Page 19 of The Forgotten Duke (Viennese Waltz #1)

Chapter Nineteen

In terms of personality—Catherine, Helena, Lena—this woman remained an enigma to him. How could this vibrant, chaotic woman, now leaning on the kitchen table with her elbows, teaching her son—his son, by Jove! He had a son! He still did not comprehend it—with unruly strands of hair tumbling over her cheeks and lips, dressed in an ill-fitting, patched gown worn by servants—how could she possibly be the same timid, fragile little thing he had once married, who shrank away every time he looked at her?

Physically they were identical. That is, if one ignored the way they were dressed. Catherine would never have worn stained linen aprons. It was as if there was a stranger inside the body of Catherine. Her entire demeanour had changed.

Even though he understood the reason for it, it perplexed him to no end.

Lena usually met his gaze in a straightforward, calm way. He often found her looking at him, mostly thoughtful and puzzled and with the kind of caution one approached the ice of a frozen lake, as if she couldn’t decide if she could trust it to carry her.

He wasn’t used to that.

She blew her hair out of her face as she leaned over the table, leaning on her elbows, giving him a good view of her shapely bottom.

His body tensed, and he tried to look away but found himself unable to.

She was beautiful. She always had been, of course, but the years had added a sense of womanliness and quiet confidence that had been lacking when she was younger.

He swallowed.

“No Hecki. Not thirteen. You forgot to carry over the number, here. Try again.” She pointed to a figure on the slate. She had chalk on her finger, on her nose, on her forehead, and ah! Now she was rubbing her eyebrows, smearing the chalk over those too.

He watched in fascination.

Their heads were close together, her blonde head, and the boy’s dark one.

“No. Try again.” There was a hint of vexation in her tone.

The boy petulantly threw the chalk down, breaking it in half.

“Hector!” she exclaimed.

“I did what you said, and it still doesn’t make any sense. Explain it so I can understand!”

Julius stood up. The time for him as an uninvolved observer was over.

“Let me help. ”

Both looked up.

“No thank you,” the boy said immediately. “I can do it myself.”

“Oh, could you? That would be wonderful.” She stood up and stretched her back, which must have been aching.

“Doesn’t he have a tutor?” Julius stepped to the table and looked at the numbers scrawled on the slate.

Lena grimaced. “No. We can’t afford it. In the past, Simon used to teach the younger boys. Hector and Achilles go to the local school here, and I daresay Herr Maier does his best, but there are thirty children in the class, the youngest being five and the oldest fifteen. I suppose it is a bit noisy.”

“It’s unbearable,” Hector muttered, picking up the chalk and drawing on the kitchen table. “Lessons are either too easy or too difficult, and Herr Maier explains even worse than you do.”

“Oh hush, I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Lena retorted.

“It’s a waste of time. We’re better off fishin—” He interrupted himself with a cough.

“Hector Arenheim. Never tell me you’re skipping lessons to go fishing.” Lena placed her hands on her hips.

“Almost every day.” Les poked his head around the door, then quickly disappeared as Hecki threw a piece of chalk at him.

“Tattletale!” He shot up to run after him, but Julius clamped his hand on his shoulder and pressed him down into his chair.

“You stay here, and I’ll be your tutor.”

Lena nodded with approval. “Excellent. Behave yourself, Hecki,” she said before disappearing into the kitchen.

Lena saw the two dark heads together, the big and the little one. The deep, sonorous voice of the Duke vibrated as he explained the rules of arithmetic to the boy. The higher tones of Hector replied. She watched with mixed emotions.

A pang of tenderness flooded through her and vanished as quickly as it had come, followed by a quick jab of fear.

He wouldn’t take Hector away from her, would he? He wouldn’t tear her family apart. If August was right, he had the power and the right to do so. There would be nothing she could do about it.

But if he’d wanted to do that, wouldn’t he have done it already, instead of agreeing to their experiment? Here he was, dressed in commoner’s clothes, helping her son—his son!—with arithmetic.

She didn’t know him well, but it struck her that he wasn’t that kind of man. Her first impression of him was that he was arrogant and proud. He had a cold shield around him that was difficult to penetrate. He never smiled. He seemed to have a strong sense of duty and fairness. She hoped she was right, and that this sense of duty and fairness would prevent him from doing something as cruel as separating a mother from her children. To her, things were clear: if he wanted her or her son, he would have to take them all on. It was either all of them, or none of them .

He’d asked her to trust him. She found that difficult. There was so much about the man she didn’t understand. The gaps in her memory frightened her, but so did the memories themselves. Random scraps, bits and pieces, uncoordinated fragments and flashes that made neither head nor tail.

It wasn’t anything concrete, just a feeling, like when she smelled his cologne. She blushed at the thought of when, earlier this morning, he’d caught her sniffing at him like a dog when she thought he had his back turned to her.

She was almost obsessed by the scent.

It triggered a wave of emotions that were unfamiliar to her.

A delicious weakness ran through her legs and she leaned against the counter.

“Before we do that,” he said, “you have to learn how to read the clock properly.” He pulled out the fob with his pocket-watch, flipped it open with one hand, lifted it to his face and lowered his gaze. His profile was as sharp and commanding as that of an emperor’s on a Roman coin.

The soup tureen crashed to the floor.

Both Hector and the Duke leaped to their feet. “Mama!”

“Are you hurt?” the Duke asked at the same time.

All the blood had drained from her face and she gripped the table for support. “Do that again.”

“I beg your pardon?” A slight frown formed on his face .

“What you just did.” She moistened her lips. “With the watch.”

He lifted it. “This?”

She nodded.

“What did I do?”

“Put it back in your pocket, then take it out and look at it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he complied. He tucked it into his pocket and drew it out with one fluid motion, flipping the lid open.

Lena closed her eyes.

She felt him warm and solid stepping up behind her, gripping her shoulders.

“What is the matter?”

She swayed under the overwhelming surge of emotions. “I finally remembered,” she whispered.

“What?” His grip tightened slightly on her shoulders.

She looked up, meeting his eyes.

“You.”