Mrs. Caversham moved to one side, revealing a small boy. He could not have been more than seven. His clothes were simple, and his dark brown hair was cut short. When the boy looked up, Catherine gasped.
He had the same green eyes as the Duke. His cheekbones were softer than her husband’s, and he did not yet have the same angular face.
“This is Oliver.” The world around her slowed, and Catherine was barely aware of Mrs. Caversham’s words. “His father is the Duke of Coldmere.”
* * *
“I had one of the maids set up a room for the boy, and she will keep an eye on him while he is with us,” Mrs. Danvers said as she placed a small tray laden with tea and biscuits on the desk in front of Catherine. “That should keep him out of any trouble.”
Catherine’s stomach roiled at the thought of eating anything, but the smell of tea was calming. She poured herself a cup and took a sip, letting the warm liquid soothe her frazzled nerves.
It had been several hours since Oliver had been dropped off at her door. Several hours had passed since she had discovered that not only had her husband abandoned her, but that he had a son.
Harriet, Louisa, and Fiona had been furious on her behalf, though they had hidden it well, not wanting to scare the boy. They had only left because Catherine had sensed that Oliver was overwhelmed by so many new people. Every time she looked at him, all she could see was her husband. Catherine forced her mind back to the present, focusing on Mrs. Danvers’s words.
“I do not want anything to happen to him, but I do not want him to be treated with suspicion either.” Catherine finished the last of her tea, stood up, and started pacing around her study. “Lord knows the boy has been through enough.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Danvers’s eyes drifted toward the papers on Catherine’s desk. “I will see that the staff treat him with respect and kindness.”
Catherine could hear the unspoken words in her housekeeper’s sentence.
As would befit the son of a duke.Her stomach lurched.
“Has he spoken at all since he arrived?” Catherine asked.
Mrs. Danvers shook her head. “Mute as a lamb, Your Grace.”
“I suppose that is to be expected. Mrs. Caversham did say the boy had not spoken in years.” Catherine remembered the fear in the woman’s eyes, replaced by a sickly smile.
She probably thought I would insist she take him back. That I would think him defective or some such horrible thing.
What would the Duke think of him? A shudder ran down her spine.I will not let him hurt the childany more than he already has.
Mrs. Danvers shook her head. “It is not an uncommon thing for children like him. It is lucky he found himself at St. Margaret’s.”
“Lucky?” Catherine could not keep the disbelief from her voice. “The boy cannot speak! I would hardly call that lucky.”
“He is alive, Your Grace,” Mrs. Danvers said flatly. “St. Margaret’s is not a loving place, that is certain. But it is not cruel. I have been to some orphanages… Well, let us just say that they are not places I would send my worst enemy, let alone a child.”
“Then I shall ensure they do not ever have the benefit of my patronage,” Catherine vowed. “I suspect that these places clean themselves up when they hear a member of the aristocracy might visit, so I will rely on you to warn me if they are of a more unsavory nature.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Danvers nodded. “I would be only too happy to.”
“It is sad to think that Oliver is amongst the fortunate. Mrs. Caversham says he was a foundling when they took him; the orphanage is the only home he has ever known.”
Her heart ached for this small child, abandoned by both his mother and his father.
Is his mother dead?Catherine assumed she must be; it was the only explanation that made sense to her. Her heart ached as she thought of a tiny Oliver, all alone on the cold steps of an orphanage. She pictured that infant growing into a toddler, then a child. He knew, like so many of the children around him, that he was unloved and unwanted.
She could understand why he would stop speaking. Who would not try to hide like that? He was a child, and yet he had known very little of childhood. It stirred fury in her. He had suffered through no fault of his own, but through the selfishness of others.
“How could he do that? How could the Duke just abandon his own son?” The words poured from her mouth before she could stop them.
“We do not know if the boy is truly his, Your Grace.” Mrs. Danvers swallowed, and Catherine thought she could hear an edge of uncertainty in her voice. “It could be a lie.”
“Can there be any doubt? Just look at him! They are the spitting image of one another,” Catherine exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air as her pacing picked up speed. “And then there is this letter, of course. It bears the Duke’s signature and his seal.”
“It could always be a forgery.” Mrs. Danvers gestured to the papers. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but this whole thing seems very out of character for His Grace.”
