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He laughed loudly. There was no mirth in the sound, and even he heard the hysteria and fear there.
    But William tightened his grip on his hand, jerking him back to reality, and he looked down. William looked up at him with stricken concern. John seemed ready to cry again.
    “And she will be sorely missed by her loving husband, by her devoted sons, by her grieving family and friends...” Reverend Collins cried.
    He forced himself to become still. He fought the nausea, the grief. The boys would miss their mother, even if he would not. His sons needed her, the earldom needed her.
    The ghosts of the innocent whirled in his mind and around him, becoming the crowd, and now, amongst them, he saw his wife and he saw his brother. He could not stand it.
    He stood. “I will be right back,” he said.
    And as he pushed into the aisle and down the nave, praying he would not become sick until he went outside, her baby wailed.
    He could not believe it. As he rushed toward the door, he found them in the last row. He looked at the child in the nurse’s arms, briefly. Then he saw Amelia Greystone, and their gazes locked.
    A moment later he was outside behind the chapel, on his knees, vomiting.
    * * *
    T HE SERVICE WAS FINALLY OVER . And just in time, Amelia thought grimly, because the newborn had begun to fuss rather loudly and Mrs. Murdock seemed incapable of quieting her. A number of guests had turned to glance toward the crying baby. Had Grenville actually glared at his own daughter?
    Her tension knew no bounds. It had been impossible to keep her gaze from his broad shoulders during the service. He had recognized her.
    Amelia had never been as shaken.
    But the crowd was beginning to arise. “We should slip out before the other guests,” Amelia suggested. “The child is certainly hungry.” But her eyes were on the front of the chapel. Grenville’s two sons were seated in the front row by themselves. Grenville had left a few minutes ago, before the eulogy was over. How could he leave his children like that? Had he been that distraught?
    When he had rushed up the nave, he had looked right at her. He had been terribly pale, as if he was about to become sick.
    She shouldn’t care, but she did.
    “She misses her mother,” Mrs. Murdock said. Tears began to slide down her face. “That is why she is so fussy.”
    Amelia hesitated. The governess had managed to control herself throughout the service, and she could not blame her for crying now. A funeral was overwhelming under the best of circumstances, and Elizabeth dying so young was the worst of events. But the infant had never known her mother. “Where is Signor Barelli? I don’t know if St. Just will return. I think I should get the boys.”
    “I saw him leave before his lordship did,” Mrs. Murdock said, rocking the child. “He adored Lady Grenville. I believe Signor Barelli was too distraught to stay. He was ready to weep!”
    Amelia decided that Grenville had been too distraught to remain for the end of the service, as well. “Wait a moment,” she said, and she hurried past the guests, most of whom were now leaving their seats. She knew them all, and she nodded at those she passed. “William? John? We are going back to the house. I am going to help Mrs. Murdock settle your sister. Afterward, I was wondering if you might give me a tour of your rooms?” She smiled.
    Both boys stared at her, stricken. John said tearfully, “Where is Papa?” But he held out his hand.
    Amelia took it, her heart surging. “He is grieving for your mother,” she said softly. How wonderful the small boy’s hand felt in hers. “I believe he went outside because he needed a moment alone.”
    John nodded, but William gave her an odd look, as if he wished to say something but knew better. Amelia took his hand as well, leading them toward the governess. “Signor Barelli has already left. I am sure he is waiting for you at the house.”
    “We are not having lessons today,” William said firmly.