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swinging his fists at Wulfe’s legs until his energy left him depleted.   Only then did he finally allow the tears to come.   When Wulfe tried to hold the boy, he pulled away and ran to the arms of his Aunt Rebekah.   Feeling very much unwanted, Thorn left the three to grieve together in the playroom.   He found himself wondering how many bruises he would have in the morning after being a human punching bag.   “I hope you knew what you were doing, Teddy, because right now, I’m not so certain.”

Chapter 3

    A heavy drizzle fell on those attending Theodore Wulfe, the Duke of Wulfecrest’s funeral.   Dark umbrellas were lifted in an attempt to keep most of the people at the gravesite dry.   The young Duke of Wulfecrest clung to his aunt’s hand, watching stoically as they lowered his father’s casket into the ground.   His twin sister hid her face in the same aunt’s skirts, her sobs could be heard by all in attendance.   Said aunt had silent tears streaming down her face.   A man stood close to the trio.   It had been so long since many in attendance had seen him that they could not be sure if he was the deceased duke’s younger brother or an apparition.   Slowly the bystanders walked away from the gravesite to their carriages, leaving the quartet standing alone.
    Thorn had been dealing with bouts of tears for the past day and a half from his niece.   His nephew seemed to have aged twenty years overnight.   Then there was his wife.   He looked at the woman who stood in front of him, her back ramrod straight, holding the hands of his niece and nephew.   After having left the three of them in the playroom the afternoon of his arrival, she had hardly spared him a look, let alone spoken to him.   They were like strangers passing in the hallway, sharing a house, but avoiding one another at every turn.
    “We should return to the house,” he announced.   In response, Ivy began crying louder.   He watched Rebekah attempt to console the little girl, and in turn her brother’s lip began quivering.   He knew he had to do something quick.   He scooped up Ivy in his arms, dropping the umbrella, and began waltzing with her.   Wulfe hummed a waltz as he exaggerated the steps in the rain and exited the graveyard.   Thorn dipped the little girl, hearing a giggle bubble up and out of her.   He then spun her around until she was squealing in delight.
    “My turn, Uncle Thorn,” Zachary cried running up to him.   Thorn took the little boy’s hands in his and began spinning, lifting the boy up so that his legs were in the air.   Zach squealed in delight.
    “Stop that this instant,” Rebekah demanded.   “It is unseemly and improper,” she said stuffily.
    “I think Aunt Rebekah is saying that she wants to laugh, too,” Thorn teased and began moving towards her.
    “Do not touch me, Thorn,” Rebekah said, not backing down from her current stance.  
    He slipped behind her and grabbed her from behind, swinging her around.   Thorn felt her squirming and almost dropped her before stopping and lowering her to her feet.   He smiled at her as she spun around.   Her hand arced through the air, coming in sharp, splintering contact with his cheek.
    “I said, do not touch me.   This is not behavior fitting a funeral.   Come with me children, we have guests waiting at the house that we must see to.”
    “He would have wanted them to be happy, to remember the happy times.”
    “How would you know what he wanted?   Where have you been the last few years to even know what your brother wanted?”   Rebekah herded the children to the black lacquered coach.
    “You sound very much like your father right now,” Thorn said to her retreating figure.   He watched as she spun around, a look of anger in her eyes that he had never seen before.   She approached him and he felt the sting of her palm once more.
    “Don’t you ever, ever , say that again,” she bit out, a tremor to her voice.   “Do you