Page 55 of Dukes Do It Better
Calvin shrugged. “The cover of darkness has to be an asset in this situation.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Malachi muttered. The iron gate of the cemetery squealed a cry, as if imploring them to reconsider the reason for their visit. A gravel path wove through the lines of headstones and family mausoleums.
After several minutes, Malachi stopped before the structure with the Trenton crest. He rolled his shoulders, grateful he’d foregone a cravat this morning. Facing the granite building in front of him, adorned with the family seal over the door and knowing George was inside…well. The weight of it all meant that air was in short supply.
“Really, none of this is as I pictured it,” Calvin complained.
“I clearly won’t be needin’ this.” Ethan rested the shovel he’d brought against the side of the crypt.
Simon grinned, enjoying the other men’s odd disappointment.
The humor, as misplaced as it might appear on the surface, cut through the emotions rattling in Malachi’s bones. The reasons for doing this are valid, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time since inviting the men to join him on the expedition. “I was wondering why you’d brought a shovel.”
“Because grave robbing implies an actual grave, no’ politely entering a miniature castle. You probably even have a bloody key,” the giant Scotsman grumbled.
“Would you prefer to break in?” Malachi shook his head, but found himself smiling as he withdrew the key from his pocket and fit it into the lock.
“I didn’t bring a shovel. I brought a lantern,” Cal said.
“Which will actually be useful. Do you need a flint?” Malachi lit another lantern flanking the door inside the crypt.
“This place is dark as the—” Simon began.
Malachi cut him off. “If you say grave, I’m making you leave.”
Behind them, Ethan snorted. Cal lit his lantern and held it aloft. The light scared away some of the oppressive gloom.
The men took a moment to take in the ornately carved walls depicting a fantastical stone garden locked in bloom forever.
“It’s beautiful. Like a fairy garden for dead people,” Simon said.
In the middle of the room, an iron staircase spiraled down into the crypt beneath the building, where several stone boxes held Malachi’s grandparents, father, and brother. The last thing he wanted to do was see those boxes.
“It’s a monument to love, believe it or not. My grandfather adored my grandmother and visited her grave to talk to her every day. The family mausoleum used to be at our country seat, but when a fire ravaged the manor, my grandfather moved to London while the house was rebuilt. He couldn’t bear to leave her behind in Essex, so he built this near the town house.”
Ethan crossed to the staircase. “After you.”
One by one, they descended into the belly of the building. The air grew stale, with a faint underlying of rot.
“Not to be disingenuous, but it smells like something died in here.” Simon’s voice carried through the room.
Calvin shone the lantern along the walkways between the stone coffins. In the far corner, a sizable rat had met its end. Rather a long while ago, by the look of it. Wordlessly, he illuminated the carcass, and Simon grimaced.
“How long has it been since you visited?” Simon asked, slowly making his way between graves.
“When Grandfather passed, I made Father move his coffin to lie directly beside Grandmother’s.” Malachi glanced at the two stone boxes pressed side by side. “That’s where he wanted to be. Beside her always.”
“So not only have you not visited George, but you haven’t paid your respects to your father either?” Simon tsked.
Guilt tried to settle on Malachi’s shoulders, but he shrugged it off. “I was at sea, serving in the frigid waters he consigned me to.” He hadn’t wanted to come home. Facing his mother’s grief and his brother’s calm competence as he stepped into the role he’d trained for his entire life, while Malachi had been all but forgotten in the Royal Navy—it was too much.
No, that wasn’t true. Mal had chosen the Royal Navy. In part to get attention, and in part to run away from everything he thought was wrong in his life. While Father hadn’t gone chasing after him to drag him back into the family fold by his ear, Malachi had hardly been ignored. The close watch and stifling control Father exerted on Mal’s career was its own kind of attention.
And even that, Mal had chafed under. So no, when Father died, Malachi hadn’t returned home. Perhaps it was the war, or a symptom of his family’s pervasive dysfunction, but his views regarding death tended toward the heartlessly pragmatic. Father didn’t realize Malachi hadn’t been there to visit, any more than George was witnessing his absence from the Great Beyond.
“They’re gone. I wish they weren’t. Not much more to say.” The words sounded true, but an unsettled sensation crawling along his skin hinted at feelings not so easily dismissed. He was deeply grateful his father and brother didn’t know of his absence, but a slither of guilt over his refusal to attend their funerals wrapped around his heart and squeezed.
“What exactly are we searching for?” Calvin asked.
