Chapter 2
“Lord Redmond, the household has been informed of your arrival.”
At once, Tobias felt the weight of those two words settle upon his shoulders like a physical burden. Lord Redmond. The title that had belonged to Edward for all of Tobias’s life now rested uneasily upon him—a garment that did not fit, would perhaps never fit properly.
“Thank you, Pemberton.” Tobias descended from the carriage, his legs stiff from the relentless journey through the night. Dawn had barely broken across the Kent countryside, painting Redmond Park in shades of grey. “I trust the arrangements proceed as they ought?”
“Indeed, my lord. The funeral shall take place this afternoon. We feared that you might not make it in time.” Pemberton’s weathered countenance betrayed nothing save professional composure, though his eyes held the shadows of recent strain.
“Lady Amelia has attended to every detail with admirable precision. She… forgive me, my lord, but we did not know if you would be able to attend it.”
Of course she has, Tobias thought, a sharp pang lancing through his chest. Amelia would manage even this final duty with her characteristic quiet grace, bearing yet another burden with that composed dignity she wore like impenetrable armor.
Every window of the great house bore black crepe, the sombre fabric hanging in testament to the death that had transformed everything.
Even the door knocker had been muffled with cloth—a detail he might have overlooked had his senses not been so acutely attuned to every alteration in his childhood home.
This was Edward’s domain. Every carefully chosen furnishing reflected his brother’s impeccable taste. Every servant’s deferential bow reminded Tobias that he was stepping into a life that had never been meant for his occupation.
He was the spare. The disappointment. The rake who had spent years proving he deserved neither responsibility nor respect.
“Her ladyship is in the morning room, my lord,” Pemberton said quietly, his tone betraying nothing of what he might think of this transition of power. “Shall I announce you?”
Tobias found himself hesitating—most unlike him indeed. “How… how does she fare?”
Pemberton’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. “As well as can be expected, my lord. She has shown remarkable fortitude throughout this most difficult period. The young master requires considerable attention.”
The young master.
Sixteen months, and only now did he come to know that he was uncle to a nephew.
“Please inform her of my presence,” Tobias said at last. “I should pay my respects without undue delay.”
He followed Pemberton through the corridors silently. How many times had he raced through these passages as a boy? How many childhood memories lingered in these walls—memories that now felt tainted by the knowledge that he would inherit everything Edward had built, everything Edward had been?
When Pemberton opened the door to the morning room and announced him, Tobias felt his breath arrest in a most ungentlemanly fashion.
“Lord Tobias Grant, my lady.”
Amelia rose from her seat near the window, a small child balanced upon her hip. Tobias looked at her and paled. She… looked like a ghost. She’d always looked rather delicate, but now… she seemed too fragile, too thin. As though she had been suffering for far longer than three days.
She turned toward him, her visage without expression.
Their eyes met silently. Only now did he turn his attention to the child in her arms—the boy who regarded Tobias with solemn curiosity.
The child. One year old now, with Edward’s dark hair and serious demeanor, though his eyes were reminiscent of his mother.
The boy clutched at his mother’s gown with small fists, his round face pressed against her shoulder as though seeking refuge from the unfamiliar presence that had disrupted their quiet morning.
“Lord Tobias.” Amelia’s voice was steady and composed, though Tobias noticed the slight tremble of her hand. “How very kind of you to come. I trust that your journey was pleasant.”
Tobias could form no response. He could only look at her, this woman who had occupied far too many of his thoughts these past months, now transformed by grief and motherhood into something both familiar and utterly foreign.
“Lady Amelia.” He executed a bow with more formality than he typically employed, suddenly uncertain of the proper conduct. “Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss. I came with all possible haste upon receiving Mr. Pemberton’s letter.”
“You are most gracious. I… should have written sooner, should have let you know that he was… but your brother had taken ill quite suddenly. We did not realise…”
“I understand entirely. Do not… fret. I ought to thank you. For taking care of all the arrangements.”
It was odd. The night so long ago seemed to have faded into a distant memory, as it had taken place with a different person.
There was an invisible wall between them, and Tobias found himself wanting rather desperately to dismantle it—though he possessed neither the right nor the wisdom to attempt such a thing.
The boy squiemed in his mother’s arms, letting out a small sound of protest, and Amelia immediately adjusted her hold with practised ease. Motherhood suited her and came naturally to her.
“This is Henry,” she said softly, her voice warming fractionally when she spoke of her child. “Your nephew. He is rather overwhelmed by all the activity of late, I fear. So many visitors, so many unfamiliar faces...”
“Understandably so.” Tobias studied the boy with genuine interest. Edward’s son. Edward’s heir—no, his own heir now. The weight of that responsibility settled heavily upon him. “He… looks rather like you. And… he looks healthy.”
It was a rather silly thing to say, he knew. Amelia merely smiled.
“He is my world.” The words came out with quiet fierceness, and for the first time since entering the room, Tobias glimpsed genuine emotion beneath her careful facade. “I would do anything to ensure his welfare and happiness.”
He found her eyes across the space that separated them, and something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, perhaps, or merely recognition of shared duty toward this innocent child who had lost a father he would scarcely remember.
“I have no doubt of it,” Tobias said gently.
Silence descended, neither comfortable nor entirely awkward—merely heavy with all the things that could not be articulated in such a moment.
“The funeral is to take place at two o’clock this afternoon,” Amelia said, her tone returning to a carefully neutral register. “I do hope that provides you sufficient time to... to prepare yourself. It shall be a modest affair. I believe that Edward would have wished for nothing ostentatious.”
“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?