“I think they will recover,” Marianne said. “It will not be the first time that they have seen humans without being given food. But in any case, we can always return later in the day and bring them something.”
“There are some that will even let you pet them. Would you mind petting a squirrel?” Henry looked at her, wide-eyed.
“I have never petted a squirrel, and I should not mind trying now. I think it would be most thrilling.”
“Some of them bite,” Lucien reminded her. “You ought to be prepared for that. ‘I dare say it is most unpleasant.”
“Yes,” Henry confirmed and stuck his index finger into Marianne’s view. “William the Conqueror bit me right here, and it hurt a lot.”
“Oh,” Marianne said. She took his finger, kissing it gently. “Hopefully, William the Conqueror learned his lesson. That it’s not nice to bite little boys who wish only to feed him.”
“He did not learn his lesson,” Henry informed her. “The week after, he bit Papa.”
“Indeed, he did,” Lucien said and presented his pinky finger where there was still a scar on the inside.
“You should kiss it and make it better, too,” Henry demanded.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Lucien replied with a chuckle, but his eyes remained on Marianne, warm and soft.
“But she kissed mine, so she should kiss yours,” Henry informed him.
Marianne looked at Lucien, head slightly tilted, her eyes wandering from his eyes to his finger and back again. Then she stepped forward and took his hand, kissing the inside of his pinky finger. Her lips were still warm, and he longed to feel them on his again.
She rose to her full height again and smiled. “There you are. The two of you shall be perfectly on the mend now.”
“Good,” Henry said. Then he leaped forward and wrapped his arms around her legs. “I am so glad that we have you now, Mama,” he said.
The word was like a lash against Lucien.
His body shook for a moment as if struck by lightning.
Mama.
Henry had called Marianne Mama.
All of the foolish fancies that had been troubling him for the last few days were shattered and fell at his feet like shards of glass from a broken mirror.
This was the truth of things. This was the harsh awakening he had needed. This was a reminder of the reality that he had needed. This was what he didn’t want.
His foolish ideas of what might have been if he had met Marianne before Arabella, if Henry was really her son, came crashing down about him because the truth was, he hadn’t met Marianne first. Henry wasn’t her son. He was Arabella’s son. He always would be. He had a mother, and she had been awful. Their life together had been awful.
If Arabella hadn’t died, Henry’s childhood would have been miserable. Lucien’s life would’ve been miserable. That was the reality, and these thoughts were awful, and this was not something he could ever hide from. He couldn’t hide it from her either. And if she was going to be Henry’s mother in any meaningful way, there was no hiding the truth from her.
Lucien hadn’t wanted a mother for Henry, and while for a few hours he had entertained the thought, he was reminded now why he had made the decision not to wed. He didn’t need these complications in his life. His heart was treacherous.
It had betrayed him, but his reason had at last reasserted itself, and it was not going to let him down.
He watched as Henry let go of Marianne and stepped back, beaming at her, and she likewise beamed back at him.
Then she turned to him, her eyes bright, her smile wide, her visage painted with happiness. But then she saw his eyes. And she saw the alteration in his countenance, and he saw how joy drained from her features as she understood.
There was no understanding between them. They couldn’t be. Not now, not ever.
What had happened these last couple of days was naught but an illusion. A pleasant fiction.
And the dream had shattered.
CHAPTER 27
