Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Shall I bother offering a copper for your thoughts, brother? Though, perhaps I should keep my coin to myself as it is painfully obvious what must be consuming your mind at a time like this," Dolores started, her voice full of acerbic snark. "Is it thoughts of our dearly departed father? No, I do not think it is. I would bet that it is about a person, though, is it not?"

When Dorian chose to roll his head in her direction and give his younger sister the attention she was so desperate for, she wore her smug satisfaction proudly. She would do anything to cut him down.

She had been allowed to run rampant for far too long, and it was obvious. Dolores was far too accustomed to getting her way. Mother, for as dearly as he loved her, lacked the strength to contain her willful daughter.

"No, I think I could imagine that you have a particular maiden in mind. One with cornsilk hair and porcelain skin. Is that not what you used to write her? Eyes brighter than any emerald? I do hope you have grown out of those horribly poetic days and managed to become a real man in your absence. Though, I also know better than to set my hopes too high."

Dorian smirked coldly, for he could not stop it. He would not stoop to her level. He had plans for how he was going to handle her and now was neither the time nor the place. Dolores would have a very cold awakening tomorrow morning.

She had no manner of respect for the drastic changes that his presence would bring upon her life yet, but he would ensure that she learned quickly. The surest way of irritating her further would be to pay her no attention whatsoever.

Today was for Mother, and he would not add further to her pain.

"Oh, come now! Can we dispense with the melancholy? Pull yourself together at the very least and make an attempt to not seem so damned forlorn!" Dolores continued, her voice bordering on theatrical hysteria.

"Lower your tone; you are upsetting Mother," Dorian warned as he noticed Mary sit up even straighter. Today was difficult enough. "Or do I need to remind you that we have buried her husband today? Our father? The one whom you are claiming sole affection for?"

"Oh, come off of it, brother. You never cared for Father. Where were you during his days of illness? Mother and I were the ones by his side while you traipsed around Greece and India and who knows where else! We were the ones here to care for him! Not you!"

"Ah, is that the heart of the issue, then? You are jealous, once again, that I was permitted to travel and that you were required to stay home by Father's command?" Dorian said calmly.

Dolores blanched. She had begged and pleaded with Father to be allowed to travel with Dorian. She had thought he would be her ticket out of London, as she had had no desire to be a part of the marriage mart. She had not been inclined to find a husband nor to run a house of her own at the time, and now it seemed one of those two statements was still true.

Over the years, as her hatred for society's rigid standards had shifted to Dorian, she must have decided that she could simply become a man in her own rights.

"I-I am not the one who abandoned his family after an improper match!" Dolores tried.

"No, you have simply had no matches at all." Dorian sighed.

"She did not love you!" Dolores yelled.

Silence fell. For a moment, just a small sliver of a moment, it almost seemed as if she developed a conscience to scold her for the hurtful words that she said to her brother.

Even Mary seemed to hold her breath as she placed a gentle hand on her daughter's knee, a warning that she ought to be careful how she proceeded. The birds persisted in their chirping outside of the carriage and their journey to the cemetery did not slow, but it did nothing to ease the hurt.

Of course she did not love him. He had accepted that a long time ago.

"Are you quite finished?" Dorian said through his teeth, his voice tight.

"S-she…" Dolores swallowed. She turned her focus to the black fabric of her mourning gown and spoke more softly. "She married not long after you left. You know this. And I just… you have responsibilities now, brother, and I am afraid. I… Mother and I cannot afford for your focus to be split during this transition."

While her words were still selfishly motivated, Dorian understood. "I have no intentions of—"

"You cannot go to see her. Let her live her life. I know you might be tempted to pay her a visit. But she married a clergyman, Dorian; she lived a whole life after you. Nobody even speaks of it any longer. Please, you cannot be distracted," Dolores pleaded.

A clergyman. Lower than him in rank and title.

Emotion tightened in Dorian's throat. "I know my duties, Dolores, and I am perfectly capable of fulfilling them. I do urge you not to continue to underestimate me."

He could feel her eyes on her as if appraising him. There was no softness left in him. He did not wish to see her. He had no desire to see Claire happy with this clergyman or to know of the way she chose to spend her life. Seeing her could only result in further pain for him, and he was in no hurry to bring that upon himself. He would be plenty busy with other matters.

"No, I suppose that I should not," Dolores concluded with a final look.

The carriage rolled to a stop and the footman opened the door. The scent of wet grass and freshly turned earth greeted him. The sun was punishingly warm over their all-black mourning garb as Dorian gracefully slipped from the carriage and held his hand out for his mother. She wobbled on her feet for a moment, but summoned her courage to lead the procession at his side to their family plot.

Dolores refused his help and trailed silently after them as they headed through the wrought-iron gates with "Blanchard" in cursive scrawled across the top. The Earl of Windham was a title that had been held in their family for the last five generations.

Mother hesitated at the threshold of the gate and inhaled sharply to summon her courage. The procession of mourners behind them all copied her movements as they approached the vicar who would read the last rites over the freshly buried coffin.

Dorian could hardly hear the words as they were read.

He wondered if his sister was correct. Did he have the right to mourn when he had been away? It mattered not the circumstances that prevented his return even a day earlier. His sister would think it was due only to his broken heart and he was willing to allow her to think him the villain. He knew the truth. The man in the ground knew the truth. That was enough.

Mother pressed herself into his side as he held her. She wept for the loss of her true love and the years that they ought to have still had together. Dorian? He felt nothing. He felt as if there was an emptiness inside of him. Something hollow that he could not fathom a bottom to. A chasm that could never again be filled, no matter how he tried.

All he could do was to go through the motions. He rubbed Mother's upper arm as she cried. The other guests looked on with pity.

And the damned sun still shone bright and steady overhead.

Dorian turned his head to the side; he could not hear the rites anyway. He had thought they were the only funeral in this cemetery today, but in the distance stood a woman and a young girl. She could not be more than five years old for how she shifted herself anxiously from foot to foot and pulled at her mother's skirts.

The woman did not wear funeral black. It would seem whoever she was visiting was not newly deceased. She wore a soft pink gown, perfectly complementary to the powder blue of her daughter's. The young girl had twin braids of golden blond hair that caught the sunlight as if she were a magnet for all things happy and light.

It was a strange thought, but perhaps the sun shone so brightly today because the young girl was here. She smiled up at her mother—and only then did Dorian realize who it was that he was looking at.

Claire.

Still so much the same—her hair the same golden shade as her daughter's, still the same as ever. The natural dusty-rose shade to her full lips, the natural blush to her otherwise fair cheek. A face that never needed the enhancement of cosmetics. She had a mole just under her right eye and a kind smile as she squatted down to point something out to her daughter on the headstone they stood before.

What cruel twist of fate must it be to bring her here today of all days? Why was it that one of the first people that he was destined to encounter happened to be one of the very people he was sworn to stay far away from?

It took Dolores half a second to notice Claire's presence. She grabbed his hand subtly, holding firmly in silent warning that he ought to stay away. As if she had any right to command anything of him whatsoever.

He turned back to the vicar and watched the man's mouth move, though there was now a steady ringing in his ears. His pulse thundered as his mind supplied everything that it ought not to. It should not tell him that it could have been his daughter—that it should have been his own small family together today. If she had to be here, it ought to have been at his side.

No, Claire had made her choice.

She could rot with it.