Oliver’s face crumpled. He slid off the chair and ran.
Edward strode after him with the nursemaid rushing to keep pace. “Oliver! Return here this instant!”
He rounded the corner into the entrance hall and froze.
Oliver clung to a woman in a dark cloak with his face buried in her skirts and his small body shaking with sobs. The woman had crouched to his level, her arms wrapped around him, her hand rubbing slow circles on his back.
“There now,” she murmured. “You’re safe. I have you.”
Oliver’s cries quieted to hiccups. “I want my mama.”
“I know, sweetheart.” Her voice caught. “I know you do.”
“Step away from my nephew.”
The woman looked up.
Edward’s breath caught. He knew that face. The stubborn tilt of that chin. The flash of defiance in those green eyes.
She was the woman from the alley.
“Step away from him.” His voice hardened. “Now.”
She pulled back, but Oliver clutched her skirts and refused to let go.
“Your Grace.” Hartley appeared at his elbow. “Lady Sophia Readthorpe arrived moments ago and asked to see you and Master Oliver.”
Edward’s gaze remained fixed on her. Lady Sophia. The woman had a name. A title. And apparently, a connection to his nephew that he knew nothing about.
He stepped closer. “Why are you in my house?”
She rose to her feet, keeping one hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Oliver’s mother was my dearest friend.”
“She knows me!” Oliver tugged at her cloak. “Sophia is the nicest lady I know. She visits, and reads to me, and brings me sweets.”
Edward absorbed this. His mind raced, connecting pieces he did not want to connect. This woman knew Jane, knew Oliver, knew Leonard. And she prowled the streets of London at four in the morning.
“Mrs. Palmer.” He addressed the nursemaid without looking away from Sophia. “Take Oliver upstairs.”
“No!” Oliver’s grip tightened on Sophia’s skirts. “I want to stay with her! Don’t make her go!”
Sophia crouched again, meeting the boy’s eyes. “It’s all right, darling. I will visit again, I promise. But it’s late now, and you should rest.”
“You promise?” Oliver’s voice wobbled. “You really promise?”
“I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Now go with Mrs. Palmer. I will see you soon.”
Oliver hugged her once more, then released her. He turned to Edward, his small face fierce with four-year-old determination. “Don’t be mean to Sophia.”
The nursemaid took his hand and led him toward the stairs. Edward watched them go, watched Leonard’s son climb the steps with his mother’s stubborn spine, and felt the guilt twist deeper.
“Follow me.” He turned and strode toward his study. “We need to talk.”
The study door closed behind them with a sound like a cell door slamming shut. Edward rounded on her.
“Explain yourself. How do you know Oliver? What was your connection to Jane?”
“Jane was my closest friend.” Sophia kept her voice steady, though her heart raced. “I visited her and Leonard many times after Oliver was born. I have known that boy since he was an infant.”
