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It would take place without Thomas Jameson, as he would be in mourning for the next year.
All that trouble to convince Cameron to let her come out at eighteen…and now she wished to wait.
That would make Cameron exceedingly happy.
3
With stoicism, Thomas shook hands with everyone at the reception. He stood by his mother, as he was now the head of this family, and he forced himself to keep tears and sadness at bay, not just for his mother, but also for his two sisters.
Their father, Crispin Jameson, the Earl of Ashford, had been a strict parent, with all due respect for authority and convention.
Thomas had been groomed since he was a small boy to take his place as the next earl.
He didn’t expect that time to come so soon.
His father had been in robust health, and while the physicians weren’t certain what had caused his demise, Thomas had witnessed the changes in his father over the last month. He’d seemed tired, and his strength seemed to be waning. Papa had told all of them that he was fine, and Thomas, having been trained early on never to question his father’s words, went along with it.
Now he wished he hadn’t. He should have stood more firmly. He should have insisted that his father see a doctor.
But he hadn’t, and now his father was gone. His mother a widow.
And he was the new Earl of Ashford.
Death had been a frequent visitor to the Ashford estate of late. Only a few months before his father’s demise, their beloved butler, Montague, had lost his wife as well. She had taken ill during one of the countess’s frequent luncheons, and by the time a physician had been summoned, her spirit had departed.
As Thomas surveyed the lavish decorations and refreshments that were put in place for his father’s funeral, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as he thought back on how much less grand Eugenia Montague’s memorial had been in contrast. But Papa had been an earl, after all, and there was a certain level of grandiosity that was expected by his peers. Putting on this event was Thomas’s first official undertaking as the new Earl of Ashford.
He was ready for his other duties as well. Ready to take over the matters of the estate, to sponsor various cultural charities, and to act as a leading figure to his local community. His father had trained him well, and he had no doubt he could execute all of his duties with the utmost confidence and competence.
Though the late earl had been strict and not overly emotional, Thomas had loved him dearly. Looked up to him with the utmost respect. And now?
Now it was his word, Thomas’s word, that would be the law at this estate.
And though he was ready for this responsibility, part of him didn’t want it.
While he’d been involved with several young ladies, he’d never thought seriously about taking a wife. He could leave that alone for the next year at least, while he was in mourning. But thereafter, he would be expected to do his duty—to marry and produce a new heir.
Both of his sisters—seven and eight years younger than he, respectively—were already married and had produced children for their husbands.
All these thoughts were mingled in his head as he continued saying the words over and over again. “Thank you for being here. It would have meant a lot to my father. Thank you for your condolences. I appreciate your sentiment. Yes, he was a great man.”
The words had become automatic, as Thomas’s thoughts were elsewhere.
When the reception finally broke up hours later, he walked outside. The March air was brisk, but he didn’t feel the cold. He felt only the loss.
He walked about the estate, coming to the burial ground where his grandparents, great-grandparents, and on and on up through the Ashford line were buried.
Then of course the newest gravesite.
His father’s.
He stood, staring at the freshly padded dirt.
The tombstone would come later, as it was being prepared at the statuary.
But here his father lay.
Laid to rest with all of his ancestors.
