“I’ve always admired you, Alex, the boy God gave to me, and I continually marvel at the excellent man you’ve become. You’ve shown me courage and determination, both a tribute to your character.”
Alex turned from the windows to look at Ryder Sherbrooke’s beloved face. This man had not only saved his life but kept him close, taught him, encouraged him endlessly, gave him a large, unwieldly family of children, abandoned or lost, like him, a man who’d loved him unconditionally.
Alex’s voice was hoarse. “If not for you I would be longdead. You not only saved me, Ryder, you’ve given me a wonderful life.” He paused, felt tears sting his eyes, swallowed. “You’ve been my father and my best friend.”
Ryder knew he was the lucky one to have found this amazing boy. He said, “Do you know Grayson considers you a younger brother?”
Alex stared at him, laughed. “I remember when I was leaving to go to Oxford Grayson told me to be careful of Mr. Phelps, my don in Christ Church. He told me even though he was very old he still managed to bend his ancient knees and check under boys’ beds for bottles of gin.” He paused, laughed again. “I never got caught.”
Ryder grinned. “I didn’t either. Mr. Phelps was young when I was at Oxford. I remember he crawled all the way under boys’ beds, only his feet sticking out. Ah, I gave that same advice to Grayson.” He continued, again, keeping his voice calm, gentle, “It’s been eleven years, Alex, and at last we know who you are. I promise you that you will remember—something or someone at King’s Head, an object from your childhood, something you hear your father say—yes, your father—whatever it is it will trigger a memory and your brain will right itself, everything will fall into place. You will be complete again and settle into yourself. It will happen.” He smiled then. “Just think, Alex, you’ll also have all the memories of eleven years you’ve spent with me and your family at Brandon House.”
Alex nodded, but Ryder knew he was afraid to hold out hope for he’d lived so many years without a single odd memory. Trying to remember always gave him a headache, and that was because Ryder’s wife, his aunt Sophie, had told him his brain simply wasn’t ready. He said now, “I can’t imagine really being this Graham Hepburn.”
Ryder said, “I understand you’re afraid to believe you are now a peer’s son, but, Alex, think about how you have your mother’s smile, how you have her eyes, and their color isunusual, very unusual. Now, think about how you came to me with a young gentleman’s manners and speech. I knew something bad had happened to you and I wanted to protect you and thus you became a young gentleman from Ukraine, your noble parents friends of mine. And with the name Alex Ivanov you were as safe as I could make you.”
Ryder gave him a big smile. “And you have an older sister.” He paused, cocked his head at Alex. “Surely you’re not thinking the story is a farrago spun out of Vicar Piercebridge’s fanciful brain?”
Alex cocked his head to the side. Did his father or brother do the same thing? He shook his head at the strange stray thought. “The vicar is a serious man. I doubt he has a fanciful thought in his head.”
“Then can you accept both in your brain and in your heart you’re indeed Lord Graham, Viscount Whitestone and your father is Earl St. Lucy?”
Alex sliced his hand through the air. “What if the earl looks at me and tells me I’m not his son, yells I’m an imposter, a fraud, I look nothing like his dead wife, my supposed mother, Madeline. What if he accuses you of being my accomplice?”
Ryder’s voice was as calm and easy as his wife Sophie’s. He even shrugged. “Then we will bid him good day and come back to London. But this isn’t going to happen. You will meet your father, Alex.Your father.” He paused, arched an arrogant brow. “Do you honestly believe anyone could accuse me of being a dishonest sharp? A coney catture? Really, my boy,me?”
Alex couldn’t help it, he laughed. “Well, no. You and Uncle Douglas look like two kings.”
Ryder walked to him, took him in his arms. He felt a moment of shock. Alex was taller than he was. He felt such love for this young man he’d raised for the past eleven years. He wondered fleetingly if he hoped it wasn’t true, if the vicar was mistaken. But he knew in his heart it was no mistake. Hewouldn’t lose Alex when he became Graham Hepburn. He would present a fine young man to Earl St. Lucy and watch him take the place he was meant to have since birth.
Ryder hugged him closer. “I love you, Alex. I promise you everything will be all right. I will send Geoffrey to King’s Head with a letter to the earl telling him we’ll arrive, let’s say Sunday, to meet with him on a matter of great importance. I will give him no particulars. And Vicar Piercebridge assured us he wouldn’t say anything to Earl St. Lucy.
“I know we will be welcomed because the earl is doubtless acquainted with my brother, the Earl of Northcliffe. And then, Alex, we will face the truth, you and I together. And then we will deal with it. Together.”
Alex took a deep breath, nodded to the man he loved and trusted above all others.
“Stop all those doomsday voices running through your brain. We will leave early Saturday.” Ryder paused, knew he had to talk about it, no choice. “Is the person who tried to kill you eleven years ago still there? If so, we will unmask him. Together. Ah, I hope your father has a good cook.”
When Alex was alone again, he turned again to stare out at the square, his thoughts still squirreling about.Graham Hepburn, a name I don’t know, a name that doesn’t feel at all familiar. Who wanted to kill me as a boy? Is this supposed brother of mine also dead, murdered? Stop it. Step back, think of this as a mechanical experiment, consider adding another binding to the main valve to lower the chances of overheating in a boiler.
What happened to the tutor?
He wanted to smack himself. He left the drawing room, told Mr. Plume who, like all the staff, knew exactly what was happening. Mr. Plume stood by the front door, nodded when Alex said he was going for a walk, and left the Sherbrooke townhouse. He walked and walked, not overly surprised when he found himself in Ormond Square, staring up at WhitsonbyHouse. He wanted to speak to Cam, but when he walked up the broad steps to the dark blue front door, he stopped. What could he say?I’m really not Ukrainian but probably an earl’s long-lost son, and someone tried to kill me eleven years ago and still might try.
Slowly, Alex turned and walked back to Portman Square. His brain didn’t stop racing back and forth from an unremembered past to the person he’d been told he was now, in the present.If this is real and I am Graham Hepburn, why hasn’t my memory come rushing back? Maybe none of it’s true, Piercebridge was wrong, only a similarity. It all seems made up, just as I was made up, created anew to be Alex Ivanov. I’ve said my real name over and over but this Graham Hepburn is only a name. Why don’t I have any memory of this name, of this boy? Why can’t I now remember King’s Head, my home until I was thirteen, fourteen? How old am I exactly? All I know for certain is I’m no longer Alex Ivanov.
Where is Simon? Was he meant to die as I was? Is he dead as I was supposed to be, or was he as lucky as I was? Was he saved as I was and given a home filled with endless love and so many children, all ages and all eager to play and fight and learn and become my younger brothers and sisters? I was lonely those first nights in a strange place and scared to my soul, especially in the middle of the night, but soon, always, Ryder’s strong arms were around me, telling me over and over everything would be all right. I was safe and welcomed, he would protect me forever.
And Ryder was right. He smiled now, remembering how Ryder had slept with him those first nights, and when he awoke from nightmares, it was to hear Ryder’s deep voice quiet in his ear, reassuring him.Eleven years ago.And now, he was thinking of all the Christmas presents he would buy, all the excited faces of the children on Christmas morning, the shouts, the laughter from those precious small beings who’d had no hope before Ryder Sherbrooke had foundthem and given them a home. Yes, he’d become one with all of them, a big brother to teach, to break up fights and read stories to before bedtime. He would never forget one of the first nights he’d slept alone, young Teddy, five years old, found by Ryder abandoned in an alley in Manchester, had slid in beside him in bed, patted his arm, and whispered he would make sure he got enough oatmeal for breakfast. And he remembered, he’d thanked Teddy, smiled. And slept deeply, no nightmares.
No matter what happened in the past or what could come in the future, I have to be one of the luckiest men on earth.
What will happen now?
CHAPTER 21
Sherbrooke townhouse
Portman Square
