The Blessed Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #8)

Chapter 1

“You are far too calm,” Augusta Cluett, who was seven years younger than Charity at seventeen, whispered without turning her head.

Matilda, who was the youngest out of the three sisters, stood a few paces away.

Her expression was similarly placid, but Charity thought her calmness had more to do with her young age rather than any real understanding of what was going on.

Matilda was only eight years old after all. How was an eight-year-old meant to act at the funeral of her parents?

How was a twenty-four-year-old meant to react, Charity thought about herself? Much less one who had been kept away from her family for most of her life, and only recently reunited.

So, when Charity glanced back at her sister Augusta, she opted not to respond to her question. Though it rang clearly in her own mind, it appears that I have no other choice but to be calm.

The funeral service was inside their nearby churchyard, arranged by their uncle, Edward Cluett.

Her father, the Viscount of Orton, had not a male heir to whom he could have left the affairs of their estate, so it would pass to his younger brother.

Charity only had a handful of interactions with her uncle thus far, but an unsettling feeling arose inside of her as she thought about what the future held for her.

With the head of the family now gone and no brother to take his place, Charity knew that she, alongside her sisters, had found themselves in a vulnerable spot.

Their uncle held all the power, and their way of life would be dependent on him as he held the title.

They would now be reliant on him for their living.

“I despise the spectacle of it all,” Augusta whisper-yelled to her once again, keeping her eyes trained firmly on the ground.

Charity instantly knew that she was referring to the pitiful watchful eyes of the guests, fixed onto the three ladies as though their lives had now forever fractured. “And I refuse to meet their gaze.”

Charity nodded slightly, agreeing. Her own gaze was fixed on the polished wood of the coffin as it rested above the open earth. Though it was a cold afternoon, she hardly felt the cold at all.

Matilda clutched Charity’s hand with a fierce, childish determination. “Are they truly gone?”

Charity’s throat tightened.

“Yes,” Charity said, knowing that there is not much to be said that could comfort the little one. It was a bitter reality, and she had arrived at it earlier than most of her peers. “She is there.”

Matilda’s lip wobbled, just barely managing to keep herself from crying. “I know that Mama hated it whenever it was dark, and she must be having the most miserable time in there. She must be frightened.”

“She is at peace now,” Charity told her, and she reached instinctively for the rosary at her throat, thumb passing over one bead and then the next with the unconscious rhythm of long habit.

Charity considered herself to be someone who had strong faith. It felt like a necessary prerequisite in her life, where uncertainty felt like the only constant at times.

Her faith was such that no matter what turmoil life presented her with, she had a staunch belief that she would be able to get herself through it through knowing that Someone was listening, even when no one else cared to.

“How can you be so certain?” Matilda looked up at her older sister, who was nearly two feet taller.

“God is looking after her now,” Charity admitted.

“You say it as though you have seen it.”

Her eyes flicked to her sister’s profile.

It was terrible that she had to go through this grief.

Since Charity had moved back to her parents' home exactly a year and a half ago, the relationships between the three sisters had improved steadily.

At first, there had been lingering awkwardness that had made Charity worry that things would never improve.

But soon, as the time passed, she found herself forming closer bonds with her sisters.

Now, this misfortune had brought them even closer.

Their parents had been ill for some time, and the physicians had long indicated that there would be no saving them.

The two had passed within a day of each other, making Charity believe that they must truly have been destined to be with each other. Both in this lifetime and the next.

But as far as her own relationship with them was concerned, she would consider it taut at best. Despite being their eldest daughter and firstborn, they had just not been able to accept her with the same love that she thought parents ought to give.

It was a distant relationship between them, and they avoided getting close to her.

Perhaps if Charity had been a different kind of person, she would have used that as evidence to feel sorry for herself.

But she did not believe in self-pity, and in any case, there was no discussion of it now.

Her parents had been called back to God, and she would never complain about them, even in her own heart.

“I believe it,” Charity said to her sister, “And I must believe it.”

Matilda sniffed, looking at her again and sniffing softly. “If God took them, can’t God give them back?”

Augusta’s shoulders stiffened, and it appeared that she had been listening to the conversation without making it show. Charity swallowed the burn in her throat and stroked Matilda’s knuckles through her glove.

“We can pray,” Charity said softly. “We can ask for anything, my love.”

“And what if the answer is no?” Matilda demanded, making her youth apparent.

“God knows best,” Charity responded, and it was clear that she truly believed it. “And we keep praying regardless.”

“How can you speak like that today, when everything has been taken?” Augusta’s eyes flashed.

Charity looked at her fully then, and in Augusta she saw the same terror she felt herself. The only difference was how both chose to deal with it.

“I must have faith,” Charity said clearly and then lowered her voice so that only Matilda could hear.“ Otherwise, I will fall apart, and if I fall apart, you will too, and Matilda…” she glanced down at the little girl’s trembling mouth, “...will have no one to hold on to at all.”

Augusta’s mouth opened, as if to protest, but the priest’s voice rose above them. He was calling for silence, as it was time for the burial.

Charity’s gaze went back to the coffin, and her heart did a strange thing, a painful tightening.

She had known her parents for scarcely more than a year and a half.

Now they were gone. If she had any hope for their relationship to improve within their lifetime, there was no possibility of it anymore. That door had forever closed. She was grieving not only their deaths but the possibility of ever knowing them properly at all.

Matilda squeezed her hand again, as if sensing Charity’s thoughts. “Charity,” she whispered, “promise me you won’t die.”

The request struck Charity like a blow, and she was caught off guard by just how innocent it was.

Charity bent closer to Matilda, “I am not going anywhere.”

“Promise,” Matilda’s eyes searched her face.

“I promise,” Charity said, closing her eyes.

The coffin began to lower, ropes creaking softly.

Matilda made a small, strangled noise and buried her face against Charity’s skirts.

Augusta stood rigid beside them, her lips pressed together.

It was a startling realization that they were not simply sisters standing at a grave; they were three girls with a title and a fortune and no parents to take care of them any longer.

The rest of the funeral passed by in a daze. Charity did not recall the people who stopped her to pay her condolences, or the glances of pity that she received as she passed them by. It was still a new world for her, and things would take some time to grasp.

But what she did remember was being summoned to a side just as they were about to leave for their Estate.

“My dear nieces.”

The voice belonged to Edward Cluett, or rather, the new Lord Orton. He stood a few paces away, dressed in immaculate black, and his gloved hands resting lightly on the head of his cane as though he were an observer rather than a participant in grief.

“Uncle,” Augusta said, not bothering to hide the displeasure in her voice.

Edward’s gaze flicked to her, and a faint smile touched his mouth as though he found her hostility mildly amusing.

“Miss Augusta,” he replied, and then his attention moved to Matilda. “And little Matilda.”

Matilda shrank closer to Charity without speaking. The entire exchange, although innocuous on the surface, unsettled her. One should not assume the worst of people, but Charity got the odd sense that her uncle was preying on them like a buzzard. His mannerisms surely seemed to suggest so.

She stiffened slightly at the realization, and realized the shift in her demeanor, and immediately took on an expression of concern.

He must be watching me closely, she thought.

“I am so dreadfully sorry about your poor father and mother. It is a tragedy, truly,” Edward went on.

Even when expressing his condolences, he kept a sharp eye on her at all times, as though he was afraid to miss out on some vital piece of information that could be conveyed by the slight flicker in Charity’s expression.

Charity kept her face composed as a result. She did not want to let too much of her internal feeling show, as she simply did not feel safe enough to do so.

“I do appreciate your concern. Thank you,” she said evenly. Edward nodded, as though satisfied by her restraint.

“And yet, we must be practical, must we not? Even tragedy does not halt the responsibilities of life.”

“We have barely finished burying them,” Augusta cut in with a scowl on her face.

Edward’s brows lifted condescendingly, as though he regarded her as an inconvenience at best.

“Yes, and that is precisely why we must speak. The transition is now. If we delay, the consequences multiply.”

Charity’s fingers found her rosary again, and she forced her voice to remain calm.