The words and the agony underlying them shredded her heart. “No, Kit. The newspaper said it was an accident. That he had been drinking.” Reportedly inebriated, Mr. Ripley fell on the tracks and hadn’t been able to get out of the way of an oncoming train. Sadly, it happened frequently in the city, at least two or three times a week.

Kit shook his head. “He looked terrible. I should have tried to help. I should have done something—” He bit off the last word.

“No, do not think that.” She gripped his arm with her free hand and shook him slightly. “You are not responsible.”

He swallowed hard. Then he moved away slightly, pulling his hand from hers, and she started to worry—until he stretched out on the pew, put his head in her lap and closed his eyes. A deep ache settled in her chest as she stroked his hair.

“The wheels cut his body clean in two,” he said after several minutes. “Pres and I had to identify him at the morgue.”

Lord, that must have been awful. “Oh, Kit. I’m so sorry.”

“No one else came. All the friends he made over the years, all the people he knew. His family . . . no one came today. Not even his parents.”

She could tell this bothered him, so she repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe I should have hired some professional mourners. Then it wouldn’t have seemed so empty in here.”

That almost sounded worse, paying people to mourn at a funeral, but she didn’t say it. Unable to help herself, she removed her glove and caressed his head. His hair was soft, and she enjoyed touching him again, even if it was for an awful reason. “Are you sleeping?” she asked quietly. “You look tired.”

“Can’t. When I do, I either dream of Forrest or—” He pressed his lips together.

“What?”

“You. I dream about you, Alice.”

She blinked down at him, but his expression didn’t change. “Oh.”

“That came out wrong. It’s not that I dislike dreaming about you. It’s the waking-up part that is like a kick in the teeth.” His lids lifted and deep brown eyes stared up at her. “I miss you. Very much.”

Her heart cracked, tiny fractures of misery that threatened to crumble her foundation. She pushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “I miss you, as well.”

“Do you?”

“Of course. Why would I lie about such a thing?”

“I read the papers. I know you have been busy with Lockwood.”

“One dinner and one drive in the park hardly qualifies as busy.”

“Two drives in total, then. The Fifth Avenue drawing rooms must be abuzz with engagement speculation.”