Chapter 8
“Discretion or speed, y our Graces. We cannot have both.” Mr. Wilkins wrung his hands.
Alaric nodded slowly. Mr. Wilkins, Catherine, and he were gathered in his study. It had been a few days since he and Catherine had shared their encounter by the lake.
The memory of her pink flushed cheeks and the scent of lavender as he had leaned close still sent a thrill through his body. Yet, to Alaric’s confusion, his wife had seemed determined to avoid him or at least, avoid being alone with him.
Is she scared of me? The thought made his heart squeeze. Surely if she were frightened of him, she would not yell at him so regularly? He glanced at her, but as usual, his wife had her eyes fixed on Mr. Wilkins.
“Then I suppose discretion will have to take precedence,” Catherine sighed. “That is, if h is Grace is still determined to prove that his son is not his.”
“I simply want to get to the truth of the matter.” Alaric massaged the scar on his forehead. “I do not believe he is my son, and I have seen no firm proof to convince me otherwise.”
“Nor have you seen anything to suggest he is not.”
“Exactly. We are stumbling around in the dark, and while that might be enjoyable in other circumstances, this is not one of them.” He saw the predictable flush spread across Catherine’s cheeks.
We are married, and yet she seems wholly innocent.
The more he knew of his wife, the more questions he had. Some part of his mind stirred, but whenever he tried to focus on it, the thing slipped away. Alaric pulled himself back to the present.
“Until we know more, we have no idea of the danger this might present.”
“Danger? He is a child!”
“Whoever sent that letter is not. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to bring Oliver into our lives, and I mean to find out who and, more importantly, why. Mr. Wilkins, you know who to contact. You will leave for London in the morning and begin work.”
“If that is what y our Grace feels is best, of course.” Mr. Wilkins inclined his head, but Alaric could see the stiffness of his butler’s shoulders.
“I know you do not wish to leave my side, and whilst I appreciate your loyalty, the Duchess and I need you in London.” He gave Mr. Wilkins a level look. “We need you to set things in motion. It will only be a fortnight or so, under the guise of other business, and then you will return.”
He thought he sensed Catherine’s eyes on him, but when he glanced her way, she was staring studiously at Mr. Wilkins.
Mr. Wilkins nodded. “Very well, y our Grace. It shall be done. Though… if I might speak plainly?”
“You may.” Alaric gestured for his butler to continue.
“There may be a need to communicate with one another in secret while I am away, to keep you abreast of any developments or for you to request my return should… should circumstances change.” Mr. Wilkins gave them both a meaningful look, and Alaric knew the man was thinking of his health.
Alaric scratched his chin. “Perhaps a cipher?”
“Ciphers can be broken.” Catherine shook her head. “More to the point, if someone sees a cipher, they will know we are trying to hide something. Which kind of defeats the whole point.”
“Then what do you suggest?” He canted his head toward her.
“Phrases that seem innocuous enough to any passing eye, but that we will know mean something completely different.” Catherine began to pace around the study, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“If the Duke’s health changes and you need to return, I shall ask you about picking up some perfume from Mr. Floris in St. James. Something with jasmine, I think.”
Mr. Wilkins nodded, and Alaric could see his butler’s shoulders relax slightly. “And should I need to extend my stay in London?”
Catherine tapped her fingers against her lips thoughtfully, and Alaric had to force himself not to swallow as he followed her movement, yet he could not tear his gaze away.
“Write to us and tell us that some portrait or another at the London house is in need of repair. Though I am not sure which to mention; the art has changed since you were there last.” To Alaric’s surprise, Catherine winced and then looked at him as though trying to gauge his reaction.
“I have redecorated most of the house in the last three months. I was under the impression that this would not be objectionable.”
Alaric searched Catherine’s face as he tried to understand what she wanted from him. He felt like he was missing some piece of the puzzle.
“I am sure whatever you have chosen will be more than satisfactory.”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded. Alaric felt the tension ease somewhat from his shoulders as he saw it ease from hers. “And on the matter of the painting, we can simply say that it is one of my father’s. That would do nicely.”
He saw Catherine’s brow furrow. “I did not recall coming across any such portrait.”
Alaric clenched his fists as anger surged inside him, an anger he did not entirely understand. “I had them all burned when he died.”
“Why?” She tilted her head toward him, eyes widening.
“I cannot remember. Suffice to say, mention of that portrait will serve as a good code.” He could hear the hardness in his tone but could not figure out how to soften it, especially since he did not know why mentioning his father caused such anger.
“Few people know what I have done, and they will expect me to have that in good condition and to keep it so.”
No one has mentioned my father. Is it because they assumed I remembered him or something else?
He shook his head. There would be time enough to worry about that later. For now, there were more pressing things to uncover.
Mr. Wilkins nodded, his face devoid of any emotion. “Then it seems we are settled. If I might take my leave of you?”
“Of course.” Alaric inclined his head and waved the man away. “Thank you.”
As Mr. Wilkins bowed low and departed the room, Alaric moved toward the whiskey decanter and poured out two glasses. “That was a rather brilliant plan.”
He turned to face Catherine and, to his surprise, saw her standing in the doorway, her hand on the wall as though it was only his words that had stopped her from leaving altogether.
“Somewhere urgent to be, Duchess?” The words slipped from his mouth as his brow creased. “Stay a moment, share a drink with me.”
“Women do not usually drink whiskey, Alaric.”
“Is this another one of those rules of propriety that I have forgotten? I see no reason why gender should affect one’s choice of drink. But if you do not care for it, I am sure I could find sherry instead.”
“I think it would be best if I left. I am sure you are busy. And I myself have things to see to.” Her foot moved toward the door, hovering in the air.
“If I did not know any better, I would say you are trying to avoid me. Have I done something to offend you?” Alaric sat on the edge of his desk and sipped from his glass, pushing the other toward Catherine.
She glanced at the corridor and then closed the door, turning to face him with her arms folded across her chest. “Besides your little display at the lake, you mean?”
Alaric laughed, but stopped when he saw her expression darken. “You are serious?”
“Of course I am.” She frowned. “Do you think I would have objected so vehemently if I were simply joking? It was indecent, Alaric.”
“So you keep saying, but I see no reason that that should cause offense.” Alaric took another drink of his whiskey.
“In fact, I find it rather peculiar that my wife seems scandalized by seeing something as normal as her husband’s body.
I am fairly certain that I am not a repulsive specimen.
Or at least, I did not see such sentiment in your eyes. ”
“Regardless of aesthetic appeal, one does not generally expect to encounter a half-naked man outdoors where anyone might see him.” Catherine shook her head.
“Aesthetic appeal?” Alaric arched an eyebrow at her. “A rather clinical way to say you find me handsome, Catherine.”
Catherine’s cheeks flushed, and Alaric watched as she opened and closed her mouth several times. “I do not... I mean, I... what I… Ugh! Must you always be so infuriating?”
“I would not know. I have no memory of how appealing or unappealing you have found my company before now. I am simply pointing out that you can just say you think I am handsome. It is hardly a scandalous thing to say. We are married, after all.” Alaric shrugged.
“I am aware of that.” He saw her play with the gold band on her left hand. “It is rather hard to forget it.”
“Why would you want to forget it?”
“We are getting off topic.” Catherine shook herself. “Your little display by the lake was improper, and I have absolutely no wish to repeat it.”
“Very well, I shall ensure that in future I swim with my shirt on.” Alaric smiled.
“I am serious, Alaric. You have a son, and you need to set a good example.” Catherine’s frown deepened.
Alaric raised a finger. “Firstly, we do not know if he is my son. Secondly, I do not think my swimming in my own lake sets a bad example for the boy. Though maybe it would be best to make sure he knows how to swim, lest he decide to follow my example.”
“It is improper and reckless.”
“Yet it does not explain why you seem determined to avoid my company.” Alaric finished his whiskey.
“You can hardly be worried about stumbling into me in another state of undress in the castle. Though truth be told, I have no idea why you should worry about it at all. I know why the sight of your body might be a surprise to me– ”
Catherine let out a little squeak of indignation as her cheeks went a delicate shade of scarlet, but Alaric continued, ignoring the interruption. “But as far as I know, your memory is intact.”
“You... I... do not– ” Alaric heard her mutter several distinctly unladylike things under her breath before she crossed the room, grabbed the extra glass of whiskey, and downed it in one go.
“So you do like whiskey then.” Alaric could not keep the amusement from his face.
“Let me make myself perfectly clear, Your Grace. I do not care how addled your memories are, you will not make such lewd suggestions about me again.” Her blue eyes flashed as she met his gaze.
How does she manage to be so beautiful even when she is furious?
Alaric sensed it would be best not to voice this particular thought aloud and shrugged, letting his confusion show on his face.
“You are my wife.”
“And it is my body. I cannot control what you think, but I do not have to sit here and listen to such vulgarity.” She stepped away from him and let out a shaky breath.
He arched an eyebrow at her, frustration rising up in his chest. “Vulgarity? I am simply pointing out that this shame you have about our intimacy makes no sense. I know enough about marriage to understand its intimate nature. Yet you balk as though you are some blushing maid.”
As he had predicted, her cheeks flushed again, but to his surprise, the anger in her eyes did not fade. She tilted her chin toward him, fists clenched.
“There will be no such thing in our marriage.” The words were clipped with anger.
Something snapped within Alaric.
Why does she insist on treating me like the villain? He did not remember what kind of man he had been, what he had done, but he would not allow this to continue.
He took a step toward her, his heart thundering in his chest as he met her defiant gaze with his own.
“Why are you so determined to keep this distance between us? To treat me as though I am no more than a stranger? I am your husband, and yet you rebuff me at every opportunity. I am not your enemy, Catherine. I want you to trust me, for us to be a real partnership.”
Alaric watched Catherine’s mouth open and close several times before she stepped back and let out a burst of laughter.
His heart thundered, and he folded his own hands over his chest, his brow furrowing. “I fail to see what was so amusing about my statement.”
“Of course you do not.” Catherine threw her hands up in the air. “Suffice to say, that is not the sort of marriage we have.”
Her words hit him like a dagger, but he caught himself just in time not to shy away from her. Instead, he closed the distance between them, keeping his voice soft as he reached for her hand. “But I would like it to be.”
“For now.” She stepped away from him, wrapping her arms around herself and biting her lip.
“I know not what has happened between us, what has caused you to wish to live in different houses.” He saw her eyes widen at his words.
“I do not know what hurt I may have caused, or what has transpired in our marriage, but I would see it remedied. Just tell me what must be done, and I will see things put right.”
Her voice was so cold it made a midwinter morning seem warm. “I have no interest in you fixing things. I have already lived through that once, and I have no wish to repeat it.”
“What do you mean?” His heart sped up.
She took another step away from him and looked at the floor, waving his words away. “I should go.”
“Drat it, Catherine, surely we cannot go on like this for the rest of our lives?” He moved toward her, gesturing between them with his hand as he worked to unclench his jaw.
“I see no reason not to.” Her voice was cool as she turned away from him and reached for the door handle.
He shook his head, unable to keep the confusion from his voice. “You married me, why bother going through all of that if you do not want us to make this work? Why will you not let me be your husband?”
“I did not want to marry you!” Catherine shouted as she wheeled around to face him.
The words hit Alaric as though he had been kicked in the chest by a horse. The room spun, and he stumbled backward, shaking his head.
He could smell stale whiskey and cigars. He could hear a woman crying. Are those her tears? He did not want them to be hers. But what if they were?
After all, they were living completely apart from each other, and he could not understand why he would choose that. And she seemed to feel little warmth toward him.
Is that the sort of man I was? The thought made his blood run cold. His chest constricted, as though an invisible hand was clamped hard around him.
Her words echoed around them, and he forced himself to keep looking into her furious eyes. His voice sounded distant, as if it belonged to a much colder, harder man than himself.
“Explain. Now.”
I have to know what kind of monster I am.
For the first time, he wondered if he really did want his memories back.