will see you both shortly?” Atwood finally asked.
It was more of a command than a question. Sebastian nodded.
It was quiet after they left. Hand in hand, Sebastian and Emma walked through the small cemetery, passing his ancestors’ well-tended graves.
“‘Tis a pretty spot,” Emma remarked.
“Yes, all things considered.” Sebastian gazed into the distance, taking note of the sea of blue wildflowers dotting the landscape, their vibrant color a sharp foil to the rich, green grass. Funny, his grandmother had always had a particular fondness for any shade of blue.
“You know, Sebastian, you might feel better if you cried,” Emma said. “There is no shame in feeling such deep sorrow at your loss. I vow, I sobbed for weeks when my parents died.”
“You were five years old.”
Emma grunted. For the first time that day, Sebastian laughed. He knew she wanted to argue with him, to press her point, but her kind heart would not allow her to challenge him on such a sad day.
He swung their clasped hands up to his face, pressing her gloved knuckles against his cheek. Then he lowered his arm and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, making it all proper and correct between them. Well, except for the lack of a chaperone.
“Did you know that I saw the countess the day before she died?” Emma asked.
Sebastian nodded. “She spoke briefly of your visit. It was kind of you to think of her. Not many bothered to call on a sick old woman.”
“In addition to my visit, I delivered something. Since you haven’t said anything about it, I assume your grandmother didn’t speak of it.”
“She only told me that you had called.”
Emma’s brows knit together with uncertainty. “I know she wanted to show it to you, but I imagine she lacked the strength.” Emma paused. “I brought her your portrait.”
“You finished it?”
“Yes. The main portion had been completed for several weeks. I was worried about rushing the finishing touches, but I knew the countess did not have much longer to live. Thankfully, having a shortened deadline did not hinder my work. I believe she was very pleased with the final result,” Emma concluded modestly.
Sebastian felt a tug of wistfulness. He was glad that the countess had seen the work finished, yet felt sorry that they had not had the chance to view the portrait together, especially since it had been his grandmother’s idea.
Though she was young, and a female, Emma’s artistic talent had impressed the countess. Without hesitation, and over Sebastian’s protests, his grandmother had commissioned the portrait. But his initial grumbling quickly faded. Emma was not a giggling, spoiled debutante who dabbled with her brushes and colors. She was a serious artist with a phenomenal talent.
Spending time sitting for the painting had given Sebastian a rare gift. A friendship with Emma, his first with a member of the opposite sex. It was something he valued greatly.
“Tell me, do I look impossibly handsome in my portrait?” he asked.
“I am an artist, Sebastian, not a magician.”
“You are a cheeky brat,” he stated emphatically.
Emma tugged insistently on his arm. “And you are far too vain. Impossibly handsome, indeed. I painted you as you are, though the countess thought I might have embellished the width of your shoulders and the firmness of your jaw.”
“Ah, so the women will be impressed?”
“Yes, they shall be swooning in alarming numbers when they gaze upon the splendor of your male beauty.”
“Rendered speechless, perhaps?”
“Struck dumb,” Emma insisted.
“Alas, that is hardly difficult for many a young lady in society.”
Emma’s brow arched the tiniest fraction. ‘Twas far too worldly a gesture for such an innocent young woman. “Your opinion of the gentler sex is alarmingly insulting. We are not all a bunch of ninnies.”
“I can count on one hand the number of women who possess more brains than God gave a goose.”
Emma shook her head. “Have you ever considered that the reason there are so many foolish, empty-headed young women littered throughout society is because they are deliberately kept ignorant by the men who seek to control them?” “Protect them,” he countered. “Rubbish.” Emma sighed loudly. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
Sebastian admired the way her chin angled up when she grew perturbed. She was a very pretty girl. A few years of maturity on her face and figure and Emma would become a truly stunning woman.
“Though you are loath to acknowledge it, we both know there are females in society who do indeed require male protection, mostly to save them from themselves,” he said. “I daresay you’ve already met one or two of these types this Season. Trust me, there will be others.”
“Honestly, Sebastian, you are such an old curmudgeon at times. I don’t understand how you can possibly have such a dashing reputation.”
“I confess to working rather hard at it.” Sebastian smiled. This was just the kind of distracting conversation he needed right now. In a few minutes he would have to face his relatives and then later the reading of the will. Knowing his grandmother, there were bound to be some surprises.
They reached the end of the short row of graves and turned to walk up the next. Sebastian glanced idly to his left, where his eyes set upon a tall, marble headstone. Evangeline Katherine Maria Dodd, fifth Countess of Benton. Mother.
The lightness of the moment vanished. For a fraction of a second Sebastian felt a bolt of fear so intense it nearly knocked him off his feet. Coldness seeped into his chest, spreading rapidly across his skin.
The rhythmic, creaking sound of a swaying rope echoed inside his brain and he shut his eyes tightly trying to keep at bay what was sure to follow. Yet the image materialized. Every inch as horrific as it had been on that fateful afternoon nearly eighteen years ago.
He had been home from school on holiday, happy to once again be at Chaswick Manor. He was happiest of all, however, to be reunited with his mother. It was a secret he kept from even his closest schoolmates, knowing they would tease him mercilessly about how dearly he loved her.
Sebastian’s father had died when he was very young, leaving no lasting memories. Though there were moments when he felt the loss of a father, they never lasted, thanks to his mother.
The countess had been a beautiful woman. She had not remarried, but instead devoted herself to her only child, taking an active interest in everything he did. She had cried copious tears when he left for school, wrote faithfully to him every week, and made it seem like a special holiday whenever he came home.
Yet on this particular visit there was something very different about the viscountess. She was distant and preoccupied, at times quick to anger, at others melting into puddles of tears without cause or provocation. She spared hardly a glance at her son, keeping to her rooms, taking her meals alone, never venturing far from the manor house.
There were no special hugs, no affectionate ruffling of his hair, no twinges of pride in her voice when she spoke to him. His numerous attempts to coax a smile from her lips were unsuccessful. Worried that the reports of his less than perfect behavior and his average grades were the cause of this unwelcome change, Sebastian set out one afternoon to gather the largest bouquet of wildflowers he could find.
It had taken him nearly an hour, but the result was spectacular. Hoping the gesture would lift her spirits and return to her face the smile he so treasured, Sebastian knocked on his mother’s bedchamber door.
There was no answer. He knocked harder and still no response. He should have left, but