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The ground had been cold and unyielding, as if the earth itself did not want to accept Cedric's death. The funeral was over, and Theodore was forever separated from his brother. He would never again see him or his smile, and he found himself wondering if he could find a way to bear it all.

Darcy had stood beside him, silently supporting him through it all.

Despite his dislike of crowds, Darcy was a bulwark protecting him from the numbers of unknown well-wishers.

So many gentlemen had shown trying to gain favor with the new Earl of Matlock.

He found himself wishing for the people in his life that society would not allow at the funeral—the women.

Catherine and her sisters would have been so much more comforting than the posturing men that had shown.

It was all a hazy, surreal dream to Theodore. He had gotten used to waking up from his nightmares sweat-soaked and shaking, but this time he found he did not have the power to wake up from the madness that was his reality. How could his brother be dead, and from a carriage accident no less?

His brother was only thirty-four and healthy.

He was actually doing things with his life.

Despite the chaos of parliament, he remained resolute in his mission to fix things for the greater good.

He was making changes in the world to help people, and it had seemed as though he had finally found a woman he could like as a wife.

Given enough time, he could possibly love her, and now he was dead?

With no regard for his hopes and dreams, and how much he meant to everyone.

No regard to how much Theodore depended on him.

“My lord, there are callers.” A noise penetrated the fog in his mind. “My lord?”

It took a moment for Theodore to register that someone was speaking.

It took much longer for him to realize that someone was speaking to him.

Why was he being called my lord ? That was not his title.

He was a sir, a colonel, or if they were family, people called him Theodore or Theo.

Why did people insist on calling him lord?

That was not him. That was his brother. He had not been raised to be an earl.

He was the spare and had been raised to be sent off to war.

His duty was to the regulars, and he had always expected to die on the field of battle.

While he had healed from his injuries at Badajoz, it hadn’t been enough to return to war and so he was stuck being the failure who could not return to his assigned task.

It left him in an odd limbo, trying to find his place in a world that he was unfamiliar with.

He knew war and dirt and grime and pain; he did not know the grandeur and expectations and lies that filled society.

It was a battlefield he was not ready for.

Life had thrust him into the role of earl following his brother's untimely death, and Theodore felt the impossible weight of his brother's legacy on his shoulders.

The task ahead of him was far beyond his expertise, but he could not fail his brother, so he gritted his teeth and endured.

He had experience with endurance. He could recognize that, at least. Turning to the voice, he focused on the person who spoke.

“I'm sorry, I was lost in thought. Did you need me for something, Barnes?”

“My apologies for disturbing you, my lord, but there are callers. Are you at home?” Barnes stood with a slight forward lean and a wrinkled brow.

After years of being Theodore's batman on the continent, Barnes made the commitment to stay with him, even when Theodore had to part ways with the regulars. They had been through a lot together.

“I will come down. Do I look presentable?” Theodore stood and smoothed down his waistcoat.

He always remembered his brother being perfectly turned out and looked down at what he wore.

He was suddenly concerned that he might not measure up to the expectations of Cedric's friends and wanted to avoid any missteps.

“You are entirely presentable.”

“Thank you, Barnes.” Leaving the sitting room, Theodore went down to speak with the people who had called to offer their condolences. It was going to be a long day.

Catherine watched Elizabeth bring Lady Matlock a cup of tea where she sat by the fireplace.

She had never understood the custom that prevented women from attending funerals.

She had once heard that a woman’s sensibilities were too delicate to attend a funeral, no matter how close you were to the deceased.

Were men afraid that the women would cry? So what if they cried? Catherine was not ashamed of the tears she shed for poor Cedric. Looking at the ceiling, Catherine worried for Theodore. He had gone up to his room without saying a word after the funeral.

“Lady Matlock, you really must eat something. Why don’t you have a biscuit with your tea.” Elizabeth was kneeling next to Lady Matlock, trying to remind her to take care of herself. “Callers will be coming. I know you want to represent Cedric well, but you cannot do that if let yourself grow weak.”

Catherine suppressed a smile at the way Elizabeth was able to get Lady Matlock to listen.

She suspected very few people would be successful in such an endeavor.

Looking around the room, Catherine tried to see if there was anything she could help with.

Georgiana was sitting on a settee in the corner being comforted by Mary.

The sideboard was covered with finger foods and an urn of coffee. Things seemed to be well in hand.

Motion in the doorway drew her attention where one of the servants stood looking anxious. Looking around, she did not see William, so she went to speak with him. “What is the matter?”

The well-dressed footman looked at Lady Matlock who had not spoken anything in some time before speaking softly. “There are callers, Miss Catherine, but the earl is not down yet.”

Glancing at her sister who had finally gotten Lady Matlock to drink some tea and eat half a biscuit, she made a judgment call. “He will be down as soon as he can. For now, feel free to let the callers in. Lady Matlock is as ready as she will ever be.”

“As you wish, Miss Catherine.” Bowing, the footman left.

Standing close to the door, Catherine readied herself for the people coming to offer condolences to the family.

She greeted them briefly as they trickled through before they moved on to speak with Lady Matlock.

Oddly enough, though she had not spoken to anyone since Catherine arrived, she spoke to all of the guests.

Lady Matlock gripped the hand of the woman in front of her. “Yes, I miss my dear Cedric so. He was the best of sons. You have no idea how I suffer here with no other ladies in the family to comfort me.” She began chatting with the others who came in, soaking up their sympathy like a sponge.

Soon enough the Bennet ladies were on the periphery, serving tea and chatting with those who Lady Matlock did not draw in. Catherine was perfectly happy standing to the side and being ignored by most of the visitors. She strategically stood by the entrance so she could watch the stairs.

Her wait was rewarded when a bleak Colonel Fitzwilliam descended the stairs.

She knew he was now Theodore Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, but he would not feel comfortable with the title yet.

Somehow, she knew it was too soon. Slipping out of the room, she went to him as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Looking up into his eyes, she knew that there was nothing she could say, that his pain was too great for mere words to help.

Guiding him over to the nearby settee she got him to sit down and sitting next to him she took one of his large, calloused hands in one of hers.

They sat in silence while he tightly gripped at the lifeline she offered.

Eventually visitors noticed him sitting at the side of the room and approached to speak with the new earl and Catherine was forced to move away.

She knew she could not stay; it would look unseemly holding his hand, but she ached for him.

How did one recover from the loss of a dear sibling?

Was it even possible for him to recover from such a shock?

Sitting at the head of the table felt wrong to Theodore.

He gazed down the table to his mother sitting at the other end, nothing but empty seats between them, and was overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness.

He couldn't help but notice that the dish in front of him was made up entirely of his favorite foods.

It was apparent that Mrs. Goodwin had noted his lack of appetite, and she wanted him to eat, tempting him with all the food she knew he liked.

He idly wondered if she would serve syllabub with dinner.

“It was nice of the Baldwins to come and offer their condolences,” his mother spoke up between bites of food.

“Yes, I was not aware that Cedric knew the marquess.” The sea of people coming in and out all day seemed never ending.

It was a shock to him when he realized the number of titled people present at any given time, though it probably should not have surprised him.

His brother had spent most of his time in parliament with many of the members of the titled class.

The titles meant nothing to Theodore though, for he had only found comfort with one visitor.

“It was nice of the Bennet ladies to lend their support today.”

“Yes, well, your brother spent his time cultivating many important relationships. He was always attending one gathering or another. So important.” Taking up her handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes.

She looked tired and worn out, as if the last few days had aged her prematurely.

The shock of losing her oldest son had visibly been hard on her, so much so that he refrained from mentioning her lack of appreciation for the Bennets.