Chapter 11
“Do you like the cake, Oliver?” Catherine gestured to the plum cake on the plate in front of her.
Catherine and Oliver sat in the e astern drawing room, with a tray of cakes and tea on the coffee table between them. Oliver was in his usual spot on the floor, with his new piece of slate and chalk beside him.
At her words, the boy gestured to his now empty plate, grabbed his slate, and drew a triangle, a circle, and then a small figure of a boy. Catherine waited for him to hold it up to her.
“I shall take that as a yes and that you would like more.” She waited for him to nod, and then cut another piece and put it on the plate. “Though that is the last, I do not want you getting too full to eat your dinner.”
Oliver nodded, wiped off the drawing, and proceeded to sketch a simple table with plates and several dishes, pointing to a picture of what Catherine assumed was some kind of bird.
“Yes, we will be having guinea fowl for dinner.” Catherine smiled at him. “I am glad you like it; I am rather partial to it too.”
The day after Alaric and Mrs. Danvers discussed the menu, Catherine was told that Alaric wished for guinea fowl and venison to appear regularly on the menu. In fact, they were both to be served weekly.
If he wants to indulge in such extravagance, so be it. It is simply fortunate that his tastes reflect my own.
Her eyes drifted to the flowers that had been placed earlier that morning. Mrs. Danvers had asked whether she had any specific flowers in mind, and Catherine had replied that she had always enjoyed red chrysanthemums.
And now here they are.
Catherine turned away from the flowers and watched as Oliver drew a picture of what Catherine thought was a goose. He drew a line through it, paused, and then Catherine watched him add a face with a downturned mouth.
She laughed. “Goose is not to everyone’s taste, that is true enough. I will make sure you have something else to eat for Christmas.”
The words brought her up short as Oliver smiled at her. Her chest squeezed, and she added. “Even if I am not here, I promise you will not have to eat goose.”
I suppose I could always visit for Christmas. No. We are supposed to have separate lives.
Catherine tried to harden her heart. She cared about Oliver, of course she did, but she could not let herself get caught up in a fantasy of a life that would never exist.
But it could. She pushed the little voice inside her away. She could not trust it. Alaric had abandoned his own son; he had left her, and she was sure that when his memories returned, he would be the cold, distant man she remembered.
Oliver’s brow furrowed slightly. It always did when she talked of leaving. A part of her wanted to keep it from him, but she knew that would be unkind. She cared about him, but she was not his mother. She never would be, and neither of them could afford her getting lost in fantasy.
Your father must look after you. I will not let him abandon you again. The thought hardened her heart, and her frustration that Alaric still insisted that Oliver was not his son grew. Sooner or later, he would have to accept the truth.
She focused on the sound of Oliver’s chalk scratching against the slate. “I am glad we thought of the slate. As much fun as drawing on the ballroom floor was, it was not the most practical solution for our conversations. This way at least, you can converse wherever you are.”
Oliver grinned at her, and she remembered the way his eyes had widened as she had sketched out drawings in the ballroom. In the present, Oliver flipped his slate over and sketched a simple picture of a large room with drawings on the floor. Beside it, he put a face with huge circles for eyes.
“You were worried we would get in trouble, until I explained chalk was easy to clean up, and that ballroom floors were frequently chalked for balls.” Catherine mimed dancing as she said it. “Perhaps I should teach you how to dance, or play some music. Would you like that, Oliver?”
Oliver placed his hand on his chin, smudging chalk on it as he scrunched his face, clearly thinking hard. Catherine drew different instruments and named each one, pointing to them as she did.
“The pianoforte is probably the easiest one to teach you. Though I have always loved the violin best.” Catherine felt her stomach twist as she heard her mother’s voice in her head.
The violin is a common instrument; the pianoforte is much more befitting of a lady of your station.
“I suspect Alaric would not appreciate it if I taught you the violin.”
“Why not?” The smell of cedar and amber filled the room, and Catherine whipped around to see Alaric standing in the doorway.
He was wearing his riding clothes, his hair windswept, and his face was flushed.
To her irritation, her stomach fluttered.
How does he manage to look handsome no matter what he does?
If she had been out riding, she would have looked a state.
Whenever she had returned from a ride, her mother had wasted no time telling her that she was not fit to be seen in polite company.
She pushed the thought from her mind and stood, inclining her head to Alaric. “The violin is one of those instruments that takes some time before a student can produce a sound that is pleasurable to the ears.”
“I suspect that will be a problem for his tutor rather than myself.” Alaric shrugged, and Catherine thought she saw the corners of his mouth quirk upward. “Besides, the music room is at the other end of the castle from my study. If Oliver wishes to learn the violin, he should.”
Alaric looked out the window and ran a hand through his hair. The movement drew Catherine’s eyes to his well-muscled arms, clearly visible beneath his clothing. She looked away and focused on a loose thread on one of the pillows instead.
“I see you both enjoyed the plum cake.” Alaric’s words pulled her attention back to him.
“It was delicious. Though I have no idea where Cook got the plums, it is the wrong season for them.” Catherine gestured to the world outside, where the sun was high in the sky.
“They were probably harvested from our orchards and preserved.” Alaric followed her gesture with his eyes.
“I had not realized we had orchards. I have not really had much of a chance to explore most of the estate, not beyond the gardens.” Catherine glanced at Oliver.
His legs were small, and he could not walk as far as she could without becoming tired. Perhaps she should make a greater effort to explore with him.
He should know these lands.
“It would be hard to see the entirety of it without riding.” Alaric gestured to his own clothes.
At his words, Catherine caught sight of Oliver straightening. Clearly, Alaric had as well, because he asked, “Would you like to learn how to ride?”
Oliver looked from Catherine to Alaric, his lip trembling as he shifted from one foot to the other. Then he nodded. Alaric stroked his chin thoughtfully, green eyes studying the boy as if weighing him.
“It might be a little difficult for you, Oliver. We will have to find someone to teach you, and horses are rather large.” Catherine’s stomach dropped as Oliver’s face fell.
“It should be easy enough for the stablemaster to find him a pony,” Alaric interjected. “And I can teach him until we find a suitable replacement.”
Catherine arched an eyebrow at Alaric. “You would teach him?”
Alaric frowned. “You sound skeptical.”
“I am.” Catherine moved closer to Alaric, aware that Oliver was watching them, as she lowered her voice. “Does this mean you accept that he is your son?”
“No,” Alaric answered just as quietly. “Teaching Oliver myself makes the most sense. I am a competent rider, and the grooms will be busy. I am told that riding is something gentlemen are expected to do well, and therefore Oliver should be taught by someone who excels at it.”
“One is also expected to be humble,” Catherine pointed out, though she could not quite keep the smile from her face as Alaric’s frown deepened.
“Is it humility to deny one’s prowess?” Alaric asked. “That seems closer to lying to me, and I am told that is not acceptable either.”
“It generally is not,” Catherine agreed. “Except in some circumstances.”
“Such as?”
“When it would be rude not to.” Catherine cast around for an example. “For instance, if you are commenting on someone’s home and you think the décor tawdry, you would not tell them that.”
“Or I could simply say nothing at all,” Alaric pointed out, perched on the arm of the sofa and folding his arms over his chest, and exchanging a look with Oliver, who was watching him keenly. “That seems the best option to me.”
For a fleeting moment, Catherine thought Alaric was going to wink at the boy, but instead he gave him a small smile that Oliver returned sincerely, as if they were co-conspirators.
“Not all of us can play the dark, brooding duke, Alaric.” Catherine gestured to herself. “And such white lies are a vital skill to learn if you are to navigate the vipers’ nest that is the ton.”
“The more I re-learn about propriety and society, the less sense it makes.” Alaric shook his head and winced.
Catherine took a step toward him and caught herself, hastily balling her hands into the fabric of her dress. “It is the price we pay for civilization.”
“So you say,” Alaric grumbled, massaging his forehead.
Before Catherine could say another word, she felt a tug at her sleeve. She looked down to see Oliver holding up his slate, with a freshly drawn picture on it.
It was of a man, a boy, a woman, and a horse. Catherine frowned at the picture, trying to make sense of it. To her surprise, Alaric spoke before she could even puzzle it out. “You want to ride with the Duchess and me?”
Oliver smiled and nodded enthusiastically.
Alaric canted his head toward her, his green eyes reminding her of a summer’s day. “Do you know how to ride?”
“I do. Though I am not sure that you will have the proper tack at the castle. I had to order things specially for the London house.” She saw Alaric’s brow furrow. “A woman needs a different saddle from a man. It is considered quite improper for a woman to ride astride. We ride side-saddle.”
“That sounds rather precarious.” Alaric folded his arms over his chest.
Catherine made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “What is a little danger in the name of propriety? Besides, women are not generally expected or encouraged to ride as vigorously as men.”
A look flitted through Alaric’s eyes too quickly for Catherine to recognize. “I see. Then I take it you will join us for a ride, so long as you have the correct equipment?”
She opened her mouth, knowing that she should say no, but as soon as she saw Oliver’s hopeful expression, she knew she could not. “Of course.”
Oliver’s smile broadened, and Catherine felt her heart twist violently at the joy on his face. He immediately wiped the slate clean and drew a big, smiling face.
Catherine grinned back at him. “Well, it is just as well Mrs. Danvers brought up my riding habit. Though we might need to visit the tailor in town to have something made for you.”
“There might be something of mine from childhood. I can have the maids check for you.” Alaric glanced at a pocket watch. “I must take my leave of you. I should bathe before dinner; I would not want to join you reeking of horse.”
“I have always rather enjoyed the smell,” Catherine said without thinking.
“Do you indeed?” Alaric raised an eyebrow at her.
“I mean... I am not... I just… I never understood why people were so offended by such things when there are worse smells. And you do not smell bad, not that I am saying you smell good. I do not really notice what you smell like… I…” Catherine trailed off as Alaric chuckled.
“Peace, Catherine. I only meant that I have promised not to present myself improperly around you.” His eyes twinkled as he moved toward the door. “And I am nothing if not a man of my word.”
He bowed low. “I will see you at dinner.”
He left without another word, and Catherine felt a tug in her chest. She frowned and turned to Oliver, trying to work out what had caused the prickle of irritation across her chest.
Her eyes drifted to the flowers once more.
‘I am nothing if not a man of my word.’
If only she could believe him.