He felt a prickling on the back of his neck and realized Catherine was watching him. He met her gaze, then looked down at his hands out of habit. His fork was in his left hand, his knife in his right.
“The cutlery is correct. You are getting much better about not swapping between the two,” Catherine said.
“Practice makes perfect.” Alaric shrugged and speared a piece of venison on the end of his fork. “Though I doubt I would have improved quite so swiftly, without your intervention.”
“I am glad that I could help.” Her knife clinked against her plate.
Silence fell between them again, so heavy that Alaric wondered how it did not crush them both beneath it. He took a sip of his wine.
“You did not mention that you had set up the nursery for Oliver earlier.” Catherine speared a potato with her fork, her eyes watching Alaric for any sign of emotion. “I assumed Daisy would be in the kennels.”
Alaric chewed the cut of venison in his mouth and swallowed slowly. “I thought about it, but I worried that Oliver might insist on staying with her.”
“He probably would have done,” said Catherine. Alaric thought he saw the beginnings of a smile on her face.
“Given your intent to distance yourself from him, I thought you would be pleased. Especially since you will not have a puppy causing chaos in your chambers.” Alaric could not quite hide the bitterness in his voice.
“I have no wish to fight with you, Alaric.” Catherine met his gaze, her blue eyes full of steel. “We both know this was only a temporary arrangement.”
“You gave me an ultimatum. I do not appreciate such things,” he replied, his own voice cold.
“I was frustrated, and I wanted you to see reason.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “You have to admit, with each day that passes, it seems less likely that we will find something to prove he is not your son.”
“I care for the boy, Catherine, and I will do right by him, but he is not my son.” Alaric shrugged.
“How can you say that?”
“I have no memory of him. No memory of a woman or a lover. I have nearly all of my Oxford days back, and my Grand Tour. There were no dalliances.” His head began to ache. “When I think about such things, I feel… it is like a fire is in my heart. Anger so violent it makes me sick.”
“I want to believe you, Alaric, but?—”
“Do you? It is not as though it would change things. You would still wish to go back to your life.”
His anger burst through, but to his relief, Catherine did not recoil.
“It would tell me a little more about the kind of man you were.” Her voice was soft, and there was a note in it he could not quite place.Sadness? Pleading?“There is a world of difference between a man who abandons and forgets his own son, and a man who only forgets his wife.”
“Then believe me.”
“You are asking me not to trust what I see with my own eyes. He looks remarkably like you. His eyes watch me with the same intensity as yours. He notices everything around him. And hishair, it is just like yours.” She pointed to Alaric’s dark hair. “Even the way he moves reminds me of you, especially now that he is more confident.”
Alaric’s head was pounding even more now, and he closed his eyes. He felt like he was going to be sick.
“I think he moves more like... my father.” The words slipped from his mouth before he realized what he was saying.
“Your father?” He could hear the surprise in Catherine’s voice, though it sounded far away.
“Yes. I was always told I looked just like him. The same jaw, same eyes. The same hair. Deverell blood runs deep.” His last words sounded as though they were from a different voice.
This voice was grave, deep, but somehow weaker. The world around Alaric swam as his head felt like it was going to cleave itself in two. The smell of whiskey filled the air.
The world faded. Alaric was a little boy again. He was looking for his father. He heard voices coming from his study. No, it was his father’s study.
He pushed open the door. “Father? I wanted to show you what I found.”
“Oooooh!” a woman shrieked.
Alaric did not recognize her. She had curlyred hair and green eyes.Why is she sitting on his lap?
