He was at first reluctant, but she had persisted. Though they had just been married, she’d grown too used to the silent halls. The sound of the front door opening had made her jump up from where she sat in the dining room.

“Are you going somewhere?” Remi had asked.

Edgar halted at the threshold, surprised to see her. “I was on my way to the cemetery.”

She perked up. “Might I join you?”

He thought for a moment, then smiled. “Your company would be most welcome.”

The carriage took them down the hill to a secondary road that led into the Isle’s cemetery. It was bumpy and quiet. Remi spent the trip staring out the window, unsure of what to say. They passed headstones of varying age, some new, some weathered by time, and small mausoleums. All the while, she rattled her brain for a topic of common interest, but by the time she found something to talk about, they had stopped.

“Here we are,” Edgar said, hurriedly exiting the carriage.

Martin waited to help her to step down.

“Many generations of my family are buried here,” Edgar said as she joined him by the stairs.

At a glance, he appeared stoic, but his voice was tight. Like the stone façade of the mausoleum they approached, Edgar was weathered and graying. Remi wondered how often he came to visit and what kind of toll it took on him to outlive so many loved ones.

“How many generations?” Remi asked.

“Four,” he said, unlocking the gate.

“This is quite a special spot,” Remi said, pointing to the wooded area just beyond the mausoleum. Wildflowers inched along its granite walls. “The flowers are beautiful.”

In truth, the greenery seemed out of place. The mausoleum was old, and the flowers were bright and lively as if life had held on despite the flow of time.

“Indeed.” Edgar grinned, seemingly delighted by her observation. “Do you recall the specimen encased in my study?”

“I do.”

Edgar gestured to the bushes and the trees. “I found it here one spring when I was just a boy.”

“It was waiting for you?”

“Goodness no,” he chuckled. “The moths led the way, and I followed to find more of their nests behind here, hidden in the woods.”

“How wonderful.” She smiled. The moth he prized was the only one she’d ever seen. “I can only imagine what you would have looked like in your youth.”

Sparked by her comment, his expression changed, and his smile widened. He laughed, “No need to imagine, dear girl. My son, Benoît, looks a great deal like me. We have a similar countenance—though I confess, he is more like his mother.”

The mention of Ben made her heart skip.

“I remember him,” she said. “How is he?”

Edgar was silent as he turned and fumbled with the gate again.

“He is healthy and well.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper as he said, “And alive.”

“He must miss being home,” she said, but Edgar ignored her as they entered the structure. She chided herself for being forward. Clearly, Ben was a sensitive subject.

With a deep breath, Remi followed him inside. She was surprised by its size; there were two walls with family names and a stone casket in the center. Dying flowers and burned candles were left on its surface, which Edgar collected. She watched him approach each name, mumble something to himself, and move on. He did it for every name. There was a change when he approached his late wife. He lingered, bringing his fingers to his lips, and pressing them to the stone where her name was engraved.

It was a private moment he shared with the departed, a silence that she dared not interrupt. When he spoke again, his heart seemed heavy. “Thank you for your kindness today.”

Remi tilted her head. “Have I done something?”

“I have been alone for more than a decade,” he said. “It was kind of you to offer me your company.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” she said.

“You are family now,” he said, once more pressing a hand to his late wife’s name. “And my family holds my treasure.”

She smiled. “To hear you say that warms my heart.”

He returned her smile in kind. “Shall we return?”

If we must, she thought. “Yes.”

Their visit to the mausoleum was brief, but it had been a reprieve from the monotony that had become her days. She knew as soon as they left, they would each return to their respective solace. And she was right. As soon as they walked through the front doors of the manor, they went their separate ways: Remi to the dining room, where Sylvie waited with a lunch tray, and Edgar to his study.

The carriage lurched, pulling Remi from her thoughts.

The pressure of Ben’s presence had grown overnight. Remi couldn’t ignore him, especially not after witnessing his state the night before. The only thing that eclipsed him was the sight of the mausoleum.

Near the very back of the cemetery, past the other graves she saw on her first trip, there was the Leone family mausoleum. It was the only granite building of its kind, in both stature and grandiosity. It was almost as large as one of the rooms in the manor, with a set of stairs and a wrought-iron gate fixed against its double doors. Greenery grew flush around its base, bushes and flowers and trees flanking either side. There were no other graves nearby.

“Have you been here before, Madame?” Sylvie asked.

They shared the carriage, as Ben opted to ride with the coach carrying Edgar.

“I have,” Remi said as Martin opened the door.

The morning air was thick and chilly, and the ground beneath their feet was soft with wet mud. The damp air clung to Remi’s body; she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Little drops of rain dotted her face, making her shiver.

“Looks like another storm soon, Madame,” Martin said, leading them toward the mausoleum.

Ben and his footman, Jacques, helped the undertaker remove the casket. She watched, remembering the vision of Edgar with a shiver. It terrified her to wonder if she would see him there again, standing beside the mausoleum or peering from behind a tree, looking at her with that same dead look in his eyes. A tap on her shoulder drew her back to reality.

“Madame?” Sylvie whispered.

“Are we having trouble?” Ben asked as they approached with the casket. His dark hair fell forward, covering half of his face.

Sylvie tapped Remi’s arm again.

“No,” she said too quickly, producing the key from her pocket. Her fingers shook as the gate opened. No doubt they were all curious as to why.

“Mind your heads,” Remi said as she went ahead.