A Little Bit Sinful. Adrienne Basso
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improved in that world. And this one, too.
“Let us pray,” the minister commanded.
Behind him, a soft chorus of voices blended together. The familiar words sprang from Sebas-tian’s lips as he joined in, marveling at the power of memory, for it had been a very long time since he had spoken any words of prayer. At the conclusion, Sebastian lifted his bowed head and for the first time looked into the deep, dark hole that had been dug in the ground.
A shudder rippled through him. It seemed impossible to imagine his grandmother spending eternity in that darkness, cut off from everything she had once loved.
At the minister’s command, four burly workmen took up their positions and began lowering the casket. Farewell. Sebastian voiced his final good-bye silently, yet the moment the thought solidified, a wave of sorrow rose from deep within his chest, catching him unawares. He had never been a man who allowed sincere emotions to easily flow. The tragedies of his life had taught him that true feelings were meant to be private. It was best to hold them close and keep them hidden.
The countess’s death had not been unexpected. She was an elderly woman whose normally robust health had been compromised by a persistent winter illness. The day before she died she had told him that she was weary of feeling unwell and melancholy over the loss of her active, buoyant lifestyle. She confessed she was at last ready to leave this earth and begin her final adventure.
Sebastian took a deep breath. She might have been ready to depart, but he wasn’t prepared to see her go. She had pestered and plagued him all of his adult life, attempting to dictate everything from the meals he ate to the clothes he wore, from the items on which he spent his money to the company he kept. She was quick to find fault and even quicker to express her displeasure.
But the countess had also protected her only grandchild with a maternal tenacity that had no equal. Her loyalty was unmatched, her love always given lavishly. Accepting the finality of her death was difficult and thus Sebastian forced himself to stare at the casket as it was slowly lowered into the ground.
It seemed to take forever.
Sebastian heard a sob, then a loud sniffle. One of the female mourners was crying, most likely his grandmother’s cousin Sarah. She was a self-proclaimed delicate woman who never missed an opportunity to showcase her sensitive nature. He wondered idly if she attended many funerals, since clearly that would be the best venue to demonstrate her frail constitution.
The sobbing grew louder. Though he dismissed it in his mind as pure artifice, the mournful sound struck a chord. Sebastian felt the tightening in his chest increase. A combination of grief, coupled with the need to suppress it, he decided. He scowled, wanting desperately to turn and walk away, but that would be unpardonably rude. He owed it to his grandmother’s memory to act as she would have wished, with dignity and decorum. Two qualities she often lamented he lacked in sufficient quantity.
As he fought to capture and tame his rioting emotions, Sebastian became aware of someone standing very near. Apparently one of the mourners had broken ranks and approached him. Who would dare to be so brave?
Please, dear Lord, let it not be cousin Sarah.
Sebastian inhaled and gritted his teeth. Yet before he could turn and face this unknown individual, he felt the gentle brush of feminine fingertips against his gloved hand, then caught a whiff of fresh lemons. Emma. The tightness twisting in his chest eased.
Dearest Emma. She was such a compassionate girl. He imagined she had spent the entire service with her eyes trained upon him, waiting for the precise moment when he faltered, ever at the ready to come to his aid when he needed her most. Heedless of the proprieties, Sebastian accepted Emma’s comfort, intimately entwining his fingers with hers.
Strange how such a small, dainty hand could instill such strength inside him, letting him know that he was not entirely alone. At least not for the moment.
Cousin Sarah’s lusty sobs abruptly ceased, her sniffles replaced by an indignant gasp. Apparently the scandal of holding a woman’s hand—an unmarried woman, to whom he was not engaged—was enough to shock the sorrow from Sarah’s breast and replace it with horror. Sebastian felt Emma sway slightly and realized she too had heard that gasp of disapproval.
Fearing Emma might pull away, he squeezed her fingers. Without hesitation she returned the gesture. His breathing once again grew steady and he felt a profound sense of relief that Emma was not easily intimidated by the rigid rules of society.
Under the minister’s direction, they recited one final prayer and then it was over. In a daze, Sebastian turned swiftly, facing the group of mourners, his hand still tightly clutching Emma’s.
“Thank you all for coming this morning. Though it is more modest to say that the countess would have been humbled by this show of respect and affection, those of us who knew and loved her know the truth of the matter.” He halted, swallowing back the lump of grief that had risen up in his throat. “Cook has prepared an enormous luncheon. Please, let us all retire to the manor and partake of this hearty fare.”
The majority of mourners obediently turned and headed toward the carriages. The family plot where the countess had been laid to rest was in a picturesque spot bordering the estate’s great woods. Though Sebastian would have preferred walking the mile to the manor house, it was unthinkable to expect his older relations to do the same.
“Would you like to ride in my coach, Benton? There’s plenty of room.”
Sebastian paused, then shook his head at the man who had spoken. Carter Grayson, Marquess of Atwood, was one of only two men on this earth he respected utterly, trusted completely, and genuinely liked. They had attended Eaton and later Oxford together, forging a friendship as boys that had deepened and strengthened as they became men.
They shared similar viewpoints on most matters and enjoyed a vigorous debate when their opinions clashed. Atwood’s marriage last year to Dorothea Ellingham had done little to diminish this male bond, though he was starting to develop what Sebastian regarded as an unhealthy obsession with propriety. Alas, marriage and respectability could do that to even the most hedonistic of men.
The marquess was also Emma’s brother-in-law.
“If you’d rather not go with Atwood and Lady Dorothea, you can ride with me,” Peter Dawson suggested.
Dawson had also been a classmate and was the only other man Sebastian considered a true friend. Possessing a quiet, cerebral personality, Dawson was the levelheaded, thoughtful balance in the trio of friends, the one who had kept them all from total disgrace. Yet he still knew how to have fun.
“My coachman has instructions to return for me after he has delivered my relations safely to the manor’s front door,” Sebastian replied. “I’ll wait for him.”
“I’ll wait too,” Emma quickly volunteered.
“Really, Emma, you should come with us,” Lady Dorothea admonished in a soft voice. “I’m sure the viscount would appreciate a few minutes of privacy.”
“Oh, goodness. I hadn’t realized,” Emma replied.
Sebastian felt her stiffen and he panicked, thinking she would pull away. “I would prefer that Emma stay with me. If you don’t object?”
Sebastian looked directly at Lady Dorothea as he spoke, but the question was obviously intended for both her and her husband. Emma might be Dorothea’s younger sister, but it was the marquess who protected her. Still, if Lady Dorothea disapproved, Sebastian knew Emma would be gone in the blink of an eye.
Lady Dorothea took a deep breath as if striving for patience and understanding. She was a kind woman and he knew she cared about him, knew she was sincerely sympathetic over the death of his grandmother. Yet his roguish reputation and scandalous deeds made her leery about leaving her seventeen-year-old sister alone with him in so isolated a location. Smart woman.
Lady Dorothea turned toward her husband. Atwood grimaced, then deliberately glanced down at the hand in which Sebastian held Emma’s.