"The vote is an emblem of your equality, women of America, the guarantee of your liberty. That vote of yours has cost millions of dollars and the lives of thousands of women. Money to carry on this work has been given usually as a sacrifice, and thousands of women have gone without things they wanted and could have had in order that they might help get the vote for you. Women have suffered agony of soul which you can never comprehend, that you and your daughters might inherit political freedom. That vote has been costly. Prize it! The vote is a power, a weapon of offense and defense, a prayer. Understand what it means and what it can do for your country. Use it intelligently, conscientiously, prayerfully." Carrie Chapman Catt

----

XXIX.

It had just gone five in the morning, but Grace was awake. A force of habit that she had not been able to escape since leaving service. Claire usually awoke and began her chores at six o'clock, and so Grace used this time to start the bread.

What she had not been expecting was a knock on the door.

She knew immediately who it would be, and she knew immediately what this visit meant. Her heart was practically breaking as she opened the door, but upon seeing Adam's pain-stricken face, it broke entirely.

Adam was completely dishevelled, from his creased and crumpled attire, to his unkempt hair and reddened eyes. His eyes told her just what agony he was in, and Grace longed to take it away from him. But she knew she couldn't. She knew from experience just how terrible this was. 

"He's gone," Adam whispered, and a flash of shock crossed his face, as though this was the first time that he had articulated his father's death.

Grace had only read to him the previous morning, just as she had been doing every morning since Peregrine had first summoned her. He had not looked long for this world for a little while, and Grace had known it was coming.

She said a silent prayer for Peregrine Beresford, and she truly hoped that he had found some peace now that he was free from pain.

Grace went to Adam, wrapping her arms firmly around his waist and resting her head against his chest. She could hear his erratic heartbeat. Adam reciprocated immediately, holding Grace as tightly as he could, as though his life depended on it. And he wept. He wept quietly, heartbreakingly, for his father.

And Grace cried, too. She cried for Peregrine, for the man she had come to know, respect, and admire as Adam's father. She cried for Adam and wished she could heal him in some way. And she cried for her own, dear Papa. He was never far from her thoughts, especially recently.

Grace and Adam held each other in the small entryway of her house, leaning against the closed front door. It was still very dark, and the house was quiet as her mother, sister, and brothers all slept. The only noise was both of their shaky sobs, which quietened after a little while.

Grace didn't know what to say. She had said so much since learning of Peregrine's illness, in an attempt to bring Adam some sense of understanding and compassion, but she knew now that nothing could heal him. He needed time to be sad, time to mourn.

Adam said nothing, either. Though as she heard the light footsteps of her sister moving about upstairs, Grace realised that Adam's breaths were even. Craning her neck up, she could see that his eyes were closed and that he had fallen asleep leaning up against the door.

For a brief moment, he was peaceful.

As Claire came downstairs, she stopped abruptly when she saw Grace and Adam together by the door. Her expression told Grace that she knew immediately why Adam had come. Her brows furrowed sadly as she sat down on the fourth step, facing Grace.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted," whispered Claire. Like Grace, Claire's eyes became glassy and a single tear fell down her cheek.

***

Cecily wouldn't have a viewing. She thought the idea far too macabre and insisted that Peregrine be given the dignity of being remembered as he was, and not the frail, thin, ill man he had been when he died. A funeral was planned and arranged in three days, and before the new year was celebrated, the Ashwood church was filled with mourners to hear the vicar speak fondly of the duke, whom he had christened some fifty years ago as a young man of the cloth.

Adam hadn't known that. He'd always thought the Ashwood vicar ancient, but this man had christened his father as an infant. It pleased him, even as he mourned, to learn something new about his father.

He, Cecily, Jack and Susanna all occupied the front pew of the church, dressed in their black, mourning attire. Cecily and Susanna both wore thick, black veils that concealed their faces.

In one hand, Susanna clutched a handkerchief. In the other, she held onto Adam's tightly. Adam was sitting in between his mother and sister, with Jack sitting on the other side of Susanna. Adam had allowed himself that morning with Grace to be miserable. Of course, he was still absolutely devastated. He was in shock, really, to be seated at his own father's funeral service. But it was his responsibility to look after his family know. Peregrine had said it himself. It was up to Adam now. And his chief concern was Jack.

Jack had been drunk for the best part of three days. He didn't know how to handle his own grief and regulating his emotions had been a struggle for him in his early adulthood. Jack seemed to Adam to be teetering on the edge of a cliff, and only a small gust of wind would push him over.

Were Adam sitting beside Jack, he was certain he would be able to smell the whiskey on his breath.

The vicar concluded his sermon, and the mourners were dismissed. Cecily, Adam, Jack and Susanna stood outside the church with the vicar as they politely accepted the sympathies of the Ashwood community.

Grace had been seated with her family. As much as Adam would have wanted her by his side, he knew it was not yet appropriate. Adam hadn't thought much about what life would be like after his father passed away. Of course, he had plans for the future, but he hadn't really wanted to envision what life would be like immediately after his father's death. It was far too morbid.

But now that he was here, in the thick of grief, Adam had no desire to wait. He had no desire to waste time. It was precious, after all, and could so easily be snuffed out by a wicked disease.

Grace was dressed entirely in black, as were most of the mourners, the only colour upon her was a rosy flush in her cheeks, and her bright, blue eyes, though they were soft and filled with concern as she looked upon him.

His father had bidden him cherish Grace, and cherish her, Adam would indeed.

Hang society. Hang anyone who had a negative word to say about it. He had just spent weeks watching his father suffer. Adam knew how cruel life could be. To waste life based upon unwritten laws seemed utterly ludicrous now. Adam had already lost so much time. Lord, had those years not been taken from him because of those stupid letters, he might have married Grace years ago.

He was in love with her. He always had been. He had known he had loved Grace long before he really understood what love was. Adam would go to her this afternoon, and if he had his way, they would be married before the new year. 

Grace could not hug him. Not in public. She could not even hold his hand, and that was the straw that broke the camel's back. She could not but smile sympathetically at Adam, with a longing look in her eye, before she wrapped her arms around Susanna in comfort.

Adam was momentarily distracted by Grace as he saw Mrs Denham speaking to his mother. Adam did not think he'd ever seen the two converse before, and yet ...

Cecily lifted her veil for a moment, long enough for both women to lean forward and kiss the other on the cheek. It was an act of friendship ... kinship ... respect. Adam had never seen such behaviour from his mother before, and he could not have been prouder in that moment to see her truly humble. Adam believed her to have forged this relationship for him, and he was grateful. As Mrs Denham moved on, Cecily pulled her veil back down and began to receive the rest of the mourners.

Mrs Denham smile sympathetically at Adam. "Your father would be so proud of you, Adam," she said quietly. "Don't you dare be a stranger, now."

Adam did not plan to be. "Thank you, Mrs Denham, sincerely. Might I call upon Grace later on?"

Mrs Denham appeared to understand Adam's intentions almost instantly, and Adam feared he lacked the ability to conceal his thoughts. "You have my blessing," she replied simply.

***

Peregrine Beresford was buried in the family's private tomb, a place that had brought Adam much indifference before this day. The names carved into the stone had been just that, names. People who had lived long before him, people that he had not known. But it was now Peregrine's place of eternal rest, and the vicar prayed for Peregrine and the family he left behind during this private burial.

When it came time to leave, the vicar, Cecily and Susanna walked on ahead, back towards through the estate and up to the house. Jack lingered behind, and Adam elected to stay with him.

Considering it was late December, it was an unusually sunny day. Though there was a chill in the air, the sun was just warm enough to melt the snow and leave a glistening dew across the expansive lawns.

Adam could see the anguish in his brother's face. Jack had been lost. He had been lost long before Peregrine had become ill, but now he was even more so. Once again, Adam could see his brother teetering on the edge of that cliff.

"Jack," he murmured, looking briefly over his shoulder to see his mother, sister, and the vicar disappearing into the distance.

Jack absently kicked the ground, his dark hair falling into his eyes. But he didn't say anything. His lips were pressed into a firm line.

"Jack," said Adam again, his voice firmer. "Please."

"I don't have anything, Adam," uttered Jack. "My life isn't worth anything. I was born to be insurance. And you've inherited now. I'm not needed. Nobody needs me." Jack kicked the grass again, more aggressively this time.

Adam wished that Cecily had put more time, more effort, into forging a relationship with Jack. Adam understood why Jack frustrated their mother. Their parents had paid a fortune for Jack's education, and as a second son, he had been meant for the church. With so little room to move, Jack had rebelled. He did get into trouble. He made trouble more often than not, especially when he was at school. Jack knew what he didn't want to do, but he had no idea what would make him happy.

And so, Cecily had fixated on Jack's mistakes whenever they had been together, and it was no wonder they did not have a very loving relationship. Now Adam wondered if it was too late.

With direction, with a purpose, with a partner, Adam hoped that Jack could finally know what it was to feel content and fulfilled.

"That is ridiculous, and you know it," retorted Adam. "You are needed here, and you are worth everything to me."

Jack looked up at Adam and shook his head. "No, I'm not," he replied firmly. "I know you want to look after me. I know you worry about me. But I also know I'm about two mistakes from you looking at me like she does."

"Mother has changed," insisted Adam. He wouldn't have believed it, but Cecily had changed. "And I have certainly never treated you ill." He resented that.

Jack conceded, nodding. "No, you are right. That was unfair," he allowed. "Perhaps I'm just afraid that you will look at me like that one day, and I don't want you to be disappointed in me, too."

Adam breathed shakily. "I will never be disappointed in you, Jack. You don't know what I hope for you."

Jack grimaced, as though he didn't have that hope for himself. He could not look at Adam any longer, and he looked back at the family tomb. He swallowed loudly. "I have to leave," he decided. "I can't stay, but you knew this was coming."

Adam felt his heart sink even deeper, a feat which seemed impossible after how he'd felt at the service. "Where will you go?"

"London," replied Jack quickly.

Adam realised that this had clearly been on his mind a while. "What will you do?"

Jack was quiet for a moment. "I don't know. All I know is that I need to get away from this place. You heard what Father said. I need to be more than what I am ..."

Adam knew he couldn't stop Jack. He had been watching Jack struggle for months, and their father was right. Maybe ... maybe it would be best for Jack to go out on his own for a while. "When will you leave?"

"Well, that depends," replied Jack, finally turning back around. "When are you planning on marrying Grace?"

----

I hope you enjoyed it!!

It's been hard to escape election news, even all the way down here in Australia. This is the last author's note I will write before the election on the 3rd, and I hope every one of you eligible to vote in this election does.

My quote is very purposeful today. Your vote is your RIGHT.

I know I have male readers (hi!) but the majority of my readers are women, and a huge percentage of you come from the USA. The women who came before us fought for our right to stand in polling booths. Every country has a pioneer suffragette who got the vote for you. Every time I step into a booth, or post my vote (as I had to recently for council elections) the joy in this right of mine is never lost on me.

Brave women were arrested, starved, force fed, arrested again, chanted, protested, sat in, and everything in between so that we could have an equal say. I consider it my responsibility to honour them with each and every vote I cast.

Several years ago, when I was writing TRM (throwing it back about six years now), I had several comments on my story as I wrote my first gay character, of people saying foul things, and accusing me of pushing my political agenda. While I never lost my beliefs, I did shy away from expressing my opinions so as not to push anyone's buttons.

But screw it. I'm me. These are my opinions. You don't have to agree with me. That's your right.

I care about women, and I vote for candidates who support a woman's fundamental rights to healthcare and autonomy over her own body.

I care about the environment. When I vote, I vote for candidates who have firm plans for how to prevent the catastrophe that is climate change.

I care about people of colour, and I vote for candidates who support the inclusion of minorities and the education of others to better understand their struggles and how we can support them and empower them.

I care about the LGBTIQ+ community, and I vote for candidates who have clear, positive social positions and do not vote in a way that promotes hate. There is only one state in Australia that has banned gay conversion therapy. This is absolutely insane to me.

I believe that immigrants should be treated with compassion. I am the child of immigrants who came to Australia in order to provide me with a better life. Immigrants are not criminals. Children should never be separated from their parents.

When I hear Donald Trump talk, criticise, mock, put down, bully, dismiss, or just crap on people, it makes me sick. I truly hope he loses this election, and I hope that the USA can move in a more positive, inclusive, and progressive direction under new leadership.

I did not vote for our current prime minister. But I voted. I had my say, and even if the candidate I chose didn't win, I know that I tried. And I'll try again next election.

As I said, you don't have to agree with me. But this is my little corner of the internet, and no matter who you are, you are welcome here.

I usually end my author's notes with "vote and comment", but I'll just say vote. Please. Have your say.

Xxx