But there was no crowd, which meant she couldn’t hide.

The reverend’s voice echoed in the cavernous space, his message about shepherds and pastures resonating off the rafters. Alice moved toward the figures in the front pews. There were two people sitting on the right side of the church, and she recognized the back of Preston’s head. The woman next to him leaned in and spoke softly in his ear, then he kissed her gloved hand. Was this his mistress, Arabella?

Across the aisle sat one lone man. Kit.

There was no one else in the whole space, save the reverend. Kit’s shoulders were stiff, his eyes forward. Her heart squeezed at the sight of him by himself, bearing all that grief with no one by his side. It was hardly fair for a man so well liked wherever he went. Where were his other friends? The ladies with whom he would “companionship”?

Well, she would not let him sit alone. He might not love her, but she loved him and it was an awful thing to witness his solitary sadness. If she could ease his sorrow for a second, then it was worth whatever awkwardness or heartache arose later on.

Moving into the center aisle, she walked toward the altar, toward a black casket adorned with lilies. Preston glanced over his shoulder at her approach and she noted the surprise on his face when he recognized her. Then he gave her a nod.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she slipped into Kit’s row and sat directly beside him, her thigh touching his. He didn’t move or speak or acknowledge her in any way, so she reached and took his hand. His grip remained limp. Undeterred, she sat there, holding his hand, not leaving his side as the reverend continued the service.

After five minutes or so, Kit let out a long shuddering breath, as if he’d been holding it a long time. His fingers tightened on her gloved hand, clutching her as if his life depended on it. It was then she knew coming to sit here had been the right thing to do. No one should have to suffer alone.

The reverend finished up with a final blessing, then crossed to the side of the altar and disappeared. Clothes rustled, and Alice watched out of the corner of her eye as Preston helped the woman out of the pew and started down the aisle, leaving. Kit remained perfectly still, his unseeing gaze fixed on the stained-glass window behind the altar.

They sat in silence. Alice didn’t speak or move. No one entered the church, the dust motes their only company in the midday light.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a tortured rasp. “It was my fault, you know. I was the last to see him.”