Chapter 12
“Are you sure?” Catherine crossed her arms over her chest, her lips pursed.
Alaric nodded sagely, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from reaching toward his wife without thinking. Sunlight streamed through the window of his study, turning her hair to spun gold and highlighting her rosy cheeks.
How does she look so effortlessly stunning?
His heart ached, but he kept his face neutral. It had been a few days since he had offered to teach Oliver how to ride. He still was not sure what had made him suggest it, only that it had made sense at the time.
“I am perfectly capable of watching the boy.” Alaric gestured to his study.
“Miss Annabelle is in town fetching his riding clothes; the other maids are busy with their duties. And you have business that requires your undivided attention. I, on the other hand, am simply enjoying a good book and being a man of leisure.”
Alaric held up the book. He saw Catherine bite her lip and could practically hear the gears turning in her mind. “Very well. I will leave Oliver with you. It should not be for very long. It is moments like this when…”
Alaric canted his head toward her. “Yes?”
Catherine shook her head and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It does not matter. I was just thinking that it would be helpful to have some extra help with such things. Though I know why that cannot be arranged.”
“A governess, you mean?” Alaric saw Catherine’s eyes widen. “Mrs. Danvers informed me that this is usually who tends to childcare in houses such as ours. I was worried you were taking too much upon yourself with your duties as a duchess as well.”
“I am perfectly capable, thank you.” Catherine bristled, her eyes flashing in a warning that Alaric knew all too well.
“I do not doubt that, Catherine. But you are only one woman.” I do not want you to wear yourself out. Alaric could see the start of dark circles under his wife’s eyes.
He saw her deflate slightly, her eyes meeting his, reminding him of a summer sky. “It would be a risk to bring someone else in, Alaric. You know that.”
“I am aware, but it would be a manageable risk. The woman’s primary focus would be on Oliver.
And I have regained a little more of my sense of propriety thanks to you.
” He inclined his head toward her and then tapped his forehead.
“And more memories, though they are mostly of my time at Oxford with Hale and the occasional tiresome business venture.”
Catherine chewed on her bottom lip. “I shall think on it.”
“That is all I ask.” Alaric stepped away from the doorway, the smell of lavender washing over him. “Bring Oliver to me.”
Catherine disappeared and returned with Oliver a few moments later. “Now, Oliver, you are going to stay with your fa... Alaric, while I meet with Mrs. Danvers and handle some urgent but very boring business.”
Oliver looked from Catherine to Alaric, his green eyes very similar to Alaric’s own.
He looks so like me, and yet my heart tells me he is not my son. Surely, he would have remembered a lover by now? The familiar anger welled within him at the thought of such a thing, but he kept it from his face.
“I will be back soon.” Alaric saw Catherine give Oliver’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before she left the room.
For a moment, Alaric and the boy looked at each other. Alaric realized he had never been alone with the boy until now. What is one supposed to do with a child? He supposed it was a good sign that Oliver had not clung to Catherine and was instead fidgeting by the doorway.
“You should come in.” Alaric gestured toward the room and took a step back, wanting to give the small child some space.
Oliver nodded slowly and stepped carefully into the room. As he did, Alaric moved to the plush green sofa by the fireplace and sat on it. Oliver sat down on the floor, his eyes on Alaric.
“Do you need chalk?” Alaric asked, gesturing to the slate Oliver was carrying.
He shook his head, gripping the slate more firmly. Alaric nodded. “If you do, there’s some on my desk. You draw and I will read. And before we know it, Catherine will be back.”
At least I hope so. Oliver continued to watch him, as though his green eyes were trying to understand a particularly interesting book before him. Alaric met the boy’s gaze with his own.
“If you are wondering about the ride, I have not forgotten. I have spoken to the stablemaster, and once your clothes are ready, we can begin your lessons.” Alaric gestured to his own clothes.
Oliver’s eyes brightened, and although the corners of his mouth tensed upward, it did not quite become a full smile. There was a brief pause, then he started to draw on the slate. Alaric exhaled softly, unaware he had been holding his breath, and opened his book.
Moments later, he sensed something brushing against his boot. Alaric looked down and saw a small piece of chalk beside him. He nudged it with his foot, causing it to roll back toward Oliver, all without taking his eyes off his book.
If I look up, he might think he is in trouble.
There was another tap, and he looked down to see that the chalk was back beside his foot. Alaric frowned and looked up to see Oliver watching him.
“Are you trying to get my attention?” Alaric canted his head toward the boy.
Oliver’s eyes widened, but he nodded. Alaric furrowed his brow and leaned forward in his chair. Oliver carefully slid the slate toward him.
It showed a simple picture of a very tall man and a boy. Alaric moved closer. “I assume this is me, and this is you?”
Oliver nodded and proceeded to draw a small, strange-shaped creature beside them. He pointed to it, arched an eyebrow at Alaric, and canted his head to one side.
It is a question; that much is certain. Alaric looked at the creature again.
“A pony is not quite that small,” Alaric said slowly. “If it were, you would not be able to ride it.”
Oliver shook his head and adjusted his drawing, changing one line so it curved upward. Alaric squinted at the creature, moving his head from side to side. He could see four legs, a long snout, and now a tail that curved toward the sky. Understanding dawned on him.
“A dog?” Alaric pointed to the creature.
Oliver clapped his hands, nodding so enthusiastically that it made Alaric feel slightly sick.
If I moved my head that much, it would threaten to split in two.
Alaric leaned back in the chair. “Is this your way of telling me that you want a dog?”
Oliver clapped his hands again and grinned up at Alaric. He pointed to his own chest, then to the dog, and then back to his chest, tilting his head once more.
Alaric felt something warm spread across his body as he returned the boy’s smile. He was practically radiating with excitement. Alaric moved to kneel beside Oliver on the floor.
“A dog is a lot of work, Oliver.” Alaric kept his voice gentle. “The servants will help, but I would ask that you do your part as well. Do you understand?”
Oliver rubbed out the lines meant to be the boy’s arms and changed them so they had big curves. Then he raised one arm and pointed to the slight bump of muscle on it. Then he nodded his head toward Alaric.
Alaric chuckled and imitated the boy, feeling his own muscles tense. “I do not think you are quite as strong as I, not yet.”
Oliver nodded sagely and pointed back at the dog, grinning.
“But yes, probably strong enough to look after a dog. Especially a young one.” Alaric ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose it would mean you would have a companion. And it is important for a gentleman to understand responsibility.”
Even if he is not my son, I would not want him to turn into some kind of layabout. The smell of stale whiskey invaded Alaric’s mind, and he looked around, wondering if he had spilled something and just noticed. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His head ached. Layabout?
The voice in his head was not his. Alaric pushed it away, turning to face Oliver as the smell faded from his mind. Oliver’s eyes were wide, and he reached a small hand toward Alaric, but stopped just shy of touching him.
“I am well. I just… I smelled something and thought perhaps someone had spilled something.” Alaric massaged his scar; the pounding in his head eased.
Oliver held up his chalk uncertainly.
“Not your chalk. Whiskey. It is a drink.”
The boy frowned, drew a glass, and then pointed to his chest.
“Maybe when you are older. It is not really for children.” Alaric smiled. “It was probably my imagination anyway. This injury plays havoc with my senses.”
Oliver bit his lip, drew a few squiggly lines on the tall figure, and changed the face to a frown. Then he pointed at Alaric.
“It does hurt sometimes. But it is better now.” He tried to give the child a reassuring smile.
Oliver reached toward him, fingers outstretched as if he might touch the scar, then quickly pulled his hand back, his eyes widening in alarm.
Alaric understood and leaned forward. “You can touch it if you want; it does not hurt anymore.”
The boy hurried forward and touched the scar on Alaric’s forehead. His eyes widened, and Alaric could feel his gaze searching for any sign of injury. He smiled at Oliver and noticed the boy’s shoulders relax.
Oliver stopped touching Alaric’s scar and sat opposite him. He pointed to Alaric’s forehead and shrugged.
“I was in an accident,” Alaric explained, and as he did, the sound of something snapping filled his mind.
He tried to grasp the rest of the memory, but it slipped away from him. Oliver was still watching, and Alaric realized he had been silent for too long.
“I do not remember much of what happened.” Alaric shrugged.
Oliver’s eyes met Alaric’s, and in that moment, he appeared much older than a boy of seven. He pointed to different parts of his body and then looked intently at Alaric. Alaric tilted his head to one side, and Oliver repeated the gestures.
“You have been hurt before, too?” Alaric’s eyes widened.