He saw himself naked, sheep all around him in the large open park in front of King’s Head, and he was readying to dive in the wide ribbon of green water, called the Green Stream. But he wasn’t an adult, he was young, only a boy, and he was wildly happy, the sun high, bright and hot on his skin. When he cut cleanly through the water, he hit the bottom and prepared to kick off but suddenly he couldn’t move his arms or his legs. He was suspended helpless, felt horrible pressure building in his chest. He saw bubbles from his breath and then there weren’t any.
Graham jerked away, gasping for breath, his heart pounding. The dream faded away like fingers of fog in the sun, and all he could remember was pressure on his chest. But somehow it seemed now that he hadn’t been the one to drown, another had been there, another who drowned, but that made no sense at all.
When Terrance awakened him the next morning for his bath, he felt again a phantom pain in his chest, or perhaps not his chest, but another’s. He shook his head, looked at the ormolu clock on the mantel. It was early, but as Terrance said on a stifled yawn behind his hand, “I told his lordship you were young and needed invigorating sleep, but he is so very anxious to see you, thus this too-early hour. It must be said, I am a bit on the tired side myself since my precious wife did not wish to release me from her arms even though baby Kincaid wanted his milk.”
Graham didn’t take in all the words, but he felt the boundless enthusiasm and couldn’t complain. He bathed, shaved himself much to Terrance’s disapproval and tucked a white shirt into his britches. Terrance had told him his lordship really wanted his son to wear one of his own shirts since they were of a size and so Graham had complied, thinking again how strange it was to suddenly have a real father and to be someone else entirely.
There was a knock on his bedchamber door. Graham called out, “Come.”
And there stood his father in the doorway, his heart in his eyes.
Vereker could only stare at his magnificent son, tall, straight, so finally made, such a beautiful face, and his mother’s vivid blue eyes, miraculously returned to him. He was really here, wearing one of his own shirts. He was so filled with pleasure and gratitude he had to keep himself from shouting to the rafters. He’d decided during the long night he would donate a new stained-glass window to Vicar Piercebridge’s church in St. Lucy Head. He would renovate the vicarage. He would increase his yearly stipend. He would bless this man for all his days. But for the vicar, his son would have been lost to him forever. Not unhappy, no—raised with love by Mr. Sherbrooke, but not his. Would he ever have remembered his own father?
Vereker had to force himself not to run to his son and pull him close, feel the strong heartbeat, the strength of him.
Terrance paused, felt a lump in his throat when he saw the incredible happiness in his master’s eyes. He blinked, swallowed. “My lord,” he said, “Lord Graham is nearly finished dressing. As you can see, your shirt fits him quite nicely. I saw to Mr. Sherbrooke first because I knew you’d want his young lordship to get much-needed sleep.”
Graham looked at his father, strong and graceful, so veryperfect, and somehow it felt natural to smile at him. “Good morning, sir. Thank you for the shirt. Terrance is right, it fits me well.”
The words burst out. “It fits you well now, but then, you were just a boy, tall, skinny as your fishing pole, always on the move if you weren’t studying steam engines and trains, playing with all the farmers’ children, not like Simon who was—” He shook his head at himself. “Look at you now, Graham, a man, full grown and your mother’s brilliant blue eyes—” He stopped, smiled. “Forgive me, I probably am repeating myself.” He watched Terrance ease his son into one of Graham’s own morning coats. His smile bloomed again as he stared at this young god. “You look perfect.”
Terrance said, “He does indeed. My lord, Blakeney told me Lord Graham is the picture of you at his age, with, naturally, his mother’s unforgettable eyes. I polished his boots.”
“Blakeney is correct. Thank you, Terrance, even his boots look perfect. Graham”—oh, how he savored saying his name—“it is time for us to meet Mr. Sherbrooke in the breakfast room. Blakeney has already escorted your guardian downstairs.”
CHAPTER 29
Monday morning
Both Eugenie and her husband weren’t ever up this early, the earl told Ryder and Graham as their coffee cups were filled by a smiling Blakeney who nearly danced around the small family dining room—the table seated only twelve people—so happy was he.
As for the earl, Vereker couldn’t help staring at his son, a miracle, so perfect, even his boots. “I hope you will like Cook’s scrambled eggs. They’re always a marvel.”
Once their plates were full, Vereker said, “Please, Graham, tell me about yourself.”
Ryder saw Graham didn’t know what to say, so he told the earl he’d found him, just pulled out of the Thames. He smiled toward the young man he’d loved for over ten years, mentioned how he’d fit in with all the children. It opened the floodgates and Graham found himself talking about the little girl Angela who sang like an angel, and Oliver who was married to his sister—well, Ryder’s daughter—and how he managed Kildrummy Castle in Scotland and had four children. Then he spoke of his tutor, then on to his years at Oxfordand his studies. He stopped, looked at Ryder, and said quietly, “It was at dinner at Lord Carberry’s house we met your vicar Piercebridge. The next day he told me I had my mother’s eyes.” There was more, so much more, and with Vereker’s urging Graham continued to talk—about their planned factory in Manchester, how he was designing new parts for the boilers.
Vereker said, “I’ve read about that, and wondered because I knew there had to be better ways. It is worrisome.”
Graham looked excited and the earl’s heart filled to near bursting. “Yes, sir, it is worrisome since boilers produce steam at very high pressures—” Graham stopped talking when Eugenie and Donner came into the dining room. The three gentlemen rose.
When Eugenie was gently seated by Blakeney, Graham smiled at the lovely woman who was his sister with her hair drawn back in a bun at the back of her head, curls touching her cheeks. Her morning gown was a soft gray, and she wore only a diamond-encrusted ring on her fourth finger. She looked tired, but no surprise since he’d suddenly appeared in her life. As for Donner, he yawned, smiled at everyone at the table indiscriminately. He paused, stared at Graham. “It is astounding. It is like looking at your mother.”
Eugenie looked at her long-lost brother, managed a smile. “I trust you slept well?”
“I did, thank you. And you as well?”
Eugenie blushed, shot a glance at her husband, cleared her throat. “Yes, thank you, very well.”
And what was all that about?
Eugenie said, “I studied Mother’s portrait. You do have her eyes. It is quite amazing, all of it.”
Donner nodded to Graham and Ryder, said to his father-in-law, “Good morning, sir, Mr. Sherbrooke, Graham, and how odd that sounds—my long-lost brother-in-law.” He picked up a warm bun from the covered basket, buttered it, spoonedon some strawberry jam and took a big bite, smiling around the table as he chewed.
Graham said, “Terrance was telling me about his four sons.”
Vereker laughed, waved his newly filled coffee cup at him. “If half the things Terrance attributes to his brood is true, I doubt not one day they will rule the world.”
