The funeral was a quiet affair.<br/><br/>Elegant black horses pulled ebony and glass carriages, white roses and ivy crowding about the wood as if the cushion the occupants on their final journey. The alabaster mausoleum was opened and had been cleaned before they arrived, three new names carved into the stone. Just the first initial and the family name, as was tradition.<br/><br/>Sir J. Grimsword II<br/>Lady N. Pervis-Grimsword<br/>B’lovd A. Grimsword<br/><br/>The day didn’t reflect the occasion. The sky was patched with clouds, shards of sun breaking through every so often then snuffed out moments later. The air moved in great sighs, tugging at hair, clothes and veils and the ridiculous plumes on the horses’ heads.<br/><br/>The aging Marquise was the only member of the Grimsword family there. Audrey had been put to bed with the aid of laudanum, still suffering from the trauma of the crash. There were a few of her son’s friends, and his lady wife’s relatives, but still so very few.<br/><br/>It wasn’t drawn out – the Matriarch had seen so many funerals, she couldn’t bare them. She didn’t wish to linger over putting her only son and his young family to rest. Audrey lived… but without a male in the youngest generation, their great, proud line would be broken. Their name would be lost, their property scattered to the court vultures. It was something she would not see done in her life time.<br/><br/>There was only one option for her, for the great and ancient line.<br/><br/>Her eyes moved over the long list of her predecessors, and now her descendants. There were title galore, from lowly barons to princes. Only where there were children were they titleless… but if note was taken, every now and then, there was the title ‘B’lovd’. It was not an official title, but an honorific bestowed upon a select few. So it had been given to her grandson – though the only grandchild she had with the initial ‘A’ was the girl dreaming at the manor.<br/><br/>She watched the coffins being placed inside the family tomb, and accepted the condolences with silent nods. No sooner had the doors of the mausoleum been closed and locked did the Marquise Teresa make to leave. “I must return home. My grandson will need me.”<br/>