The Governess Who Stole the Earl’s Heart (Preview)

Chapter One

Early Autumn, 1811, in the heart of London

 

I hope Papa will recover. 

“Isobel, may I see you for a moment, please?”

Looking up from the book that had been lying in her lap, Isobel Leighton blinked. Her white day dress clung to her knees, offering little protection from the cool rooms of the orphanage.

Her long auburn hair hung over her shoulder in an intricate plait. “Hmm?” It took her a moment to notice the nun staring at her from the corner of the room. 

Coming forward, Sister Josephine smiled understandingly. “It is getting late, shall we continue with the story tomorrow evening?” Her voice was just as kind and understanding as it always had been, yet Isobel could not help but wonder if she was being more cautious than usual. 

Isobel looked to the sea of tiny faces that sat before her. Each one of them seemed to be patiently waiting for her response. Having lived at the orphanage since she was fifteen, Isobel looked up to the nuns who worked there.

It had been Sister Josephine who had helped raise her and guide her into the perilous world of being an untitled young woman. She had considered becoming a nun herself, but something had always kept her back from making the decision. 

Bless their hearts. 

Shutting the book, she smiled down at them. “I think Sister Josphine is right. I did not realize how late it has gotten. We should all have a good rest and continue tomorrow.” 

A collective sigh rolled through the room as children ranging from four to twelve stood up. Their sleepy little faces falling with disappointment. 

Laughing softly, Isobel stood, placing the book behind her on the rickety, old rocking chair. “Come now, you all know as well as I do that we read five more chapters than usual. Sister Josephine will have me sent away if I keep you all out of bed.” She pulled her green shawl tighter around her shoulders in an attempt to ward off the chill in the air. 

The children’s eyes all grew wider as they took her words as a genuine threat and rushed from the room. Their white nightgowns rustled behind them as they ran to their beds, protecting Isobel’s position at all costs. 

Chuckling under her breath, Sister Josephine shook her head in amusement as she watched the last little straggler leave. “They are going to believe that I am a horrid monster if you keep on saying things like that.” The nun made a stern face and pursed her lips as her almost copper eyes danced with amusement. 

“Nobody could ever accuse you of being a monster, Sister,” Isobel said sweetly before turning away and beginning to tidy the little school room where she spent most of her days. 

The nun came up beside her and began to help her with the small stack of books. “You look tired, my dear. You also seemed quite distracted when I came in earlier. You must not allow the younger children to run you so ragged.” 

Coming up straight, Isobel suppressed a yawn with the back of her hand. “I can manage.” She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the windowpane. Her fine features were drawn, a little too thin from years of struggling. The flickering light of the single candle on her desk made the flecks of grey in her light green eyes appear more blue. 

“I would be convinced if you had not just said that through a yawn.” Sister Josephine straightened with a stern face that quickly faded into a soft smile. “We are fortunate to have you with us, Isobel, but you must also look after your own health.” The corners of her eyes wrinkled slightly as she examined Isobel. “You are far too lovely a young woman to still be with us. I will have to find you a new position one of these days.” 

Clutching the edges of the shawl around at the base of her throat, Isobel felt her eyes widening. “I would never dream of leaving you or the children, Sister Josephine. This is my home.” 

Tilting her head to the side, Sister Josephine looked at her before reaching up and touching her braid. “And the children love you just as much as you love them. Yet things will change, such is the way of life and the world. Nothing is consistent except for change and death.” Her face fell a little as if she could see far off into the future.  

Her words saddened Isobel when the nun let go of her braid. She knew it was not proper to have her hair over her shoulder in a braid, but the younger girls always insisted on playing with her hair when she read. 

Breaking the silence with a heavy sigh, Sister Josephine reached into her habit and pulled out a letter. 

Isobel held her breath when she noticed the mark of the prison warden on the front. 

“Your father has sent for you. I know better than to suggest that you wait until morning.” She held out the letter to Isobel as her voice suddenly became tinged with sadness. “I am afraid that the situation is quite dire.” 

Her heart raced a million times faster as Isobel took the letter and unfolded the slightly crumpled edges. 

Miss Isobel Leighton, 

It is with great sorrow that we inform you of your father’s worsening condition. Mr. Jack Leighton has requested your presence at your earliest convenience. It bereaves me to say, but I do not think there will be too much time left. 

J.L. Hubert, 

Commissioner of Correspondences, Coldbath Fields Prison. 

Tears welled behind her eyes as Isobel’s throat suddenly felt too dry. 

Reaching out, Sister Josephine covered her delicate fingers with her own. “This is not easy news, child. We both hoped and prayed that this day would not come, but now that it is here, we must face it with all the strength we can muster.” 

Isobel swallowed hard as she fought back tears. “Do… do you suppose I could use the horse and cart to go and see my father?” 

“There is not even a question, my child. One of the stable hands has offered to take you. They are already waiting for you outside.” Sister Josephine had barely finished speaking when Isobel threw her arms around her neck and cried. 

“Thank you, Sister. I do not know what I would do without you. May I take my father a few things from the kitchen?” She allowed her tears to flow freely as soft sobs raked through her lungs. It had been four years since her father had dropped her off at the orphanage, but it felt like yesterday that he had embraced her and walked away. 

Patting her back, Sister Josephine gently pushed her away. “I have already arranged a parcel. It is never easy, child, but you must be strong for your father. You have always been a caring young woman. Even when you were fifteen and your father brought you to us. These past four years have only served to make you stronger. Now, go and make your father’s final hours peaceful ones. I would offer to go with you, but I am afraid that the children need me here.” She gave Isobel’s shoulders a gentle squeeze before guiding her gently toward the door. 

“I would not expect you to go with me, Sister Josephine. This is a matter that I must face on my own.” Isobel gulped down a breath, preparing herself for what lay ahead. 

***

Isobel adjusted the ribbon of her bonnet and held the tightly wrapped parcel to her side beneath her dark cloak. 

“I am surprised that you came this late. Most people would have waited until morning to visit.” The plump guard complained in a groggy, sleep-filled voice as he rattled an iron key loose from the loop on his belt. 

“I… I am sorry. I was told that my father did not have much time left,” Isobel said hesitantly as she glanced around at the damp walls and moss growing from every stone crevice. It had taken her three hours to reach the prison by cart, and her body was chilled to the bone. 

“Humph, it is not often that the family of prisoners cares so much.” The rather round man huffed as he stood aside. 

The rough iron gate swung open with a loud creak that made Isobel stiffen even further. 

“Jack Leigthoin is in the cell to the left, just down the hall. His cell is not locked. Given his state, we did not think it necessary to post any guards. Mind you, we will know instantly if you try anything funny.” The man narrowed his beady eyes as if Isobel herself were a criminal. 

“I am just here to say goodbye to my father,” she managed hesitantly as she attempted to pull herself up to her full height. 

Rolling his eyes, the guard heaved a sigh and turned his back on her, muttering under his breath as he ambled away. “Some father, getting himself locked up in debtors’ prison.” 

You do not know his story. 

Turning back to the gate, Isobel took a deep breath. It did not matter what anyone said about her father or how he had come to be in prison. There was no more time left for any of them to justify his actions. 

The smell of damp and illness hung in the air like a thick fog as Isobel stepped into the long corridor with cells on either side of it. The silence was almost deafening as she noticed the men behind bars lying on what seemed like simple wooden cots. Nobody seemed to be stirring, and she could not help but wonder if all of them were still alive. 

She had barely reached the end of the corridor when her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her chest. “Papa!” Isobel almost dropped the parcel as she ran to his side and fell to her knees. 

Jack Leighton groaned as he rolled onto his back, exposing the bones of his hips and joints through his tattered clothes. 

“Oh, Papa… are you cold?” Isobel asked tearfully before untying the parcel she had hidden. Just as she had hoped, Sister Josephine had given her an old sheet. She quickly stood and flared it open, allowing the fabric to cover her father. 

Jack Leigthon smiled at her, his dark brown eyes dull from fever as he ran his tongue over his cracked lips. “Thank you, Isobel. I was hoping you would come.” His voice was soft and weak, so unlike the man that Isobel had known in her younger years. She ran her fingers over his damp forehead, where strands of his hair clung to his skin. 

“Shh, do not try to speak, Papa. You must rest now.” She dropped back to her knees beside his cot, not caring that the cold stone was biting into her flesh through her garments. 

Attempting to sit up, her father fell back down again, his head lolling to the side as he smiled tiredly at her. “My Isobel, you look so much like your mother. Ellie was such a beautiful woman.” 

“I know, Papa, please try and rest now.” Isobel tore her gaze away from his hollow cheeks and reached for the jug of water beside his bed. The prison had not provided him with much, but at least they had left him some water. She poured a little into a tin mug and brought it to her father’s lips, supporting the back of his head as he took a small sip. 

He struggled to swallow before falling back on the single pillow that was thin enough to be mistaken for a sheet. “You are too good for this world, my Ellie. You should not have come here.” 

Isobel’s heart broke as she fought against the tears and cleared her throat. “I am Isobel. Papa, Mama is not here.” 

Allowing his eyes to flutter open, her father gazed at her tearfully. “No matter what happens, you must promise me that you will stay away from Blackmoor Hall.” His chest rose and fell with each labored breath. 

“I… I have never heard of Blackmoor Hall…” Isobel wondered if her father had even known what he had said. He had called her Ellie in one moment and Isobel in the next. 

Taking a shuddering breath, he seemed to force himself to speak. “You must never go there, those people…. None of them can be trusted.” 

Reaching out, Isobel took hold of his hand. His skin was warm and clammy to the touch, too thin for someone who had not even reached old age. “Papa, you must rest. Please, I am begging you,” her words came in short bursts as she could see the color draining from his face with every passing second. 

“There… is… something that I must give you….” He pointed a shaky finger at the wall behind Isobel. 

Looking back, Isobel frowned. “I do not understand.” 

“Behind the loose rock…” Her father’s words trailed off as his arm slumped onto the cot beside him. 

Wondering if he was delirious or seeing things, Isobel stood to ease the ache in her knees if nothing else. The wall opposite her father’s cot was damp and smelly with mold. A rat scampered past the door as it squeaked loudly. 

She almost lost her nerve, yet a single stone seemed to stand out from the others. She closed the distance between her and the wall, struggling with the single stone until it gave way with a crumbling echo. She frantically looked around for guards, but nobody seemed to be responding to the sound. 

Looking back at the wall, she noted a single red pouch that had been wrapped up so tightly with twine, that it was almost imperceptible to the naked eye. Isobel reached inside and hurriedly untied it with shaking fingers. 

A simple gold necklace glinted in the dim light coming from torches flickering on the passage walls. 

Turning it out into her palm, Isobel noted the elegance of the chain and the simple emerald pendant that hung at the end. It seemed far too dear to be something that her father had owned. He had gambled away most of their money before landing in debtor’s prison. Yet even before that, she had never known a life of splendor or even plenty. 

She was about to scrunch up the pouch in her fist when she suddenly noticed a small scrap of parchment that had been hidden in the folds. Glancing over her shoulder to check if she was alone, she carefully unfolded it, recognizing her father’s slanted writing. 

My Dearest Isobel, 

This necklace belonged to your mother. I know I should have sold it to pay off our debts, but I could not bring myself to part with this final piece of her and the life she should have lived. It is yours now. 

Whatever may come, please know that I have always loved you as my only daughter. 

Yours forever, no matter what happens, 

Jack Leighton. 

“Papa, what do you mean…” Isobel’s words trailed off as her heart stopped beating. 

Her father’s lifeless body lay deathly still, his arm hanging off the side as his fingers touched the floor. 

“Papa, no!” Isobel rushed to his side, lifting his limp arm back onto the cot as she began to sob. 

No breath moved through his lungs as his chest stayed as still as a rock. 

“Why?” She asked through the flood of tears. “Why did it have to end like this?” She lay her forehead on his still arm. 

Hours seemed to pass until a gentle hand squeezed her shoulder.

“You must come away, my child. They will take your father for burial,” Sister Josephine whispered above.      

How long had she been sitting beside her father? It would have taken Sister Josephine at least three hours to travel from the orphanage. Had the sun already begun to rise?  “You should not have come, Sister. There is nothing that can be done now.” 

Sister Josephine let out a heavy sigh as she tightened her grip on Isobel’s shoulder. “You were gone for so long, I knew I could not leave you. I asked one of our neighbors if they would bring me by cart. Come now, my child. You must be so tired.” 

Every muscle in Isobel’s body ached as she sat back and looked at the single note and pendant in her hand. 

Stay away from Blackmoor Hall.

The warning echoed in her mind along with the distant sounds of men coming to take what was left of her family. 

“I am truly an orphan now.” She looked up and into the sorrow-filled face of Sister Josephine. 

 

Chapter Two

Three years later, Blackmoor Hall, Wiltshire. 

 

“Would you at least consider staying on for a while until we find another governess?” Theodore Ashcombe sat back in his chair, combing his fingers through a thick mop of salt and pepper black hair. 

“Most certainly not, those girls are in need of a stern hand and far more discipline than even I can provide.” The latest governess glared at him from across the desk. She had only been employed for three weeks, yet there was nothing that Theodore felt he could do to make her stay. 

“Not even if I tripled your wages?” He took a shot in the dark, knowing that the last five governesses had told him that no sum of money would ever be sufficient to make them stay. 

Holding her breath and pursing her lips, the older woman with snow-white hair and a rigid posture huffed. “I do beg your pardon, My Lord. You may be the Earl of Blackmoor, but even the King himself would not be able to persuade me to stay. Those sisters of yours need guidance that is far beyond my years!” She pursed her lips so hard that tiny lines began to form at the corners of her mouth. 

“And that is saying something,” Theodore muttered under his breath, setting his square jaw as he clenched his teeth. 

Why can I not find someone reliable? 

“I did not hear you, My Lord?” Mrs. Sherwood narrowed her dark eyes at him. 

“It was nothing, I was just thinking out loud, that is all.” He forced a stiff smile and leaned forward, lacing his fingers together on the desk.

He had harbored high hopes for the older woman and her strict ways. She had been a breath of fresh air compared to the other fortune-seeking young woman who had aimed to tempt him. Yet now he was reaching the end of his rope as his patience wore out. 

Mrs. Sherwood sat holding his gaze in a menacing manner that made him wonder how his younger sisters had not been intimidated by her. 

“I understand the difficulty of the situation, Mrs. Sherwood…” Theodore began cooly, but stopped when she huffed again. 

“Huh! I am not certain that you do, My Lord. If it is not too impertinent of me to say, but you have no idea. Lady Izzy can still be worked with when she is on her own, but add Lady Amy into the mix, and all hell breaks loose!” I cannot tell you how many times I had to fish out frog spawn from my afternoon tea!” She shuddered in disgust and pulled a face to match. 

Setting his jaw once again, Theodore stifled a groan. “That behavior is very unacceptable, Mrs. Sherwood. I can assure you that I will deal with them in good time.” 

“Good time? And when will that be, My Lord? You are never home when I want to address the girls’ behavior, and when you are, you retire here to your study.” She gestured in the air beside her head, encompassing the entire room with its fine leather furnishings. “I had to ambush you this morning in order to hand in my resignation!” 

That you did. 

Theodore nodded begrudgingly while recalling the events of the earlier that morning. He had known for a few days that Mrs. Sherwood had wanted to see him, but he had done everything in his power to try to avoid her. He would have succeeded if it had not been for the pain in his leg that had slowed him down. 

She had found him in the hallway and run him down before he had been able to slip away. 

Coming to her feet as if her spine were a rigid metal rod, Mrs. Sherwood glared down at him. “There is nothing more to be said on the matter, My Lord. Your sisters are unmanageable, and I refuse to spend another moment pretending to care what happens to them! May you have all the luck in the world with the next governess, and may she be made of sterner stuff than I. She will certainly need to be!” 

He watched as she turned with her nose in the air and floated from the study on a cloud of superiority. The door slammed shut behind her, making Theodore wince as he shut his eyes. 

“Lord help us all,” he whispered to the empty room, massaging his temples with his index fingers. 

A knock sounded on the study door, making Theodore heave a sigh. 

“What is it now?” He swore under his breath, straightening in his chair. “Come in!” The pain shot up his thigh like a bolt of lightning that tempered off into a dull ache. 

The door swung open, revealing the butler who had been with the family for as far back as Theodore could remember. 

“What is it, Mr. Hawthorne?” Thedore’s voice dripped with irritation. 

Striding into the study, the seemingly impossibly tall man with a balding head and slender frame bowed. The skin on the top of his head caught a flicker of light from the window as he came up straight. “I am sorry to disturb you, My Lord, but I saw Mrs. Sherwood leaving in somewhat of a hurry. Will we be requiring another governess?” The hint of disapproval and apprehension in his voice was unmistakable. 

“Yes, we certainly will. You may place the advertisement in the papers again. Perhaps we will be lucky this time, and God will send an angel to save us all,” he grumbled while straightening a stack of parchment on the desk. 

“Shall I make any kind of amendments to the posting, My Lord?” Mr. Hawthrone raised an eyebrow while giving Theodore a pointed look. 

“What kind of amendments did you have in mind?” Theodore tried to maintain his composure.

Mr. Hawthorne cleared his throat with his fist against his mouth. “Perhaps we could say that Lady Amy and Lady Izzy require a much sterner hand. Perhaps someone who is accustomed to working with… difficult situations. I know of a governess who spent her formative years in a strict convent. She uses stern methods and teaches with an iron will.” 

Theodore cocked his head to the side in question as his anger grew. “Are you saying that I should subject my younger sisters, the girls that you have seen raised before your very eyes, to someone who would beat them into submission?” 

The butler’s face turned bright red as he coughed into his fist. “Certainly not, My Lord. I was simply suggesting that Lady Amy and Lady Izzy need a firmer touch when it came to their studies.” 

“A firmer touch, meaning the punishment that is doled out in workhouses and schools for children who do not know how to behave?” Theodore made himself more comfortable in his chair and stared at the butler, waiting tentatively for a response. 

A vein began to pop in the man’s neck from embarrassment before Theodore dismissed him irritably with a wave of his hand. “Place the same advertisement as it is in the paper. Someone will answer. In the meantime, Mrs. Crook can keep an eye on Lady Izzy and Lady Amy.” 

The butler clenched his jaw, holding back what Theodore knew was a slew of complaints. The housekeeper loved the girls, but Mr. Hawthorne did not like to delegate her duties when it came to looking after Theodore’s sisters. “Very well, My Lord.” He bowed stiffly and backed out of the study. 

What am I going to do? 

It was not easy running the estate after his father’s passing. He kept up with everything that was needed to manage a grand house and its surrounding lands, but it was proving increasingly difficult when it came to keeping his sisters in check. The house had grown gloomy since the tragedies, and it did not seem as if there was much he could do to remedy that. 

He was about to stand and go looking for his younger sisters when the door to the study creaked once again. 

“Shhh, I told you not to touch the door!” A little voice whispered aggressively. 

“I was not touching it; it was a draft! Why do you always blame me for everything that goes wrong!” A second, almost identical voice complained. 

“Because it is usually true…” 

Taking a deep breath, Theodore composed himself. “Girls, would you like to stop skulking in the hallway and come into the study?” 

A long pause ensued as Theodore kept his eyes on the empty doorway. His twelve-year-old sisters were notorious for listening to conversations when they were not under strict supervision. 

He waited patiently until one, then the other, stepped into view. 

Amy and Izzy Ashcombe were identical in every way possible. Their raven-black hair hung down their backs in matching waterfalls of half-curls. Even their build, delicate faces, and ash-grey eyes that mirrored his were identical. 

Theodore continued to wait as they walked side by side, matching each other’s steps until they were standing in front of his desk. “And what do you have to say for yourselves after chasing away yet another governess?” He used as stern a voice as he could muster. 

Izzy broke first as she stomped her perfectly neat, buckled white shoe on the carpet beneath her feet. “I told Amy not to put any more of those frog eggs in her tea! I swear, Theodore, I did!” Her little round cheeks began to turn red as she protested. “She is always blaming me for everything, but I am always the one getting into trouble because of her!” 

Amy crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her sister before turning to her brother. “Mrs. Sherwood deserved every sip of that tea. She kept on telling us that Mama would have been disappointed with our behavior. She never even met Mama!” Her grey eyes grew watery with tears as she attempted to hold back her emotions. 

Sitting up straighter, Theodore clenched his jaw. “She did what?” Every muscle in his body tensed as he recalled the superiority of the woman who had been sitting before him. 

Izzy was the first to burst into tears when Amy began to explain. “It is true, Theodore, she would tell us all the time that Mama would not have loved us if she had lived any longer.” Her bottom lip wobbled slightly as she pouted. 

Resisting every urge to go after the older woman and drag her back to the study, Theodore stood. She deserved a piece of his mind for presenting his sisters with opinions that were not rightfully hers to give. Yet yelling at her would not solve any of his problems. 

The girls took a step back at first before exchanging a worried glance. 

Theodore moved around the desk, feeling his right thigh pinch from the wound he had received at war. He hunkered down in front of them before placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Why did you not come and tell me that she was saying these things?” 

Amy’s lips continued to tremble as Izzy cried softly. “You would not believe us. Mrs. Sherwood said that you are far too busy to spend any time with us. She also said that little girls who tell tales end up being sent to horrid schools where they eat nothing but gruel and dirty water.” 

I wonder where she got that idea from. 

Theodore thought of the butler and his countless suggestions on hiring a sterner, more direct governess. 

Izzy’s head snapped up in panic as her eyes widened. “You will not allow them to send us to one of those schools. Will you, Theodore?” She seemed to suck in a sharp breath as if she were dreading the answer.

Pulling them both in for a hug, Theodore held them in the crook of each arm. “Of course not, who would drive Mr. Hawthorne insane if the two of you were not here?” 

Amy giggled as Izzy’s body relaxed. 

“We did not mean to drive another governess away, Theodore. We swear it, Mrs. Sherwood was just so horrid. She was always making Izzy cry. You have to be more careful with who you choose to look after us,” Amy said sternly. 

“How did this become my fault?” Thedore looked from one to the other, feeling his anger beginning to subside. Since the passing of his parents, his younger sisters had become his entire world.  

Izzy nodded in agreement. “It might be best if we did not have a governess at all. We will be just fine looking after ourselves in the nursery. We can even teach each other from books. It cannot be that difficult.” She shrugged. 

“Ah, I see where this is going. Given the fact that it is my fault for hiring Mrs. Sherwood, I should just leave the two of you to your own devices?” He raised an eyebrow while looking from one to the other. 

The girls nodded in unison. “That would be wonderful!” 

Theodore shook his head, somewhat amused by their attempts. “That was a valiant effort, girls, but I will be looking for another governess. I cannot just allow you to run wild.” 

Their faces fell. “Oh.” 

“But I will promise you this. I will take great care in choosing another governess for you. If anyone ever tells you again that Mama would not have been proud of you, I want you to come straight to me. Is that understood?” 

They avoided looking directly at him until he cupped their chins in both his hands and gently forced them to look up. 

“I know you both miss her, as do I. She loved the two of you more than anything on this earth. I promised her that I would look after you. I am proud of how you look after each other, even if that stiff old Mrs. Sherwood could not see just how amazing you both are.” 

A slight smile danced around the corner of Amy’s lips. “Do you mean that?” 

Furrowing his brow, Theodore cocked his head to the side. “Have you ever known me to tell a lie?” 

Izzy was the first to shake her head. “You served in the army until you were injured, and Mrs. Crook said a soldier never lies!” 

The fire in her eyes warmed his heart. “That is right. We must all do our best to always be honest. That is why Mrs. Sherwood is no longer your governess. She lied to you.” 

Amy narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “I thought it was because I put frog eggs in her tea too many times.” 

“Exactly how many times did you do that?” Theodore frowned seriously this time. 

Biting her lips, Amy shook her head. “I cannot lie if I do not answer.” 

Coming to his feet, Theodore sighed. “Promise me that you will not drive the next governess away?” He shut his eyes again as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb. 

They seemed to consider his request before speaking again. 

“Will you find one who is very, very nice?” Izzy asked cautiously. 

“Perhaps one that will allow us to play outside after tea instead of forcing us to walk with books on our heads in the library,” Amy suggested. 

“It would be nice if she were young and pretty. Mrs. Sherwood was quite wrinkly.” She scrunched up her little nose. 

“I doubt that her prettiness will have much bearing on your studies if you behave.” He placed his hands on his hips and gave them both a stern glare. 

“I guess not,” Amy sighed heavily and shook her head as she looked at her sister. “We did try.” 

Izzy shrugged and took her hand as they both turned from him and skipped away. 

“What just happened here?” Theodore looked around the empty room, realizing that he had not scolded them for misbehaving but had, in fact, played right into their hands. 

Their tearful expression swam in his vision as he sighed. They mourned their mother’s passing, but he was not sure how to make things better for them.