Page 18 of One Last Smile

Lucas is quite probably the child of that affair. He shows some sign of resemblance to his mother in his wide eyes and full lips. He shows no resemblance at all to Sebastian and only a passing connection to his elder siblings. And the slender build, long fingers, and softer bone structure are shown by neither Sebastian nor Veronica.

It’s easy to put the timeline together. Veronica realizes that by marrying a landed gentleman, she has bartered much of her freedom away. She rebels against this and goes to South Africa. While there, she meets a man and has an affair, probably as an extension of that rebellion. She learns she is pregnant and is no doubt terrified of the consequences. Sebastian Carlton is powerful, and she and her family could suffer if both her reputation and his are soiled.

So Sebastian comes for her, and either she throws herself at him and convinces him that Lucas is his, or she confesses and begs mercy, and he agrees to forgive her. Or perhaps he tells her that he already knows, and if she agrees to come home and stop acting a fool, he will bury the scandal so that she and their family don’t suffer.

I find the second option—forgiveness—unlikely. Sebastian has a warm exterior, but it’s clear after last night that he will not tolerate a stain on his reputation. Any “forgiveness” he extended would come at a cost.

The first is possible. Sebastian clearly knows of the affair now, but perhaps he didn’t realize until it was too late to simply put her away without causing himself embarrassment. The third is equally possible. In either case, the narrative of a loving couple and a perfect family must be maintained, and in any case, Sebastian is now in control of that narrative.

The piece that truly intrigues me is the connection to Minerva. She was nineteen when she died, which would make her twenty now. That would put her within a few months of Oliver’s age, but Oliver turns twenty-one next month, so perhaps not so close that it’s impossible she could have been conceived almost immediately after his birth.

So perhaps she didn’t flee to South Africa and meet a man there. Perhaps she met a man and fled to South Africa with him.

But then what of the Montclair family? Minerva’s parents. A quick search of the family provides nothing to indicate that she’s adopted.

Could they have helped hush the scandal up? It’s difficult to fake a pregnancy, but not impossible. And if they did cover it up, why? Or is it all just idle speculation that no one can prove is untrue because Sebastian won’t let anyone risk proving that it is true?

There’s a reason he doesn’t want her name spoken. I must find out what that reason is.

***

Lucas, as expected, is quite able to manage his own schoolwork with minimal guidance from me. I decide to get the cleaning done while he works so that I can use the evening to peruse official records and see if I can find the answers to some of the questions I have.

Eliza’s room barely needs cleaning. She is as fastidious with her living space as she is with her appearance, and other than making the bed and placing a few books back on her scrupulously organized shelves, there is little for me to do.

Lucas’s room shows the ordinary mess of a young man, but it’s not excessive. I gather his soiled clothes—no underwear among them, thankfully—into the hamper, make his bed, and vacuum the rug. I leave his lenses and cameras in their somewhat haphazard state. I don’t want to touch an artist’s tools.

Oliver’s room is downright slovenly. I suppose this is how he chooses to rebel against his parents. Clothes lay scattered everywhere—including boxers, I’m afraid. Food wrappers, empty drink containers—a disturbing number of them alcoholic—and scraps of paper from notebooks, magazines, and other sources I don’t recognize are strewn over every surface.

I sigh. I will have my work cut out here.

It takes me nearly an hour to gather the soiled clothes into the hamper and collect the trash into the wastebasket. It fills two bags, and I realize I don’t know where the trash is to be taken and what to do with the soiled clothes. I would like to wash them so that poor Hazel doesn’t return to a mountain of work. Perhaps Lucas knows.

I gather the papers that don’t appear to be trash—though I can’t be entirely sure—into piles which I set on the desk for Oliver to (hopefully) review and dispose of if appropriate.

It’s while I’m gathering these that my eyes catch sight of the name Minnie.

I stop and pick up the paper. It’s a letter. Her name is at the bottom, a signature, underneath the line, Yours forever in love.

I scan the letter, and my eyes widen. It is quite clearly a love letter to Oliver. In it, she refers to him in glowing terms. There’s not much in it to make me blush, but there’s enough to make it clear that at the time this letter was written, they’d engaged in a long and very intimate affair. She references a plan to run away together and be free of our persecutors. Typical teenage angst, but considering the events that occurred shortly after, quite sobering.

I set the letter down and dig through the rest of the papers. When I find nothing there, I open his desk drawers one at a time. When that also reveals nothing, I search his closet. There I find a shoebox, and in that shoebox, I find a pile of letters from Minnie.

I read them quickly, not sure exactly what I’m looking for until I find it near the bottom of the shoebox. This one is from Oliver to Minnie. It’s the only one addressed to her, which suggests to me that it was never sent.

Several inkblots and small tears along with generally poor handwriting give away his frayed mental state at the time of writing this. When I read the letter, that frayed state becomes even more obvious. It’s short, but its content is nothing short of frightening.

I know. I know everything. I know what you did with him, you miserable whore. I’ll punish you for this. You were mine, not anyone else’s! I’ll make sure no one else can ever have you!

“Mary?”

I shriek and throw my hands in the air. The letter flies over my head, and Lucas flinches back in the doorway. He looks at me quizzically. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I snap, getting quickly to my feet and retrieving the letter from where it’s landed on Oliver’s mattress. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that. You frightened me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his brow still furrowed in confusion. “I only wanted to tell you I’ve finished my calculus assignment, and it’s ready for your review.”

“Right.” I take a deep breath and set the letter in the shoebox, then close it and replace it in the closet. “I’ll come at once. Thank you.”

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