I nodded, as my gaze was still fixed upon the two of them. My son was proudly pointing out all the parts of some kind of animal, as if he was delivering a groundbreaking lecture, while my father reacted with great interest.
Delia swept over to them and held out her hand. “Tommy, darling, why don’t you and I go to the kitchen and see what treats Cook has whipped up for us.”
Tommy immediately shut the book and placed it beside him before jumping up and grabbing Delia’s hand. Then he caught sight of me. “Hello, Mama. May I have a treat?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, patting his shoulder. “But just one. Or you’ll ruin your appetite.”
Delia shot me an encouraging look as she guided Tommy out of the room. I watched as disappointment crossed my father’s face while he followed Tommy’s retreating form, but then he noticed me. I was relieved to see his mouth curve in a smile, though not quite as wide as the one Tommy conjured. But then I wasn’t nearly as charming as my son.
“Hello, Father,” I said, taking the now empty seat beside him.
“Delia said you would be back.”
She had been right. His gaze seemed sharper than it had either of the other times I had seen him, though admittedly it was still but a shadow of what it had been. As terrifying anddistant as he could be, my father had long been considered one of the best financial minds in London. He had likely forgotten more than most people would ever know. How many other people suffered from this same fate? My stomach turned at the thought. The sheer futility of it all.
“I was just calling on an old school friend who lives nearby,” I managed. “How was your visit with Tommy?”
My father chuckled. “A delightful boy. So curious and full of energy.”
“Yes, that he is,” I agreed, smiling back.
“And your daughter? Delia said she is at school here.”
I nodded. “Cleo is in Hampstead. And she’s doing quite well. I will bring her here for a proper visit over the Christmas holiday.”
“Very good. I’m sure it has been difficult for them, losing Oliver. For all of you,” he added offhandedly.
“Yes,” I rasped.
Then he reached out and patted my hand. “You’ve always been so strong. But I know what it’s like when people come to expect that of you. Sometimes the strongest among us are the ones that need the most comfort.”
I was shocked to hear this kind of insight from him. “Father,” I began, but my voice broke.
“That was why I thought Oliver would be good for you,” he continued, gazing off towards the hearth. “And why I put up with the rest of it.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head slowly, his gaze turning unfocused. “Taking you so far away. Taking all those risks.”
I inhaled and leaned closer to him, trying to draw his eyes to me. “Whatrisks?”
“But they weren’t worth it in the end,” he murmured. “Were they?”
It was as if he was having a one-sided conversation with himself. “Father,” I said, gently shaking his shoulder. He finallylooked back at me, and I watched the lucidity return, though not as sharp as earlier.
“Sorry, my dear. Sometimes I ramble on.”
“You were talking about Oliver. About some risks he took?”
He frowned in confusion and looked away. “Oh. I’m … I’m not sure.” Then he turned back to me with a sheepish smile. “Your sister says I walk through time. That I don’t always remember things correctly.”
“Yes,” I said sadly, realizing the moment was lost. “She did mention that.”
My father sighed a little. “I wish I could help you more. But if you want to know about Oliver, you should talk to the viscount.”
I stiffened automatically, as I always did when he was mentioned. “Yes, I’ll think about it,” I said vaguely. I knew it was better not to push him now, but I couldn’t resist trying just one last time. “Father, did a man named Charles Pearson ever come here to see you? To talk about Delia?”
He looked surprised. “Charles …”
