Oliver nodded, wiped off the drawing, and proceeded to sketch a simple table with plates and several dishes, pointing to a picture of what Catherine assumed was some kind of bird.
“Yes, we will be having guinea fowl for dinner.” Catherine smiled at him. “I am glad you like it; I am rather partial to it too.”
The day after Alaric and Mrs. Danvers discussed the menu, Catherine was told that Alaric wished for guinea fowl and venison to appear regularly on the menu. In fact, they were both to be served weekly.
If he wants to indulge in such extravagance, so be it. It is simply fortunate that his tastes reflect my own.
Her eyes drifted to the flowers that had been placed earlier that morning. Mrs. Danvers had asked whether she had any specific flowers in mind, and Catherine had replied that she had always enjoyed red chrysanthemums.
And now here they are.
Catherine turned away from the flowers and watched as Oliver drew a picture of what Catherine thought was a goose. He drew a line through it, paused, and then Catherine watched him add a face with a downturned mouth.
She laughed. “Goose is not to everyone’s taste, that is true enough. I will make sure you have something else to eat for Christmas.”
The words brought her up short as Oliver smiled at her. Her chest squeezed, and she added. “Even if I am not here, I promise you will not have to eat goose.”
I suppose I could always visit for Christmas. No. We are supposed to have separate lives.
Catherine tried to harden her heart. She cared about Oliver, of course she did, but she could not let herself get caught up in a fantasy of a life that would never exist.
But it could.She pushed the little voice inside her away. She could not trust it. Alaric had abandoned his own son; he had left her, and she was sure that when his memories returned, he would be the cold, distant man she remembered.
Oliver’s brow furrowed slightly. It always did when she talked of leaving. A part of her wanted to keep it from him, but she knew that would be unkind. She cared about him, but she was not his mother. She never would be, and neither of them could afford her getting lost in fantasy.
Your father must look after you. I will not let him abandon you again.The thought hardened her heart, and her frustration that Alaric still insisted that Oliver was not his son grew. Sooner or later, he would have to accept the truth.
She focused on the sound of Oliver’s chalk scratching against the slate. “I am glad we thought of the slate. As much fun as drawing on the ballroom floor was, it was not the most practical solutionfor our conversations. This way at least, you can converse wherever you are.”
Oliver grinned at her, and she remembered the way his eyes had widened as she had sketched out drawings in the ballroom. In the present, Oliver flipped his slate over and sketched a simple picture of a large room with drawings on the floor. Beside it, he put a face with huge circles for eyes.
“You were worried we would get in trouble, until I explained chalk was easy to clean up, and that ballroom floors were frequently chalked for balls.” Catherine mimed dancing as she said it. “Perhaps I should teach you how to dance, or play some music. Would you like that, Oliver?”
Oliver placed his hand on his chin, smudging chalk on it as he scrunched his face, clearly thinking hard. Catherine drew different instruments and named each one, pointing to them as she did.
“The pianoforte is probably the easiest one to teach you. Though I have always loved the violin best.” Catherine felt her stomach twist as she heard her mother’s voice in her head.
The violin is a common instrument; the pianoforte is much more befitting of a lady of your station.
“I suspect Alaric would not appreciate it if I taught you the violin.”
“Why not?” The smell of cedar and amber filled the room, and Catherine whipped around to see Alaric standing in the doorway.
He was wearing his riding clothes, his hair windswept, and his face was flushed. To her irritation, her stomach fluttered.How does he manage to look handsome no matter what he does?If she had been out riding, she would have looked a state. Whenever she had returned from a ride, her mother had wasted no time telling her that she was not fit to be seen in polite company.
She pushed the thought from her mind and stood, inclining her head to Alaric. “The violin is one of those instruments that takes some time before a student can produce a sound that is pleasurable to the ears.”
“I suspect that will be a problem for his tutor rather than myself.” Alaric shrugged, and Catherine thought she saw the corners of his mouth quirk upward. “Besides, the music room is at the other end of the castle from my study. If Oliver wishes to learn the violin, he should.”
Alaric looked out the window and ran a hand through his hair. The movement drew Catherine’s eyes to his well-muscled arms, clearly visible beneath his clothing. She looked away and focused on a loose thread on one of the pillows instead.
“I see you both enjoyed the plum cake.” Alaric’s words pulled her attention back to him.
“It was delicious. Though I have no idea where Cook got the plums, it is the wrong season for them.” Catherine gestured to the world outside, where the sun was high in the sky.
“They were probably harvested from our orchards and preserved.” Alaric followed her gesture with his eyes.
“I had not realized we had orchards. I have not really had much of a chance to explore most of the estate, not beyond the gardens.” Catherine glanced at Oliver.
