Chapter 18
When Alaric heard the gentle knock on his office door, his heart leaped and his head snapped up because he thought it might be Miss Kavanagh again … he hoped that it was.
That she had come to see him earlier was something that Alaric could not move on from. She had not come because she wanted something from him. She had not stopped by because she was told to do so. All she wanted was to help.
It was a fresh reminder that Alaric needed. He was distraught with the news about Aisling, and he was confused and unsure about how to proceed – especially where his cousin was concerned. But he was not alone.
She cares for me deeply, more than I deserve, and more than I know what to do with.
More strangely still, Alaric did not feel nearly as guilty as he should have done. Whatever it was that he felt for Miss Kavanagh, it was not wrong, and it was something to be cherished and held onto.
“Ah, there he is …” Peregrine stepped into the office. “Right where I thought he would be.”
Alaric’s face dropped when his friend entered the office. He very nearly scowled in frustration, because it was not who he wished to see. But Peregrine looked sadly at him, none of the usual humor in his eyes, and Alaric understood why his friend had come.
“You heard,” Alaric sighed.
“Not at first,” Peregrine said as he approached the desk and sat down. “All I was told was that you might wish to see me. Someone seemed to think that you could use a friend.”
“Who?”
Peregrine winked. “A certain housekeeper concerned for your well-being. And a good thing that she was, too. Why did you not send for me as soon as you learned what had happened? You know I would have come.”
“Miss Kavanagh …” Alaric spoke the name slowly and in bewilderment as warmth steadily rose inside him, fighting back the dredging cold that had been his companion all day. “She sent for you?”
“She did,” Peregrine said. “Clearly, she cares for you, Alaric. Or maybe she was just sick of seeing you mope around this place, and she wished to ease her own burden. I cannot say which.”
Alaric continued to stare blankly at his friend. That he was here was one thing, and Alaric was grateful for the support. But that Miss Kavanagh had sent for him … that she was worried enough about Alaric to do so … she is more than a friend. So much more …
“So, you heard the news.” Alaric pushed thoughts of Miss Kavanagh from his mind and slumped back in his chair. “Aisling …”
“A tragedy,” Peregrine said with sadness. “Do you have any notion of how it happened? I did not even know that Aisling liked to sail, let alone that she was confident enough to take a boat out by herself.”
“Nor did I,” Alaric admitted bitterly.
His cousin was behind this somehow. Alaric had thought much of their confrontation, and he did not waste time trying to make excuses for the man either. He was involved in Aisling’s death. But was it an accident? Was it purposeful? Or was something there that Alaric was missing …
Crispin had not been seen since yesterday. For the best, Alaric decided, because he could not say what might happen the next time that they met. Nothing good, most likely.
“How is Verity?” Peregrine asked next. “I have not seen her yet.”
“She is as you would expect.” Alaric tore his thoughts from his cousin because they only filled him with rage that he could do nothing about.
“The entire household … it has hit us hard, Peregrine. And with Aisling’s memorial right around the corner, too.
” He sighed and shook his head at the thought.
“I doubt we can go through with it now.”
“Perhaps not,” Peregrine agreed. “But that does not mean that nothing should be done.”
“What do you mean?”
“It is not traditional, but perhaps a second funeral, instead of a memorial service?” Peregrine looked sadly at Alaric across the table. “There was not a chance to bury her the first time, as she deserved, so why not change that? I think that those who knew her would appreciate it.”
“Yes … that is a good idea.” He grimaced as a new thought struck him. “I will have to speak to Verity about it, of course. And who knows how she will react.”
“We will do it together.” Peregrine stood and held out his hand for Alaric to take. “In times like this, a little support goes a long way, old friend.”
Alaric eyed Peregrine’s outstretched hand. It was a small gesture, one that in any other circumstance would not warrant consideration. But in light of what had happened, that hand was yet another reminder of that which Alaric needed to understand. He was not alone in this, nor would he ever be.
Once again, he had Miss Kavanagh to thank.
They found Verity in the feather room. The glass cabinets around her were closed; ignored, it looked like dust gathering on the glass casings.
Her chair was high-backed, turned as if she was purposefully trying to obscure her view of the room’s beauty in favor of the gloomy weather that sat beyond the window. And as she gazed across the estate, her stare was as distant as the pallid sun.
“Verity …” Alaric walked carefully into the room. “Are you well?”
She scoffed softly and shook her head. “Foolish question, Alaric. Of course I am not.”
“Verity, I am so sorry.” Peregrine went to her, dropped to one knee, and took her hand. “If there is anything you need, do not hesitate in asking it.”
She smiled at him but said nothing.
Alaric was not surprised that the news affected his sister this way. She and Aisling were close, and Verity’s despondency was similar to how she had acted when they had first assumed his wife’s death.
What Alaric was surprised by … or rather, what he hated about himself, was how much more upset Verity was than he was.
Oh sure, he was sad, angry, a torrent of raging emotions that were akin to what he had experienced when Aisling’s death was first assumed two years ago.
But Verity was something else. He was stricken with grief, but she was broken by it.
“There is something we need to speak of.” Alaric shook those thoughts from his head and strode into the room. “It concerns the memorial service…”
His sister listened in silence as Alaric explained the change in plan.
While a memorial service had been a good idea, it now felt wrong, and a second funeral to be held on the Saturday seemed more appropriate.
Alaric expected Verity to argue, as that was always her way, but she spoke little, merely nodding her agreement as if she hardly heard a word he said.
“She will recover in time,” Peregrine offered as they left the room together. “Verity is strong; you know this.”
“I know it,” Alaric agreed. “I just do not understand … no, she is right to feel this way. Space and time are what she needs.”
“As we all do,” Peregrine said as he rested a hand on Alaric’s shoulder. “Speaking of which, a drink? I know I could use one.”
“A drink and average company,” Alaric chuckled. “Sounds like a perfect remedy to my woes.”
With that decided, the two men walked together to the drawing room, and it felt good to have someone who Alaric could share his pain with. The Lord knew that there was plenty of it to go around.
***
Alaric decided to skip supper that evening.
Verity was still hidden away in her feather room, Crispin was nowhere to be found, and Alaric’s appetite was nonexistent.
And as Peregrine was forced to return home for the evening, Alaric did not much like the idea of sitting alone in the dining room, his weighty thoughts being the only company to busy himself with.
Rather than eating, Alaric found himself walking through the empty corridors of the castle. It was done in silence, as if he were the only person within its stone walls, and his thoughts continued to batter him with each step.
Sadness at what had happened. Confusion over the why of it. And anger, because Alaric knew there was more to this than had been said.
It was as he walked, not thinking about where he was going, that Alaric heard something … a song in the distance that he mistook for wind until he listened closer.
The melody that drifted through the halls was the type designed to pull at the heart and bleed it dry.
It was sad, yes, but there was a touch of hope to be found between the notes.
Alaric followed the tune as if it called to him, and when he found its source, his smile was perhaps the first real one he had worn in days.
Miss Kavanagh sat alone in the music room, strumming the keys of the pianoforte as if she and the instrument were one.
The room was dark, but the lamp at her feet shone so bright that he thought for a second that she was the source of its light.
As melancholic as the tune was, she glowed like an angel in the darkness.
She is that, in some ways, here to lead me from the dark and into the light …
Alaric stepped slowly into the room, careful not to disturb her. The song she played was felt in his body, seeming to understand his woes while attempting to answer them in the same breath. Was she playing it for him? It felt as if she must have been …
Slowly, the song reached its somber end, and its final note hung in the air and settled upon Alaric like a cloak found in winter.
“That was quite the tune.” Alaric stood just a few feet behind her.
Miss Kavanagh did not start when he spoke, suggesting that she knew he was there. “My mother used to play it for me when I was a little girl,” she said with a touch of sadness in her voice.
“What does it mean?”
“Oh, many things. But I believe its meaning changes, and we take from it what we need. When I was happy, this same song encouraged those feelings inside me. And when I was sad …” She shook her head to herself. “Well, let’s just say the tears I would cry were not those of joy.”
“Do you miss it?” Alaric stepped closer.
“Miss what?”
“Home.” He stepped beside her, resisting the urge to sit down, just as he resisted the urge to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Do you miss home?”