Lady Sedgwick gave Graham a sympathetic smile as he approached. “She is devastated, Your Grace,” the girl’s mother said, her own eyes red with tears. “To lose such a close friend is truly heartbreaking. The two were like sisters.”
“Closer, even,” Graham sighed. “Lady Bridget was dearer to my sister than me even.”
“Don’t say so, Your Grace,” Lady Sarah gently disagreed. “Mary loved and missed you every day. She spoke of you often.”
Graham tried not to let her words break him. “She did?”
“Yes,” Lady Sarah said. “She wondered when you would return home. We all wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Indeed,” Graham said.
“I think Bridget may wish to tarry here a little longer,” she murmured. “I’m due to return to the house to arrange afternoon tea.”
Graham saw an opportunity in that. He wanted to get Bridget alone to ask her about Mary’s death, but he hadn’t yet had the chance. He schooled his expression and nodded gravely.
“If you must leave, I can ensure Bridget’s safe return home,” he said. “My carriage is waiting at the church. I meant to stop by your home to say hello to your family, regardless.”
“Lord Sedgwick is away on business, but you are always more than welcome at our house, Your Grace,” Lady Sarah said, her kindness warming his heart. “With any other man, I would of course be remiss in allowing my daughter alone with him, but you’re as good as family, Your Grace. Please, see her home safely.”
“Of course,” Graham said.
He nodded respectfully as Sarah smiled and went to join her daughter. They conversed quietly. He felt a pang of guilt for wanting to ask Bridget about his sister's death, knowing it would only add to her anguish—but, hopefully, he could try to ensure his line of questioning wouldn't upsether further.
Lady Sarah departedshortly after, leaving Bridget alone at the mausoleum. The rain finally stopped, and she weptfor her friend while resting her hand on the old stone of the Barnet tomb. Graham approached slowly, not wanting to intrude but wanting to share her grief. Albeit havingquestions for her, he truly believed she was the only one who could comprehend the depth of his grief.
Though they had not always been close, he and Mary had, nevertheless, shared so much. Their mutual love of riding had been one of the things that had brought them together, and it had helped to get them through the dark days after their father’s death. Graham could not help but see his sister before him, dressed in her favorite green riding habit, her long hair piled up under her hat, only to come loose as she galloped over the Hertfordshire hills. He was struck by a memory of the two of them when they were younger, just after they'd learned their father had passed and that Graham was now the duke.
The burden of his new position at a young age combined with the sorrow had almost crushed him. He'd retreated to his chambers and spent hours reading the same line of a novel over and over—until Mary had put a stop to his melancholy.
She'd forced him out and into the stables, and she had dared him to ride without a saddle, along with her. Just them and their horses. She could not have been more than nine or ten. He'd taken her challenge, and they'd ridden through the woods together—Mary sitting in the most unladylike posture, straddling the horse. Their mother would have suffered apoplexy at seeing her like that. But at the time, on that night, it was what they had both needed.
He gulped as reality crept into his pleasant daydream. Who would have thought that a few short years later he would be mourning her as he had once done his father? He glanced at Bridget, who seemed to have composed herself. Does she have such visions of Mary, he wondered,as he stood in front of her dear friend's final resting place? A desire to share his grief with her, to soak in her soothing company, overcame him, and he stepped forward.
“I do not mean to interrupt, but…” Graham began.
“It’s no interruption,” Bridget said. With two gloved hands, she delicately pulled back her veil to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. Graham could not yet see her face fully, but he caught a glimpse of red lips and cheeks rosy with a faint blush. “I should compose myself. It isn’t ladylike to—”
“You have lost your best friend,” Graham said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “It is nothing to be ashamed of.”
In that moment, Bridget looked up at him and it was as if Graham’s entire world stood still.
The gangly, wild girl he had once known had vanished, and in her place stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes, a deep emerald-green made brighter by tears, were the first to catch his attention. They were so large that they completely enraptured him, but the rest of her face somehow matched them in beauty. He followed the bridge of her nose down to her full, red lips, which were pert and delicate. Graham was nearly rendered speechless as he stared openly at her.
“Oh, no,” Bridget said, her thick, dark eyelashes fluttering. “Is it-I must look terrible after all the weeping I’ve done. I’ve been so silly.”
“No, not at all,” Graham said. “You are…”
He couldn’t find the words. She was, quite literally, stunning.
“You’ve changed,” he finally said.
Bridget let out a small laugh, the sound hoarse after all her crying. “Of course, I have,” she said. “It’s been six years.”
Graham managed to shake himself out of his stupor, giving her the first real smile he’d worn all day. “I… I suppose it has,” he said. “Lady Bridget, let us leave this place. We will continue to grieve Mary, but she would want us to talk, wouldn’t she?”
Bridget cast a wistful glance at the mausoleum, then slowly nodded her head. “Yes, I suppose she would. But Graham, please call me Bridget. Wasn’t it you who suggested we should not be so formal?”
“Why, yes I did,” he smiled. “Bridget. My carriage is at the church. We can take that, or we could walk through the village.”