To Con a Gentleman (Dalton Family 1)

Carver’s shoulders jumped at the male voice behind him and he whirled around. “Mr. Brighton,” he said and offered a quick polite bow to none other than Claire’s father. A man who he hadn’t seen since the day of the funeral. For how long had Carver had an audience? And had he seen the rock incident?

A sad, empathetic smile tugged at the man’s kind face. Carver remembered Mr. Brighton looking old even when he and Claire were young adults. Now, deep wrinkles sat around his eyes and mouth and snow white hair covered his head. Carver felt a strong wave of guilt. He should have gone to visit Claire’s family after her death. He should have been stronger. He should have…

“Is this your first time visiting her grave?” The man asked as he came to stand shoulder to shoulder with Carver.

Tension gripped him. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but yes.”

“No need to feel ashamed. We all grieve on different timelines. You’re here now and that’s all that matters,” said Mr. Brighton.

Carver glanced at him from the corner of his eye. The silence hung heavy for a minute as the two men stood with hands clasped behind their backs and eyes fixed on the motionless stone. But after several minutes he couldn’t take it anymore. His thoughts were nagging at him to say what he felt. So he said, “It—feels…different than I imagined it would.” And then paused and tried to figure out exactly what it was that felt so odd about visiting.

“Do you mean that you feel more apathetic than you were expecting?”

“Yes!” Carver said with a measure of relief at being understood. He turned to face Mr. Brighton. “I had expected to feel her here. But I don’t…”

“Of course you don’t.” The man shrugged. “Because she’s not here.” What did he mean? Was he somehow at the wrong grave site? No. It clearly stated her name right there. Mr. Brighton smiled, clearly seeing his confusion. “What I mean is, her spirit is not here. It lives in heaven now with her Creator and we all know that. She will live on in our memories but she’s not confined to this stone and oppressive cemetery.” Mr. Brighton’s eyebrows lifted as he surveyed the bleak surroundings. “And that gives me great comfort.”

Carver looked back at the grey, lifeless headstone. “Claire was certainly the opposite of this place. She was joy itself.”

Mr. Brighton chuckled softly. “That she was. The girl never sat still. Her mother gave up on Claire ever learning to accomplish a pretty stitch before she was even out of the schoolroom.”

Carver found himself smiling and even chuckling. He realized that this was the first time since her death that he had been able to talk about Claire with a smile. To enjoy the memory of who she had been without the overwhelming regret of who she would never be.

“Mr. Brighton.” He turned to face the man who at one time was like a second father to him. “I’m so sorry that I went to London after Claire died. And I’m sorry that I haven’t been by to visit you or Mrs. Brighton since then,” said Carver. “Truth be told, I—haven’t been able to truly come to terms with her death until recently. I’ve…had a difficult time of it.” But he felt stupid and like the worst sort of person admitting that to Claire’s father. The man likely struggled with Claire’s loss even more than he did.

Mr. Brighton turned and put his hand on Carver’s shoulder. “Like I said before, there’s no need to apologize. We understand. We all heal in our own time and our own way. I’m just sorry to hear that you’ve been struggling.” He took a breath. “You and Claire loved each other deeply. Those wounds don’t heal overnight.”

“Are yours healed?” Was that too personal to ask? Likely the man hadn’t come to Claire’s grave so that he could be prodded with questions. But when standing there next to the only o

ther man in the world who had been so affected by Claire’s loss, he felt that he had to ask.

Mr. Brighton’s arm slid from Carver’s shoulder as he turned to thoughtfully gaze back at his daughter’s headstone. “I think so—yes.” He paused a moment and then added, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss my girl every single day. At first, I thought the pain of losing her would swallow me up. But over time, I learned to take great comfort in the fact that she’s where her soul has always longed to be.” He paused and his brows pulled together. “Coming to terms with her death looked different than I thought it would. It’s not that I’ve ever become comfortable with her death—and I don’t think I ever will—but Mrs. Brighton and I have learned that we will be well even though Claire is not with us anymore.” The man turned his weathered eyes to Carver and pierced him with his gaze. “And, you’re going to be well, too.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.” The honest answer left his mouth before he had time to consider it.

“I know. But you will. Let yourself hurt when you feel pain, and smile when you feel like smiling. Little by little, you’ll find that the smiles eclipse the tears. And,” his voice was thick with sincerity, “if ever the day comes that you find a woman who makes your heart feel alive again, don’t push her away. Claire wouldn’t have wanted that.” How did he know? Carver swallowed down the lump in his throat. Something about those words gave him the permission he hadn't realized he needed.

“And if I have found her already?” Carver asked, desperate for approval from the only connection to Claire he still had.

A warm smile pulled at Mr. Brighton’s mouth. “Marry her. If you are waiting for the day that you no longer feel broken to marry, you’ll die a single man. Unfortunately, life gives us more pain than we can carry sometimes. But thankfully we’re given other people to help carry it. Let her help you. And I’m sure she’s got plenty of burdens for you to shoulder too.”

Mr. Brighton stepped away from Carver to kiss his fingers and then place them on Claire’s headstone. He turned back to Carver with a mischievous smirk that didn’t exactly fit the setting. “Never thought I’d kiss a rock, but here we are.” He winked and then slapped Carver on the back. “It was good to see you, Carver. Come by anytime you want to talk.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brighton. It was good to see you too.” And exactly what he had needed.

Carver remained at Claire’s grave for several minutes after Mr. Brighton had left. The man’s words continued to swirl around and around his head until he felt like he understood them. And slowly, his mood felt as if it matched the day around him.

Claire was really gone, but he was going to be okay without her. He was allowed to be okay without her.

He mimicked Mr. Brighton’s gesture and placed a kiss on Claire’s headstone. He allowed himself to imagine her smiling at him and remembered the way her infectious laugh bubbled out of her. She was gone, but he could hold on to the joy they had shared together.

“Goodbye, love.” His voice broke as he said the words but they still felt right. They felt like closure.

Carver flung open the door of his father’s study and stormed inside.

The duke looked up from behind his desk and noticed Carver’s determined strides. “Carver,” he said, jumping up from his chair behind the desk. “What’s happened?” Every muscle in his father’s body looked poised for battle.

“Rose is gone,” Carver said loudly as if he were announcing the start of another war. In some ways, he felt like he was.