IN THE WEE hours, the earl died.
He slipped off peacefully, leaving the world in his sleep as Lord Stafford had said he would. One instant his breathing rattled noisily; the next he went eerily silent.
Sean and Deirdre both held their breaths for a tense moment, then turned to each other, embracing and holding tight. Deirdre's tears wet her brother's shirtfront, but they were quiet tears. Tears born of grief mixed with relief.
Sean felt exactly the same.
He sat by the earl's side the balance of the night, because it seemed like the right thing to do. And because he wasn't ready to begin what he needed to do next. Because eventually he would finish with that.
And then…
Dawn was a faint glow through the bedroom window when the household stirred to life. Mrs. Skeffington appeared on the threshold, holding an ewer of fresh water. "Is he…?"
"Gone," Sean said quietly. "With the angels."
A sound of sorrow escaped her throat, and she turned and fled, returning a few minutes later with Higginbotham.
"My lord," the steward said, "what shall we do?"
For a moment Sean was nonplussed. He wasn't a lord; he didn't belong here. But Higginbotham didn't know that, of course, and no one else at Lincolnshire House did, either. The lot of them wandered at loose ends, passing by the earl's chamber as though they were all ghosts themselves.
When Sean failed to respond, Higginbotham released a shuddering breath. "There must needs be funeral arrangements, and—"
"I'll see to everything," Sean assured him.
It would be a busy morning.
And then…
"Thank you, my lord earl." Higginbotham forced a wan half smile of gratitude. "I fear I am…numb."
Sean wished he could say the same. He wasn't numb. Pain suffused every fiber of his being. He had to force himself to move, to do what needed to be done.
And then…
Then his empty life stretched ahead.
Seemingly forever.