When one is the rightful heir and the other wants everything just for himself. Josephine realised that she was caught in the middle of a succession war.
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In the end, they walked, leading their horses behind them, because the family mausoleum was not that far from the manor. They reached it by strolling through elaborate, well-maintained gardens. Josephine was left with the impression that the gardens had been designed to bring tranquillity to anyone travelling through them so that when they reached their final destination, they would arrive with a sense of peace.
Like everything else Josephine had seen at Tiffin House, the mausoleum was magnificent. It sat in a clearing, its stone spires competing with the surrounding trees for height. Stained-glass windows adorned and brought muted and coloured sunlight into the cold building.
Josephine thought it was probably the marble tombs inside that held the warmth at bay. Several lined the walls, each providing a place where an intricate carving of a man lay next to that of a woman—both exhibited in their prime even if death had not arrived until long past that moment. A kindness to those housed within and to those who would visit their ancestors—who were always displayed at their best.
In the centre of the building were the resting places of the fifth Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, who'd been taken from this earth much too soon. Hero's parents.
He stood there now, his hands resting on his mother's marble form, his head bent, his eyes closed in solemn reflection. Although eight years had passed since he'd lost them, it was evident he still mourned their passing. It was another side to him that she'd never before witnessed: a man who cared so deeply.
Her heart tightened at the grief he so clearly still felt. Quietly she moved up and placed her hand on his firm back, to provide him with a small measure of solace.
"I wasn't with them when they died," he rasped.
She placed her other hand on his arm, squeezing gently, offering what comfort she could, although she knew nothing would be enough. "Few children are."
"I should have been."
His voice contained a tinge of anger. Not that she could blame him.
His parents weren't so very old when they'd died.
"I've never known anyone who has mourned so deeply for so long. You must have loved them a great deal." And she couldn't help but hope that a day would come when he'd love her as much.
"Indeed I have held on to my grief. This is the first time—" He cleared his throat. "I've never visited them here before today. I...couldn't...bring myself to come, but seeing their peaceful images carved in white marble serves to make their deaths all too real."
"They wouldn't want you to continue to mourn."
"I'm sure they wouldn't. Would you mind allowing me a few moments alone?"
Although she wished he would welcome her nearness, she understood the process of grief, having been close to her grandparents and losing them when she was young. She squeezed his arm again before walking quietly from the building into the sunshine, grateful for its warmth chasing away the chill.
