all.
Bean was gone.
Forever.
Chapter 10
That Sunday, Chloe and her siblings sat side-by-side in a single pew. Alone in the cavernous church save for a few close friends, one solemn clergyman, and an elm coffin with a silver plate engraved with flowers and angels.
Although the other pews only contained Mrs. Pine and a handful of Bean’s dearest friends, it felt like too much to take. Their presence made Bean’s absence real in a way Chloe could hardly bear to contemplate.
She had thought if they avoided the outside world, if she didn’t have to talk about Bean’s death, if she didn’t have to admit the truth, then maybe she could pretend for a little while longer that they weren’t going to dig a hole in the earth and bury Bean inside.
The Wynchesters were renowned for their ability to solve impossible missions. Yet here they were, broken. Unable to mend the most important mistake of all. Unable to bring back the person they loved most, the first person to love all of them and give them a home and a family.
Chloe couldn’t bear to have strangers see her like this. Even worse would be to have people they knew catch them with tears on their faces, small and defeated.
No one loved Bean as much as they did. Most appreciated him, respected him, were grateful to him, though there were a few who felt Bean hadn’t minded his place. Was too eager to poke his nose in where it wasn’t wanted and try to solve other people’s problems for them.
Smallpox was the one villain even Bean could not vanquish.
Some lords of the ton were resentful of Bean’s success. A rich foreigner achieving whatever he pleased, whilst they stared at their empty coffers. They outranked him with their English titles but were not better men. Those shriveled souls would not be sorry Bean was gone.
Chloe was glad she and her commoner siblings need have nothing to do with a Polite Society like that.
They didn’t understand that to the Wynchesters, Bean wasn’t like a father. He was their father. Who cared if he wasn’t a nobleman? He was the greatest man they’d ever known. He’d given them more than a home. He’d given them unconditional love, a battle to fight, and the skills and means with which to help others. What could be more noble than that?
Bean turned them into a family in every way that mattered. They weren’t all alone anymore. They were a cohesive group. Part of a team, with Bean as the fearless, indomitable leader who—
No. He was not the leader anymore. They were no longer a cohesive group. They were six orphans, orphaned all over again, with a hole in their hearts and their home that no amount of time or money could ever fill. The person they most wished to cling to was about to be taken away forever.
It was time.
A rustle sounded in the rear of the black-draped church, as pages and bearers cloaked in black presented themselves. The funeral train would proceed to St. George’s Gardens for the burial service.
To bury Bean. In the dirt. And cover him with a heavy stone.
Chloe squeezed Marjorie’s hand.
“The gentlemen will now accompany Baron Vanderbean to his final resting place,” said the clergyman, Mr. Hartwell. “Ladies, a carriage will take you home.”
All six siblings rose to their feet, but they did not divide into two directions.
They kept together as they exited the church, turning as one toward the elegant all-black processional coaches engaged to transport the deceased and his mourners to the cemetery. A pair of pure black horses pulled each carriage, with somber plumes of black ostrich feathers rising from each horse’s head-dress.
“Ladies,” Mr. Hartwell said more emphatically, “I am certain your delicate sensibilities cannot manage a burial ceremony. That is why women do not attend funerals.”
“I’d like to see you stop us,” Elizabeth growled.
Startled, Mr. Hartwell took a step back and allowed them to continue.
Marjorie, Chloe, and Elizabeth were dressed in black crape mourning gowns, shawls and gloves. Tommy was dressed in the same black gentlemen’s attire as her brothers. Clouds draped the sky in black, the air cold and thick with impending rain.
Once Bean was tucked safely into the hearse, the funeral furnisher, Mr. Quincey, turned to the siblings, his voice thick with emotion.
“My family business would not exist if Baron Vanderbean had not helped my father when he needed aid most.” Mr. Quincey’s voice cracked. “We are forever grateful to him. He was one of the best men I have