going.”
She gazed at him with those dark eyes, eyes that seemed to see all the way down to his soul, before turning back to the gravestones. “Nathanial Theophilus Cornelius Rhys, sixth Marquess of Darlington.”
The chasm in Gideon’s chest grew wider as he stared down at Nathanial’s grave. “My brother,” he said quietly. “My father added my mother’s maiden name to his.” Gideon’s lips felt numb, his mouth dry. “The next grave, Cecilia. Whose names are carved onto that headstone?”
Cecilia’s gaze followed his, moving over the names carved into the marble, and he knew it, could see in her sudden stiffness and the pained sound that ripped from her throat the moment she saw it, and realized the truth.
“Read the names, Cecilia. Read them aloud.”
She gazed down at the headstone, lines of pain and grief etched into her pretty face, and then to Gideon’s shock, she knelt down on the frozen ground, heedless of the cold, hard surface abrading her knees, and traced one finger over the names carved into the stone.
He watched, mesmerized, as her dainty fingertip traced his late wife’s name. Cassandra’s stone was a pure, untouched white still, the carving clean and smooth, her grave so recently dug Gideon could still see the edges where the ground hadn’t yet healed.
“Cassandra Elizabeth Belmore Rhys,” Cecilia murmured, but she didn’t stop there. Unlike with the other names, she read each word carved into the marble in a broken voice that made Gideon’s throat close. “Seventh Marchioness of Darlington, beloved wife of Gideon Theophilus Rhys, born November 9, 1769, died October 2, 1793.”
Her voice faded, and the finger moving over the words stilled.
Gideon didn’t need to hear the rest—the dates of both deaths were forever burned into his heart, into his soul—but they’d come this far, and now they’d finish it. “What else does it say? Read it to the end, Cecilia.”
“Nathanial Theophilus Cornelius Rhys, born October 2, 1793, died…” Cecilia let out a shuddering breath and whispered, “Died October 2, 1793.”
Her words fell into a silence that might have gone on forever, but after a struggle Gideon found his voice. “I named my own son after my brother—Nathanial Theophilus Cornelius Rhys. He and his mother were laid to rest in a private ceremony, right here, and not inside the walls of Darlington Castle, no matter what the villagers of Edenbridge say.”
“The roses?” Cecilia reached out a hand to caress the frozen white petals of one of the dozen roses lying on top of the grave. “You have them placed here for them?”
“Every week since they…” Gideon cleared his throat. The dark green leaves were furred with a light layer of frost. He reached out to touch one, and the thin sheet of sparkling ice melted under his fingertip. “These white roses were her favorite. It’s so cold now, they freeze as soon as they’re laid here.”
“They’re beautiful still.” Cecilia caressed the ruffled edges of the white blooms with gentle fingers. “Even frozen, they’re exquisite.”
“Yes.” Frozen at the height of their bloom, lovely still, but no less dead for all their beauty. Gideon stared down at the icy petals, and he felt drained, empty. His limbs trembled with exhaustion, threatening to send him to his knees beside the grave that held everything he’d once loved, everything he’d cherished. But the truth was here, in this graveyard, buried in the frozen ground, and it had taken him so long to get here, to come this far…
“My wife isn’t still alive. She isn’t a ghost haunting Darlington Castle seeking revenge for her murder. She became ill, and she and my son died many years before either of them should have. It isn’t as thrilling as a murderous marquess and a vengeful White Lady, but the truth never is. This truth, Cassandra’s truth, is tragic and…final.”
Cecilia was quiet for a long time before she rose to her feet. She faced him, her dark eyes holding his, then she drew in a deep breath and let it out again in a ragged sigh. “Come back to the castle with me, Gideon. It’s too cold for you out here.”
Gideon blinked, dazed. It was the first time anyone other than Haslemere or his servants had shown the least bit of concern for his welfare. And so, he went with Cecilia without a word of protest, her hand curled around his arm, guiding his steps when he would have stumbled.
When they reached the castle, they met Duncan coming from the direction of the library. His face darkened when