“Not from the viscount. From the cook, I had my bit of beef.” He shrugged, his gaze drifting to the distance as he remembered. “I found the viscount terrifying but knew better than to show my fear. I met his gaze and told my tale without wavering. I remember how he turned to study me when I said that his son was the one who could not swim. He lied, you see, about his abilities, and the others smelled it. His lie was the reason for the challenge, for they taunted him to prove he spoke the truth. He could not back down and admit he had lied, and so he jumped first into the river and he died.”
Patience shivered.
“I soon realized that the viscount did not mourn his son overmuch. In later years, he confided that Arthur had always been a brash fool and one he feared would never overcome his early inclinations. On that day, I stood, wondering, until the viscount turned to study me. ‘Do you not fear me?’ he demanded and I shook my head, well aware that the schoolmaster lingered in the shadows, listening. The viscount indicated that I should speak. ‘Why should I fear a father who grieves for his son?’ I asked. ‘What of your own father?’ he demanded. ‘Would he grieve for your early death?’ I wager he had guessed that I was an orphan within those walls, or perhaps he had been told as much. ‘He grieves for my mother and has forgotten his son,’ I said without thinking. ‘Charlie is one of many lost children,’ the schoolmaster said. ‘But more biddable than most.’
The viscount walked toward me, I can see him yet, as he crouched down before me. ‘Your hair is dark, like his,’ he said but I shook my head. ‘No, sir, my father is fair. I favor my mother.’ And he smiled for the first time, then shook his head and fixed me with a look. ‘Do you like it here?’ I had no notion what the correct reply might be, a startling realization for one who lived by his wits. The master was watching me in silence, which did not help. ‘Cook is kind to me,’ I ceded and the viscount straightened, folding his arms across his chest as he looked down at me. I feared a pronouncement of some kind, but his question astonished me. ‘What if I were kind to you?’ he asked softly. ‘What if I gave you everything Arthur had?’ The master caught his breath, understanding before I did. ‘You must want something in return,’ I said, thinking he made a joke at my expense. He nodded. ‘Your name,’ he said in a murmur, his gaze clinging to mine, even as the schoolmaster caught his breath. ‘Your promise until your dying breath that you will never admit the truth.’
Patience caught her breath. What a demand to make of a child! “How wicked,” she murmured.
“The schoolmaster protested at this point, but was reminded of the scandal that would erupt at the revelation that the grandson of the Earl of Fairhaven had died while under his care. He paled then and retreated, his agitation so clear that I knew a rare opportunity was before me. ‘I will take you,’ the viscount said to me. ‘I will make you into Arthur Beckham. You will become my son and whoever you are now will cease to be forever. You will not write to your father ever again. You will not reveal yourself to anyone, for this will be a secret you and I take to our graves.’ I looked at the schoolmaster. ‘As will he,’ the viscount confided. ‘If he has his wits about him.’ I was tempted, sorely tempted, but had to ask. ‘Someone will know,’ I said. ‘His mother will know.’ The viscount smiled. ‘Leave his mother to me.’ And he offered his hand, as if I were a man and not a ten-year-old boy.”
Arthur shook his head. “That was the first time I had the sense that Dame Fortune rode with me, that opportunity was within reach and that if I did not seize the chance, it would slip away forever. I can still see his hand. His nails were trimmed short and clean beyond anything I had seen before. In that instant, I wanted to live a life in which my hands were always smooth and clean, a life in which I was always warm and never hungry, a life in which my clothes fit and I knew I would be safe all the night long while I slept, and I wanted it enough to surrender whatever the viscount asked of me. I put my hand in his and I remember his nod of satisfaction, then my life changed forever.”
He fell silent then, perhaps reliving the details of that moment, and Patience studied him while his attention was diverted. She hated to imagine him alone and hungry, a boy with only his wits to rely upon, a child who did not hold his own name to have any merit. She could understand why he would make such a choice—indeed, she could not imagine anyone making a different one.
She wondered what it was like to know with such certainty that no one valued you for your own self.
“Charles Arthur Leighton,” she repeated.
His smile was sad. “That was the ironic detail. I had been christened Charles Arthur, though I had always been called Charlie. The viscount took that as a sign that his idea had divine approval.”
“Was he religious?”
“When it suited him.”
“What happened next?”
“We left in the night, the tale being that the viscount would not leave his son in a place so careless with the boy’s welfare. ‘Charlie’ was doubtless buried in the potters’ field with no one to miss him.”
“Save the cook,” Prudence insisted, giving him a little poke. He smiled, to her relief.
“She had to set her own fires until she found another urchin, to be sure.” He cleared his throat. “We went to the viscount’s country house, which Arthur and his mother had not frequented, where the servants were loyal and of long service to the family. And there my education began.” His brows rose. “I was scrubbed and trimmed and tutored seemingly all day and half the night. I had to learn to ride properly, not to sling myself across a horse’s back like a peasant, to eat, to dress myself, to dance, to make conversation, to remember names and titles and family history. It was grueling, but it was also a challenge beyond anything I had ever done before.”
“You loved it,” Patience guessed and was rewarded by his grin.
“Truth be told, I did. Languages. Mathematics. I could not get enough of it. The viscountess soon arrived, took one look at me, and retreated to a private chamber with her husband. Their battle was spectacular, noisy and furious, doubtless tinged by a mother’s grief. They raged all the night at each other, the servants exchanging glances as they went about their tasks. I did not sleep that night, for I believed all had been for naught and that they would cast me out.” He frowned. “It is curious how fearful I was that I should lose what I had only recently gained.”
“You liked affluence. I cannot blame you.”
“But such a gift creates an uncertainty in the heart that would not be there otherwise,” he said. “I sometimes feel I have lived that night over and over again for twenty years.”
“What is given can be taken away.”
He nodded, meeting her gaze. “And one tires of the possibility. One yearns for resolution, one way or the other, instead of the endless prospect of loss without warning.”
Patience nodded understanding. How curious it was to realize that so many envied Arthur Beckham while no one knew his truth or his torment.
“I was summoned after breakfast to her chamber. Lady Beckham was more terrifying than the viscount, for it was clear this notion had only been granted her approval with reluctance. ‘My husband decrees that my father, the earl, cannot be without a grandson,’ she said without preamble. ‘I do not like it and I see no reason to disguise that truth from you. You have not a drop of decent blood in your veins. Disappoint me and I will defy him, without a single regret.’ And I was dismissed.”
“Goodness,” Patience found herself whispering. “She was never soft, was she?”
“Lady Beckham is formidable, to be sure, and it was whispered that she did not welcome the viscount again to her bed for almost a decade. She blamed him for the loss of her beloved boy, though the more I learned of Arthur, the more I became convinced that he had disappointed his parents.”
Patience turned to look at him. “Did you think you might one day be earl?”
“I did not care. Truly!” he added when her skepticism must have showed. “I lived the life of a prince. I could do whatsoever I wished, go wherever I desired, spend what I wanted. My life was finer than I might ever have hoped it to be and I was more than content with my lot. The viscount, though, often commented upon the possibility.”
Patience had to believe that her husband would make a better earl than the man he called his uncle, but she knew her loyalty had been fully claimed.
