9. The Painful Mourning #2
“You know what matters. That I respect your mind. That I have no desire to constrain your freedom.”
“My father liked you,” she said suddenly, then her voice caught. “He actually suggested…” She trailed off, grief overtaking her again.
Mr. Moore maintained his distance, rooted to the floor. “I admired him greatly. His business acumen. His devotion to you.”
Kate swallowed hard, fighting more tears and shaking her head sideways.
“You don’t need to decide now,” Mr. Moore said gently, seeing her trouble with the business arrangement. “There will be time after the funeral, after the initial shock passes.”
This gentleness, the lack of pressure, his presence as firm as it was subtle, seemed to affect Kate more than anything else. A single tear escaped again.
“He’s gone,” she whispered, “He’s truly gone now.”
The dam broke. Kate’s composure crumbled completely, and she began to sob in earnest. After just a moment’s hesitation, Mr. Moore closed the distance between them, turning her around and enveloping her in a tight embrace.
To their mutual surprise, Kate melted into his arms, resting her forehead against his shoulder as she finally allowed herself this solace.
Mr. Moore remained completely motionless, letting her grief pour out, offering her the support of something solid while his hands settled on her back, and there they stayed.
“I’m here,” he murmured. “For whatever you need.”
They remained like this for a long moment—Kate drawing unexpected comfort from this near-stranger gentleman who offered support without expectation, without judgment, without trying to fix what could not be fixed.
The first person since her father’s decline to simply allow her grief without trying to manage it.
And Mr. Moore, holding her gently as if she might break, gave her what little he could while desperately wishing he could give her more, much more than just a simple hug. He wished he could ease her pain, carry her burdens, be everything she needed from now on.
And until his dying day.
* * *
By the following morning, the house had transformed itself into a monument of grief.
Black crepe draped every mirror and window, the clocks stood silent since half-past two in the morning—the moment Edward Sullivan’s heart had ceased—and the drawing room where his body lay had became a shrine of somber formality.
Kate stood near the doorway of the receiving room, her black mourning dress severe against her pale skin, a perfect match to her dark hair and thick eyelashes.
Mrs. Henley stood beside Kate like a black-clad sentinel, occasionally touching Kate’s elbow when her posture seemed to waver.
“The Viscount Perry and family,” the butler announced in hushed tones.
Perry entered with his mother and sister, all of them dressed in appropriate mourning. His mother embraced Kate briefly, murmuring condolences that blurred together with all the others Kate had heard that morning.
“Your father was a great man,” Perry said, taking Kate’s hand. “If there’s anything we can do—”
“You’re very kind,” Kate replied, the words automatic now after dozens of repetitions.
Perry’s mother leaned closer. “My dear, you must be practical now. A young woman alone—we would be happy to discuss your options once the mourning period—”
“Lady Perry,” Mr. Moore’s voice cut smoothly through the conversation as he appeared at Kate’s other side. “How thoughtful of you to call. Miss Sullivan has been quite overwhelmed by the generosity of her father’s friends.”
He’d positioned himself there an hour ago and hadn’t left since, deflecting the most intrusive inquiries with kindly words. Kate felt a rush of gratitude for his presence.
Perry’s mother smiled tightly. “Mr. Moore. I wasn’t aware you were such an intimate friend of the family.”
“Mr. Sullivan regarded him highly,” Mrs. Henley interjected with surprising firmness. “As do we all.”
The Perrys bowed and moved on, and Kate exhaled slowly.
“Thank you,” she murmured to Mr. Moore.
Mr. Moore only replied with a subtle nod.
“Lady Rutledge,” the butler announced.
Lady Rutledge entered with less of the performative mourning most visitors had adopted and more genuine concern.
Her dress was appropriately black, but she wore it with her characteristic style—a subtle defiance of the drabness grief was supposed to impose.
Her eyes immediately found Kate and came forward.
“Katherine, darling.” She crossed directly to her friend and took both her hands, squeezing firmly. “I’m so sorry.”
Kate’s throat tightened at the simple honesty. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course I came.” Lady Rutledge pulled Kate into a brief but fierce embrace before stepping back to study her face with concern. “You look exhausted, my dear; you should rest after such a loss.”
Kate said nothing; she simply nodded.
Lady Rutledge glanced briefly at Mr. Moore, who had stepped back to give them space. “Mr. Moore. Good of you to be here. She needs steadiness right now.”
Mr. Moore inclined his head. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else, my lady.”
Lady Rutledge gave her an approving nod before turning her attention back to Kate.
“Kate, you must come to me if you need anything. I mean it. My late husband may have been useless for most things, but he left me with influence among the right people, and I know how to wield it.”
“That’s very kind—”
“It’s not kindness, it’s friendship.” Lady Rutledge’s grip on Kate’s hands tightened. “Your father was one of the few men in London with actual sense. I won’t stand by and watch lesser men dismantle what he built.”
Her gaze shifted toward the entrance hall where Mr. Blackwood had just appeared with the other partners.
She leaned closer to Kate, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Speaking of lesser men—don’t let Blackwood intimidate you.
He’s all bluster and greed with nothing substantial beneath it. ”
Kate’s gaze followed Lady Rutledge’s pointed look, and the moment she spotted Mr. Blackwood, her entire body went rigid.
Mr. Moore moved instantly, closing the small distance between them until he stood nearly shoulder to shoulder with Kate, his presence a silent wall of support.
Lady Rutledge straightened up, snorted, and then turned around to leave.
After she departed, Mr. Blackwood approached with the two other partners, his expression appropriately grave but his eyes calculating as he glanced around the house.
“Miss Sullivan,” Blackwood said. “A terrible loss. A terrible loss indeed. Your father’s affairs, I trust, are in order?”
“They are,” Kate said coolly.
“The company will require steady leadership during this transition. The partners have been discussing—”
“Discussing what, exactly?” Kate’s voice sharpened despite her exhaustion. “How quickly you can remove me from the business my father built?”
Blackwood’s false sympathy faded a little. “Miss Sullivan, no one questions your… involvement… but surely you understand that managing a shipping empire requires—”
“Requires what I’ve been doing for the past ten years while you collected your profits,” Kate interrupted. “Don’t insult my intelligence or my father’s memory by pretending otherwise.”
One of the other partners cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Perhaps this discussion should wait—”
“Indeed,” Mr. Moore said smoothly, stepping forward. “Perhaps such discussions might wait until after Mr. Sullivan is laid to rest? Surely the particulars of business can survive a few days of proper mourning.”
Blackwood’s jaw tightened as he looked at Mr. Moore, his expression souring further. “Mr. Moore. I should have known you’d be here.”
“Where else would I be?” Mr. Moore replied evenly. “Mr. Sullivan was both a partner and a friend.”
“A friend.” Blackwood’s tone dripped with skepticism. “How convenient that this friendship has positioned you so advantageously.”
“Mr. Blackwood,” Kate said coldly, “if you’ve come merely to cast aspersions rather than pay your respects, I suggest you leave now.”
Blackwood drew himself up. “I merely suggest that Edward’s sudden partnership with Mr. Moore—a man none of us had heard of six months ago—requires scrutiny. Particularly now, given the circumstances.”
“The only thing requiring scrutiny is your audacity,” Kate said. “My father made his wishes very clear regarding the company’s future. You’ll learn the details soon enough.”
The partners exchanged glances, clearly unsettled by this unexpected resistance. Blackwood attempted one more sally. “The maritime contracts alone require immediate attention—”
“Which I am perfectly capable of handling,” Kate said with finality. “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have other mourners to receive.”
She turned away, dismissing them as thoroughly as her father might have done. Blackwood’s face flushed with anger, but he had no choice except to move toward the drawing room to pay his perfunctory respects.
The partners moved toward the drawing room, and Kate felt her knees weaken with the effort of maintaining her composure. Mr. Moore’s hand touched her elbow, steadying her.
“Well done,” he murmured. “Your father would have been proud.”
Kate’s eyes stung with sudden tears. “I shouldn’t have to fight them. Not today. Not while he’s—” Her voice broke.
“You need to sit, dear,” Mrs. Henley said quietly at her side.
“I can’t. There are more—”
“Mrs. Henley can receive them for a few minutes. Come,” suggested Mr. Moore.
Mrs. Henley nodded. “Go, dear. I’ll take care of things here.”
Mr. Moore guided Kate to a small alcove off the main room, away from prying eyes. Kate sank onto a chair, her hands shaking as she pressed them to her face. A sob escaped before she could stop it, then another, her whole body suddenly crumbling down under the weight of grief and exhaustion.