“I miss them,” he surprised me by admitting. “Mother’s been gone almost seventeen years, and Father for just three, but I still miss them both.” He huffed a laugh. “Whenever I enter the study, I still expect Father to be seated behind his desk working.”
I smiled in response and said quietly, “I thought the same thing when I first returned.”
Trevor nodded. “Sometimes I catch myself thinking about some bit of estate business I want to ask him about, and then I realize . . . I can’t.”
I shifted closer, linking my arm with his.
We stood there silently staring at our parents’ graves while the others filed out of the churchyard behind us. The howl of the wind blocked most of the noise of the voices and the crunch of the gravel from the departing carriages. I knew our servants would be waiting to depart, but still I was reluctant to leave.
And then Trevor spoke.
“You always go to Mother’s grave.” Our eyes met for the first time since he’d joined me, and I frowned. “When you come here,” he clarified. “You always go to Mother’s grave. You seem to barely be able to look at Father’s.”
“Don’t be silly,” I scoffed uncomfortably. “Mother’s is just closer to the tree, and thus out of the wind.”
“But it’s not always windy when you visit here.”
“True. And I stand before Father’s grave then.”
“But you don’t.” His voice was gentle, but certain.
I scowled, angry that he had even taken note of this. “What does it matter whose grave I stand before or . . . or look at? I’m visiting them both.”
“Kiera. You have every right to be angry at Father for arranging your marriage to Sir Anthony. But you need to let it be.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not angry,” I snapped, backing away from him. I hated the tone of voice he was using on me, as if I were a child he wished to soothe.
“Then why won’t you look at his grave?”
“I do! I am!” I turned to stare pointedly at his gravestone and then back to Trevor. “See!”
He reached out to take my arm, but I backed away. “Kiera, I’m sorry Sir Anthony was so brutal to you. If I could . . .”
“No!” I said, holding up a hand to stop him. “No! We are not discussing this.” My mouth tasted sour, as if I was going to be sick.
“But, Kiera . . .” he pleaded.
“No! You do not get to foist this upon me.” I pushed past him, hurrying across the graveyard toward the gate.
“You’re right,” he relented, catching up with me. “You’re right. That was badly done of me.”
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, trying to stop the quaking his accusation had started inside me, making me confront things I didn’t want to face. Why had Trevor used the word “brutal” to describe my late husband? I thought I had hidden the worst from him, but maybe he knew more than I realized.
I breathed in deep, trying to push the image that was forming from my mind.
“Kiera. Kiera!” My brother grabbed my arm, forcing me to come to a stop. He looked down at me, reading the naked emotion in my eyes, for I was too shaken to hide it properly. “I apologize for upsetting you. But at some point, we do need to talk about this.”
I shook my head, but he insisted.
“Well, maybe you don’t, but I do.”
I blinked up at him in surprise, seeing for the first time the pain in the depths of his gaze. I swallowed hard at the sight, not having realized that as much as I was hiding things from him, he was also hiding things from me.
“Trevor,” I began, but a movement behind him drew my attention. My brother turned to see what I was looking at.
“Is all well?” Vicar Grey asked, offering us a worried smile as he opened the cemetery gate.
I looked away, trying to compose myself while Trevor assured him everything was fine. He said that the anniversary of our mother’s death was soon, and it was always a difficult time. The vicar accepted the excuse readily, but I could feel his concerned gaze still trained on me even as I climbed into our carriage.
? ? ?
The conservatory at Blakelaw House projected out from the northwest corner of the manor toward the River Tweed, so that the ceiling, and the east, north, and west walls were all covered in glass. On sunny days like this one, it was often the warmest room in the house, even in the dead of winter. And the perfect location for my art studio.