“It is my seal, but not my signature.” Alaric surprised himself with his certainty as he pointed to the first A. “The lines are all wrong.”
He grabbed a nearby quill, dipped it in ink, and signed a scrap of paper. He was not sure why he knew the signature was not his, but he did.
You can remember this, but not that you have a beautiful wife?
He handed the slip to her and watched her lips purse as she compared them.
“Though I will admit they are similar, the signature is not mine.” Alaric pointed to the one on the letter she held.
“That does not change the fact that you have a son.” The woman pointed to the small boy who was standing by the door. “This is Oliver.”
“Oliver.” Alaric took a step toward the child, but stopped when he saw him shrink away.
It tugged at something in the back of his mind, and he felt a prickle of unease mingle with guilt.
Could this be my son?The boy did look strangely like him. He had the same eyes, the same hair, the same brow, even.
The hairs on the back of Alaric’s neck stood on end, and he gestured for the woman to sit. “I think it would be best if you explained everything to me, starting with just who you are. I want to hear this story. I have no intention of being taken advantage of.”
“Clearly, some things do not change,” the woman muttered and glanced at the boy, then at Alaric.
Alaric thought he could read her thoughts. After all, this boy had already been abandoned once, and whether or not he was his son, Alaric wanted to avoid adding to the pain he had already endured.
“Perhaps it would be best if young Oliver waited with Cook in the kitchens? I think she may even give him some cake if he would like.” Alaric tried to make his voice as gentle as possible, not wanting to scare the boy.
The boy looked up at the woman and then back at Alaric. He said nothing. The woman gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Cake sounds like a very good idea. And perhaps some hot chocolate, too? Would you like that, Oliver?”
The boy’s eyes widened, and he nodded, though Alaric noticed he still seemed reluctant to leave the woman’s side. She apparently sensed it as well. “I promise I will join you soon. TheDuke and I need to discuss some things. Annabelle will look after you until I join you.”
The boy looked toward the door and, with a start, Alaric realized that a maid was waiting. He had not noticed her.
Have I always been so distracted?He waited until the boy had left with the maid, gestured once more for his wife to sit on the sofa opposite him, and for Mr. Wilkins to close the drawing room door.
Alaric waited until his wife sat down. “I suggest you start with your name.”
“I am Catherine, Duchess Catherine Deverell of Coldmere.” She held up her hand, showing him a glittering gold ring. “Your butler will attest to the truth of that, I am sure.”
Alaric looked at Mr. Wilkins, who nodded. “Very well, Catherine. What makes you so sure Oliver is my son?”
Her eyes widened, and Alaric wondered what he had done wrong. They were married after all, surely it was only normal that they used one another’s names?
So many rules, and I have forgotten nearly all of them.
“That... that is what the letter says,” Catherine said slowly, gesturing to the letter she had placed on the coffee table between them. “It was given to me yesterday when the head of theorphanage came to visit. It states that you have been looking for the boy for some years, and that you wished for him to live with you and be raised as a gentleman. That young Oliver should be brought to the London house.”
“And what of the boy’s mother?” Alaric asked, taking the paper in his hands.
It was thick and expensive. He recognized his seal, and though the writing was similar to his, he was sure it was not.
“It makes no mention of her.” Catherine clasped her hands in her lap.
“Interesting.” Alaric leaned back in his chair. “And we know I did not write the letter.”
“So you claim.”
“So I have proven.” He pointed to the scrap of signed paper.
“If not you, who? Why would anyone do this?” She frowned at him.
