This chapter takes place less than a week after the end of the last chapter. Apologies for any fear I caused with the last one ;o) yeah, that was kind of evil of me, I know *sheepish smile* Anyway, THANK YOU as always for your continued readership! We continue to get closer to the end of Larry's story, and something BIG happens in this chapter...
All the Wrong Reasons
August, 1920
There's a reason he prefers staying in London to this place. All the memories of his "wasted" youth lie here, accompanied by the unending disappointment radiated from his father.
Now he can add the memory of his mother's untimely death to the list, of being forced to stand so many feet away from her coffin, and receive "condolences" from people who are only here because they don't want the gossip to get out that they weren't.
But he can't judge them too harshly for that; he's not that different.
If he didn't have to be here, he wouldn't. He was never particularly close to his mother, but still…she is his mother. It would look even worse if he weren't there. But if he could, he would be lying drunk somewhere in London, as he had been the day he received the damn news.
Mariah is sniveling in a handkerchief. Larry just rolls his eyes. His sister was never that close to their mother, either. But her grief-stricken face attracts the attention of several gentlemen, all of whom are far too old for her, but in this post-war world, a woman can't be too picky.
His father is the picture of English stoicism, while at the same time, his lip wobbles or his voice catches, just providing their visitors a hint of his grief. In all honesty, Larry isn't sure how his father feels their mother's passing, any more than either he or Mariah. He truly cannot remember the last time he ever saw "affection" being exchanged between them. Perhaps that explains why he and his sister are the only children?
A voice fills his ears and his head perks up. Lord and Lady Grantham have come to pay their respects.
They could go to hell for all Larry cares.
"Oh Larry, Robert and I were truly devastated when we heard the news," Lady Grantham simpers. "She was such a fine woman."
"Our deepest sympathies," Lord Grantham murmurs, somewhat awkwardly in that way Englishmen do when faced with personal tragedy.
He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from retorting. They thankfully move on to whisper the same words to his sister and no doubt to his father after her.
He keeps his eyes forward as both Mary and her husband approach, Mary murmuring words similar to Lord Grantham's, while thankfully, the pretender remains silent.
Edith is there too, and offers a sympathetic smile. He doesn't return it.
"…Larry."
His eyes widen. Oh God…she's come!?
He looks down…and he swears his breath catches and he beholds Sybil's face.
The great lump that was her stomach is gone, though she still holds some of the roundness to her curves. But there is that glow about her, that glow that apparently lasts beyond pregnancy, that glow that makes her beauty shine brighter than ever before.
And while he wants to hate and revile her for the pain she has caused him, for the shattered heart she has left him, he finds that he can't…and for the first time since the tragic news struck, his eyes fill with tears.
"Oh Larry," Sybil bites her lip, before stepping forward and taking his hand, surprising the both of them by the gesture.
He realizes then that she thinks he's mourning for his mother. But he's not. He's mourning (again) that she's not his. Mourning that he must stand here, in this damn receiving line of condolences and well-wishers, and not have her—as his wife—stand by him.
She's standing right in front of him, holding his hand!
And he's never felt more alone.
He pulls his hand away. "And…and where is…?" He can't say the word so he doesn't.
Sybil blushes. "Tom stayed at Downton, with the baby."
Tom. The damn chauffeur has a name, apparently.
"Congratulations," he mutters, not meeting her eyes, and not meaning the compliment.
She doesn't reply. She probably knows he's lying.
"Oh! Sybil?"
He looks up and his eyes widen slightly at the image of his little blonde shadow from all those years ago. What is she doing here? Her family didn't know his.
"Imogen?" Sybil sounds just as surprised.
Imogen promptly ignores her friend and focuses her pretty eyes on him. "Oh Mr. Grey, I am so sorry for your loss," she moans. She boldly takes his hand between both of hers, and there's a moment Larry thinks she's going to raise it to her lips and kiss it, but she doesn't.
How strange to be receiving such an outpouring of sympathy from an almost-stranger. Still, unlike the other woman before him, she at least wants his company. Wants it enough that she came here to mourn a woman she never really knew.
"I need some air," he mutters, stepping past Sybil and offering his arm much to the surprise of both women, to his little shadow.
She gasps, and without hesitation or a backwards glance, eagerly takes it, and just for a moment, Larry finds himself smiling because he is wanted, he is admired, and he hopes Sybil now realizes the grave mistake she made in letting him go.
But when he looks over his shoulder, he sees that she's moved on, and is embracing his sobbing sister.
Well, if she can move on, why can't he? He deserves some happiness, damn it! He deserves to be loved and desired and wanted by another!
Before the day is over he's done the unthinkable.
…He's gotten himself engaged.