The Duke Returned Unannounced to His Old House .. only to Find His long dead Duchess and Son Alive..

Chapter 2

The last time he had stood in this hall, the world had been intact.

April 1917. Three years ago. A lifetime. He had been wearing his military coat, newly issued, the wool stiff and unfamiliar. Thomas had been two years old, sitting on the hearth rug in the master bedroom, attempting to persuade the family wolfhound — a vast gray animal of extreme age and extremely limited enthusiasm — to participate in a game involving a wooden horse and a great deal of enthusiastic instruction. The wolfhound had been refusing to participate. Thomas had not appeared discouraged.

Charlotte had been at the writing desk, pretending to read a letter.

She had been pretending to read that same letter for twenty minutes. Edward had known this. He had said nothing about it. They had both been filling the last moments with ordinary things, because the alternative — standing still and looking at each other and acknowledging what was about to happen — was too large to fit into the remaining time.

The valet had finished with his coat and disappeared. Edward had crossed the room. Charlotte had stood before he reached her, because that was who she was — she never waited to be approached, she met things halfway.

They had looked at each other without speaking.