He gave a mock scowl. “Only on Worthington’s side. His title is actually much older, and inherited through”—he drew her to another portrait—“this fellow’s wife during Queen Anne’s time.”
“It is amazing how the same color blue appear in the eyes of almost all the men.”
He grinned. “The Bradford blue. It has been said that a Bradford man can tell if a child is his by the eyes. I suppose I should say the Bradford-Vivers blue. Until now, I never understood why a man would take his wife’s name.”
She moved down the wall. “Who is this?”
“My grandfather.”
“Here is your mother.” She glanced at him. “You were a beautiful baby. I did not realize your father had blond hair as well. You are very like him.”
Dom gazed up at the painting of a young man, his father, holding a baby, his wife seated. A large hunting dog stood next to him. He did look just like his father. But he wasn’t like him at all. He couldn’t be.
He remembered the day his father had died and his uncle came. He had been six years old and had tried to hug his uncle Alasdair, needing the comfort, but after one brief embrace, his uncle set him aside.“You are Merton now. You must behave as such. You cannot afford to indulge in maudlin emotions. Now, stop crying—you have duties to attend to.”
“I want Mama,” the child had said.
“The doctor has given her something to make her sleep. This is what happens when one has such violent emotions for another. You may go to her after you’ve controlled yours.” His uncle took his hand. “For your own good and that of your dependents, I trust you will never form such a passionate attachment to a woman.”
“What was he like?”
Thea’s question brought him out of his reveries. “He was passionate. About everything, but especially my mother.”
He couldn’t tear his gaze from the painting.
“And you too, it seems. Normally, the woman holds the baby, but he is holding you.”
Dom’s throat closed and his eyes grew moist. God, no, he couldn’t cry. He hadn’t cried since the day his father died. “Excuse me. I must go.”
He took a step, and she grabbed his arm. “Dom, please tell me what is troubling you.”
“I can’t talk about it now.” He glanced at her concerned face. “Thea, let me go.”
She bit her bottom lip and released his arm. “Very well. For now. But you must tell me eventually.”
Striding back down the gallery, he went to his study, but it wasn’t the place he needed to be. This was where he performed his duties, where he wasn’t allowed to feel anything. Where then? Leaving, he let his feet carry him to the schoolroom. Not the same one he had been in when his uncle had come to him, but close enough. Thankfully, it was empty. All the toys he’d had before his father’s death were still there. The tin soldiers he and his father had played with, waging imaginary wars. The bat and ball his father had bought him to learn cricket. He had not touched a toy since that day. There was one adult-sized chair, and memories of his father rocking him in this same chair overwhelmed him. Sinking down onto it, he covered his face. Tears began leaking through his closed eyelids and down his cheeks.“Papa, why did you leave us? Why did you leave me?”
Sometime later, after the room had darkened, soft footsteps neared him. “Dominic,” Mama asked, “are you all right?”
“I don’t know. No. Everything I’ve believed in for years . . . is falling apart.”
She sank down onto a stool and took one of his hands. “Tell me what it is.”
He gazed at her, the need to unburden himself almost too much to bear. “I don’t know if I can. Uncle Alasdair always told me not to bother you.”
His mother’s lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “If Alasdair was not already dead, I would murder him myself. What on earth was he thinking? Tell me now.Everythinghe said.”
A short bark of laughter shot out from Dom, startling him. He had never seen his mother behave so fiercely before. “After Papa died, Uncle Alasdair told me I was now Merton and it was my duty . . .”
As his mother listened, myriad emotions passed over her face. At one point, she took out a lace-trimmed handkerchief and dabbed her tears. When he finished, she closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. “I never should have listened to Alasdair. I should never have trusted him. What he told you was not the truth.”
Dom sat up. “What do you mean?”
His mother stared down at her hands for a few moments as if gathering her thoughts. “It is not that he lied, precisely, but he saw things only from his point of view. He and your father were close friends, but disagreed on almost everything.”
That was news. “Even politics?”
She nodded. “Especially politics and the duties of the aristocracy. Your father believed that it was the duty of the peerage to keep the king in check, and care for all the people in the land, rich and poor.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. “Your uncle believed duty to the king took precedence over all else, and that a person’s station in life was ordained by God, and any evil that befell one was by that person’s choice. Yet, your father knew my brother loved you and me.”
