CHAPTER 1
LUCIEN
December 1st1816
“Papa, look at the squirrel!” Henry called, his little arm extended to point out the animal that had caught his attention.
“I see him,” Lucien said. “They are eating the nuts, just as you wished.” Henry bounced up and down, his finger still pointed at the little animals that were making quick work of the row of nuts they had set out for them.
Henry let out a squeal, and one of the squirrels sat up straight, one walnut in hand, its tail pointing upward. Then it darted away.
“No!” Henry cried. “Come back!”
Lucien smiled and gathered the boy in his arms, lifting him up. He was four years old now, small and light in stature. Still, these last few months, he had noted the growth spurt, and he was getting heavier to pick up. In a few short years, he would not be able to do this anymore. How time flew. He inhaled his son’s scent—lye soap and chamomile lotion.
“The squirrel will return. Do not fret. Come, let us sit over here on the bench. I have brought something they will truly like.” He carried the little boy over to a stone bench, the gravel crunching under his steps. He placed Henry down and sat beside him, one hand buried in his pocket from which he retrieved a handful of almond shavings.
With his palm open, he held it in front of Henry and smiled. “I know they are fond of these. That is why I saved them. Come, throw a few to them.”
Henry’s pudgy hand grabbed a handful of almond shavings and tossed them out in the general direction of the squirrels.
“William! Charles! Edward!” he shouted. He had decided that all the squirrels had to be named after English royalty. A wiry squirrel with hints of orange in its fur darted over and picked up the shavings, munching down on them, much to Henry’s delight.
Lucien threw a few as well, so they would go farther and attract more of the squirrels that were swiftly abandoning the row of nuts they had placed earlier.
“Oh! Papa!” Henry shouted. “There’s a mama squirrel and a baby!”
Lucien squinted his eyes and saw that he was right—a mother with her baby was hovering on the edge of the group. He gathered a few of the almond shavings and tossed them in that direction. The mother and baby snatched them up and sprinted off into the distance.
“Why is the mama squirrel watching over the baby and not the papa?” Henry asked.
Lucien paused. “I suppose in the squirrel world, it is the mothers that do the raising, not the fathers.”
“In our world, you do the raising. Because I haven’t got a mama anymore.”
Lucien looked at the boy and swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. “You do not need one because you have me.”
“The other little boys have mamas,” Henry replied, looking down at his hands.
“Yes, but the other little boys do not have a father to spend so much time with them,” Lucien pointed out gently, “Their fathers must work. Some fathers work in great houses like the one we live in. They are footmen and butlers. Others are greengrocers or barristers. And yet others are lords.”
“Like you,” Henry said, looking up at him with his blue eyes wide.
“Like me. But the other fathers...” He paused. How to explain this? “Some of the other fathers, they go to Parliament and balls and dances and all manner of things.”
“But you do not. You stay with me.”
Lucien nodded. It was true. For the last three and a half years, he had been here at their country seat near Dover, looking after his son. Yes, there had been wet nurses, and there was a governess, but it was he, Lucien, who cared for the boy and tended to his every need.
“That is right. I stay with you. The other fathers must work. But I get to stay home with you. And I think that is rather capital, do you not?”
“I do too,” Henry said. “But Papa?” He looked up at his father.
“Yes?”
“It would be nice if I did have a mama. Why is my mama not here?”
“I told you,” Lucien said, the words coming out sharper than intended. “She is in heaven. She cannot come back.”
