Page 5 of The Viscount of Shadows

Chapter 2

Early October 1898

London, England

Oliver Wollstonecraft came from a large, boisterous family—close-knit to a fault. But the past five weeks had brought sorrow to the clan as there had been two funerals in rapid succession. Oliver had no sooner returned to London after the first funeral when, over two weeks later, he had to return to Wollstonecraft Hall in Kent, their medieval-age country seat, for the second one.

The first memorial was for his 87-year-old great-grand-uncle, Garrett Wollstonecraft. A mountain of a man, the half-Scotsman had lived a happy and adventurous life. His uncle was already missed, especially by his wife, children, and grandchildren.

But Oliver’s 81-year-old grandfather, Aidan Wollstonecraft, the Earl of Carnstone, untimely death a mere ten days after they had buried Uncle Garrett—cut deeper. Oliver had been close to his grandfather, perhaps more than his father. They had joined Tremain Hornsby, Viscount Hawkestone’s progressive caucus from within Parliament, with Oliver sitting at his grandfather’s elbow, soaking up all he could learn. Oliver was the heir apparent, after all.

With his grandfather’s passing, Oliver took on the courtesy title of Viscount Tensbridge since his father, Julian, was now the earl. This new title would take getting used to, as Tensbridge was the only courtesy title attached to the earldom. Everyone was “my lord-ing” him now.

But for Aidan Wollstonecraft, still vibrant, to die in his sleep? It was not blasted fair. Oliver thought the man would live to be one hundred years of age. It showed that one never knows when death will strike, although both his great-great-uncle and grandfather had long, productive, and loving lives. Living well into one’s eighties was a rare feat in this day and age, and Oliver knew what a blessing it was to have them in his life for so long. Everyone would sorely miss them.

How does one process grief? Oliver deduced it was a process since numerous emotional reactions were involved, such as overwhelming sadness, the shock turning to anger, and the disbelief that the person in question was gone. Time heals all wounds and all that. But not really. He supposed one learned to cope with the loss, but managing did not mean forgetting, and Oliver knew his family would never forget Uncle Garrett or his grandfather Aidan. Not. Ever.

Exhaling, he headed into the parlor, where his grandmother reclined in her favorite chair, staring out the window. A cup of tea sat before her, not touched.

“Grams,” Oliver gently murmured as he kissed her cheek.

His grandmother gave him a shaky smile as he took the seat opposite. “My dear.”

“How are you holding up?” Oliver asked, then he wished he had not. It was an asinine question, and one people uttered when addressing grief. His grandparents had been married for fifty-three years; Grams had lost the love of her life, her partner. Her dearest friend. A significant loss, indeed.

The story of their introduction was a crucial part of the family lore. The first meeting was at a sanitorium where Aidan Wollstonecraft recovered from opium addiction. The subsequent encounter at a cotton mill where Aidan had been undercover as a mill supervisor gathering information on the horrific working conditions. The stuff of legends.

But what was also legendary was their love story.

He could only hope to aspire to his grandparents’ marriage. To find your soul mate, to love, desire, and respect until death. At least in Oliver’s eyes, it may be an impossibly high standard for anyone to achieve.

What was the primary legend attached to the Wollstonecraft name? The talk of a curse, that women of the family—either born or married into it—had a short lifespan, and how the Men of Wollstonecraft Hall in 1845 broke that tragic, centuries-old vexation by all of them finding love within the year. Succeeding generations may scoff in private at such a turn of events. Oliver figured if his family believed in such a curse, he could not dismiss it so cavalierly. Those who gave the curse credence included his grandfather Aidan, great-uncle Riordan, great-great-uncle Garrett, great-grandfather Julian, and his namesake, his great-great-grandfather Oliver.

“Under the circumstances, I am well,” The dowager countess replied, pulling Oliver from his thoughts. “I am still shocked, for I believed I would go first, and I keep telling myself not to go to pieces. We had a wonderful life, and I could not ask for more—except to see my children and grandchildren content and at peace. Which brings me to Bryan.”

Bryan was his 22-year-old younger brother and a complete rogue. And a massive pain in the arse.

“I know this will be inconvenient, but when you return to London, please keep an eye on Bryan?” His grandmother continued, her expression beseeching. “I know your father will not ask it of you, for he believes Bryan must make his own mistakes to become a better man. While I agree to a point, there is much in your younger brother that reminds me of your grandfather’s early years, and not in a good way.”

His grandmother picked up her cup and sipped her tea. “You may not know that your Uncle Garrett found your grandfather in an opium den, almost near death. The family decided to place him in my father’s sanitorium. I cannot explain the depths Aidan had sunk to chase the dragon, which I believe is the term. I do not want Bryan to suffer the same fate. It would break me.”

“Do you know of something I am not aware of?” Oliver asked. Is Bryan skulking around opium dens? Although, he would not put it past his reprobate and selfish brother.

“No, but I want to avoid such a downfall. I will not worry as much if I know you are watching out for your brother. I know you are busy, but please do what you can. I gently suggested he stay with you at the viscount residence, but he said he had rooms elsewhere, an iron-clad rental agreement he could not break.”

An iron-clad rental agreement? It sounded like a fabrication, or perhaps not. Blast it all, playing nursemaid to his spoiled younger brother, was not on his list of urgent items to accomplish this autumn. He had yet to learn where his brother holed up while in London.

“Bryan and I would not make compatible housemates anyway, Grams. But I give you my word to keep a watchful eye.”

His grandmother audibly exhaled, closing her eyes briefly as if highly relieved. “Thank you; I knew I could rely on you. When are you returning to London, my dear?”

“In two days. Rett is coming with me and will stay at the Tensbridge residence. I will see to it Bryan travels with us.” Garrett was his late great-grand uncle’s grandson and namesake, though he went by Rett to avoid confusion. Oliver and Rett had grown up together, the same age of twenty-seven and more brothers than cousins. Rett was also his best friend.

“Rett told me he is staying with you, for I asked him to also watch out for Bryan. You will keep me informed?”

“I certainly shall. Are you staying here?” Oliver asked.

“No. Your father offered, but he is the earl, and this is his home now. I need time away. And your Aunt Abigail has invited me to stay with her indefinitely. We are good friends. If anyone understands what I am going through, it is Abbie. I will be traveling there next week, and it is not far. I will have a set of rooms, and I will have my possessions moved there.” His grandmother smiled. “Your father’s place, Tensbridge Estate, is now yours. I do hope you will come and stay there soon.”