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And the first thing I saw upon entering was a portrait of my father, the Lady Whitmear, and a small boy with shoulder-length curly hair. They looked as a family should—happy. I stared at my father’s face—which was similar to mine though his skin was slightly darker, his nose and lips a bit fuller.
How long had it been since I had spoken to him?
Seven years?
He’d briefly come to Oxford, on business he said, and wished to see how I was. I was terribly embarrassed by his presence. All the other students were peering over their books to watch the drama. It was one thing to know I was a bastard, but for him to be there before their eyes was amusement to them and more emotional bullets for their pistols aimed at me. I could not even hear what my father was trying to say to me. I did not wish to hear, so I begged him to leave me be.
And he did.
How foolish I was. No, not foolish but selfish, for I did not ask him to stop paying for my education. I forced myself to turn a blind eye to that fact, convinced myself it was my grandfather who saw to my needs. But anyone with half a brain knew that was not possible. So to ease part of my conscience, I told myself I would not touch more than I needed for my studies. I told myself I would pay all my other expenses via my own occupation. Still, I was naïve. No one would seek the services of a young doctor with messy connections. So my patients were the poor and needy, and while they had much to offer in the way of medical study, they lacked much in the way of coin. I had once been paid in eggs. Still, I did not wish to look to anyone for help. Henry refused to listen, forcing me more and more into society, and it was through him that I was able to gain better connections and wealthier patients, not through my own talent alone.
I was always in need.
I’d rationalized that at least it was a friend and not my father. Now I felt an even greater fool as I thought of my words to Henry. I would have to write to him and apologize. No, I had insulted him to his face, so I ought to have the decency to apologize in the same manner. But I could not return to London, not with her still there.
Verity.
The very thought of her sent waves of emotions through me. I glanced at my hands, thinking of how it felt when she had taken hold of them. How, in the briefest of moments, it felt as if we were free. How I wanted to—
“Theodore?”
I turned toward the door. There my father stood, as in the painting, though his hair was grayer, his chest rising and falling heavily, his eyes wide.
“You are truly here? When they told me, I thought it was some cruel jape.” He laughed as he entered. Could servants jape with their masters? I did not think so. “Well…welcome. I am truly glad you have come, though I am a bit confused. What has brought you now?”
“Your wife warned me of your impending death,” I finally spoke.
“Death?” He gasped.
“I was told you were gravely ill.”
“As you can see, I am not.”
“Which is why I am also a bit confused,” I replied. However, I was distracted by the boy peeking in at the door.
He hid quickly when our eyes met, though I could still see his curly hair protruding from around the frame.
“Alexander, come and greet your brother, Theodore,” our father said, and my eyes widened at the openness of his comment. What was even stranger was that Alexander did not seem surprised by it but, instead, slowly entered and lifted his hand to me.
“Hi.”
“Hello,” I said in return.
“You must be exhausted from your journey. The maids will draw you a bath, and we shall speak later—”
“I do not wish to impose.”
“You are my son. How are you imposing?” he asked, patting the top of Alexander’s head before looking down at him. “Is he imposing on you?”
Alexander shook his head no.
“I thank you for your hospitality then. I will not take—”
“Theodore, just go take your bath. You need not be so formal here. Everyone knows who you are to me and that this is your home as well.”
“Thank you, sir, but this is not my home.” I walked toward the door, where already the butler from earlier stood waiting. I said not one word and allowed him to lead me from them. It was only when I believed myself out of hearing distance that I finally asked for more information.
“Tell me, Mr. Pierce, what have you heard of me?” I asked, as I wished to know what exactly to expect here.
