Drops of Gold(67)

Footsteps crunched the snow nearby. If it was the vicar approaching, he was prepared to beat a hasty retreat. Mr. Throckmorten would no doubt subject him to a lecture on the importance of coming to services each week, along with yet another scathing assessment of the state of his soul. Those were the only things the aging vicar ever said to Layton since Bridget’s death.

Mr. Sarvol would have been nearly as unwelcome as the vicar. Layton didn’t know if the man blamed him for his daughter’s death or simply wanted nothing to do with the man who had been her husband. He had never shown any interest in Caroline, which had solidified Layton’s disinclination to pursue the connection.

Layton warily glanced in the direction of the approaching footsteps. Corbin, the Jonquil just younger than Layton, walked silently up the row of grave markers.

“Good day, Corbin,” Layton offered when his brother stopped beside him.

Corbin nodded with an awkward smile. “Throckmorten’s mount has been favoring a leg” was Corbin’s quiet explanation for his presence at the vicarage.

Layton nodded at that. Corbin had a way with horses, a talent he’d turned into a relatively profitable undertaking. Corbin owned the most successful stud farm in the Midlands.

“Did you leave him a liniment?” Layton asked, his eyes back on Bridget’s grave marker.

“Mm-hmm.”

They stood in silence, and for the first time since Bridget had begun her sojourn there beneath the ground, Layton felt some degree of comfort within the walls of the churchyard. He silently thanked Corbin for just being there, knowing his brother would be embarrassed if Layton actually told him so. Perhaps all those years Layton had just needed someone to stand with him.

“Caroline looks more like Bridget all the time,” Corbin said after several minutes had passed in silence.

“Does she?” Layton tried to see the two of them in his mind. Bridget’s image wasn’t as clear as it had once been.

Corbin nodded. “Her . . . coloring is . . .” He took a deep breath in the middle of the sentence, something he’d always done. His natural timidity made conversations difficult for him. “. . . more like yours. But . . . something in her face, I think . . . reminds me of . . .”

Leaving off the ends of his sentences was normal for Corbin as well. His family had learned to simply finish the thoughts for him silently. Bridget, Layton thought to himself.

He looked back at Corbin after a few minutes had passed in mutual silence. Corbin’s lips were moving slightly, no words coming out. He’d done that for years, rolling words around in his mind before speaking, thinking through his words before he let them out. Corbin had been known to mentally sort through his thoughts for days, weeks sometimes, if what he wanted to say was really important. For things that were crucial or hard to speak about, he’d sometimes waited for years. His first horse, Whipster, had been in the stables for two years before he’d managed to tell Father what that gift had meant to him.

The family had learned over the years to listen when Corbin spoke. His words would inevitably be sincere and important to him.

“I always . . .” Corbin cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes focused on the smooth granite headstone at their feet. Layton gave his brother his undivided attention. “You and Bridget were . . . I know it wasn’t a love match, but . . . you were good to her, and I . . . Well, Father would have been proud of you for that . . . and I . . . If I ever . . .” He let out a frustrated breath. “I’m not saying this right,” he mumbled.

“You’re fine, Corbin,” Layton reassured him.

After a fortifying breath, Corbin plunged on. “If I ever meet someone, could I . . . Would you mind . . . if I asked you for advice now and then?”

“You want my advice?” Layton could only stare.

Corbin nodded, entirely serious.

“Certainly,” he managed to say through his shock. “I’ll do my best.”

Corbin smiled and stood still and silent. For the first time in years, Layton felt almost at peace standing on hallowed ground.

“You made your wife happy,” Corbin said with a nod, his eyes focused in the distance. “I want . . . I’d like someone to be able to say that about me someday.”

You made your wife happy. Did Corbin really believe that? But Layton knew Corbin—he wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t believe it.

“Thank you, Corbin.” He laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Corbin just nodded.

“Did you ride here?” Layton asked.

“Elf.” Corbin named his favorite mount.

“Come on.” Layton pushed him down the row. “I’ll ride back with you.”