfort them.
It wasinevitable that the kings came. They took over the redecorating and cared for the girls when Georgie was pulled away to plan a funeral without a body.
She hadn’t thought to have anything elaborate. Family, of course, which meant that notice had to be sent to Grey’s sister near Tewksbury. Room had to be found for her, her husband, and their daughter. Braxton, of course. The Packhams. Those who could take the time to go to Gloucester to attend service at the cathedral and reveal the memorial in the family crypt. But then, evidently word got out to those who had served under and with Grey. Those families who mourned his lost men.Wellington himself, which along with her parents meant the diplomatic corps, and amazingly, the Prince Regent. It turned into a spectacle.
Mama helped with the diplomatic side of things, Michael with the military. Georgie took advantage of Eddie’s list-making skills and Charlie’s contacts. Georgie was the most organized, competent person she knew. But this was beyond even her.
And then she learned from Winslow that Coleford Abbey was in no condition for guests. It was in no condition for even family. So instead of leading a procession into Gloucestershire for the obsequies, the funeral itself was moved to St. George’s in Mayfair, with the crypt ceremony limited to family sometime later.
Actually, Georgie was relieved. The girls could stay where they were comfortable and where she could easily get to them if needed, and she could be where it was at least familiar, and close to her family.
At least it all kept her so busy that when she fell into bed at night, she slept. It demanded her attention and her skills and her time so she didn’t have to think far past the funeral. She could get herself and the girls fitted out in black, and confer with everyone involved, and make the best decisions she could. The good and the bad news was that she was truly in her element. It meant that the funeral proceeded with swift competence and ended up, she hoped, being worthy of Grey’s life.
She met Grey’s sister and was relieved to find that she truly liked her, this horse-mad woman who had taken over their father’s work. She visited Braxton at his sister’s home. She even greeted the new ponies Grey’s sister had brought in for the girls and her own Lucy. And she saw her friend Anastasia Dunn, who had just returned from Vienna, and who promised her they would pick up the project she and Anastasia had been workingon for so long. And to be honest, it all felt unreal, as if she were watching someone else’s life pass her by. She was numb.
Standing at the door to St. George’s, she greeted the Prince, who had known her since childhood. She greeted his brother, the Duke of Clarence, in his resplendent Naval uniform. She greeted the various foreign dignitaries who were in for the celebrations and came for her parents. She stood with her parents, who knew most of the players, and handed the girls over to the Kings and Archangels who kept them safe. She even met the Archbishop of Canterbury, a distant cousin, who came to sit regally in the sacristy in support of the service.
She did not, however, meet Wellington, who had evidently come to the service but avoided her. She briefly wondered why, but was too busy with the portentous service and later the gathering, which was held at her parents’ home, since hers was still hip deep in scaffolding and paint buckets. She nodded and smiled and held out her hand to be saluted and hid behind the mourning veil and murmured pleasantries, especially to Grey’s true friends, like Rob Glenn and Declan Bowdern, who was supposed to have been their sacrificial rake, and would have, she realized, played the part well. She even sat in on the reading of Grey’s will, which he had somehow managed to draw up between his proposal and death, to find no surprises. She was cared for, the girls were cared for, and the longtime servants were cared for.
And she got through it all to finally find herself back in her now empty, echoing home, with none but the girls and the staff. And for the next while, everyone left them all alone. The weather was unnaturally cold, necessitating fires in most of the rooms and two extra blankets on her bed, which she dove under even in the afternoons.
“Recovering” her mother called it. Hiding, she knew. But now that the funeral was over, she had nothing to look forwardto but the task of maintaining a lifestyle defined by her widowhood and the uncertain position she held in relation to the marquessate and its holdings.
All work. All drudge. Both leavened and burdened further by two lost little girls who couldn’t tolerate much more loss. Little girls who slept curled next to her like lost puppies, and who spent their days waiting for her to disappear as well. She knew she needed to get them out and about. They needed fresh air and company. She needed to answer the summonses from various Packhams to join them for any manner of expeditions. For now, though, she couldn’t. For now, she and her daughters licked their wounds with none but the also-grieving staff and an oddly quiet Bark to shelter them. They would hide for a few more days, she decided.
