Page 90 of Proof

It hadn’t really mattered, either, because the whole thing had rattled Cass to the point that he didn’t respond when I softly called his name. He was still watching Renly escort his grandmother from the room.

Renly and Cass’s grandmother hadn’t made it more than a dozen steps before the sound of light, quick footsteps echoed throughout the solarium. I couldn’t see who was coming toward us, but I used the distraction to watch Renly scowl as our unexpected guest nearly knocked over a delicate vase filled with perfectly arranged red roses in his attempt to reach us. Without warning, Renly suddenly released Mrs. Ashby completely and tried to nab the little boy who was sprinting toward Cass’s grandmother.

Cass instinctively moved to support his grandmother so she wouldn’t fall, but she stepped away from him as if he were the devil reincarnated. Hatred burned in her eyes as she took several unaided steps backwards.

The entire episode lasted mere seconds, but I garnered more information in those few seconds than I had from the entire visit. I couldn’t tell if Cass had noticed the same things I had because his back was to me.

Our visitor turned out to be a little boy, no older than four or five. He easily dodged Renly’s attempt to grab him and ran directly up to Cass’s grandmother. Once he reached her, though, he didn’t touch her or give her the piece of paper in his hand. Despite it still being daytime, the boy wasn’t wearing casual clothes meant for playtime; he was dressed in crispblue trousers, a light blue button-down shirt, and a burgundy sleeveless vest. The cuffs of his shirt were buttoned as was the very top one at the collar. His feet weren’t tucked in canvas sneakers, but instead what looked like small leather shoes that matched what businessmen wore. All he needed was a briefcase and he’d be ready for Wall Street. I was certain that the outfit had to be some kind of school uniform, but there was no logo anywhere on it. It was possible he was too young to be in school yet, but that didn’t explain his clothing. Although what did I know about what the super-rich dressed their kids up in? The kid’s outfit probably cost more than my car.

Cass’s eyes were glued to the kid while his grandmother turned her head to look out the window instead of giving her attention to the little boy. She continued to stand on her own but the spark of fury in her eyes was gone and her body once again looked feeble and frail.

The child frowned in disappointment. “Mother Ashby, I sorry for ’sturbing you and your guests,” the boy said in a small voice. “What happened to your hair?”

Renly reached for the child and snatched him by the arm. The boy whimpered but otherwise remained silent as Renly whispered something into his ear before releasing him.

The boy rubbed the part of his arm that Renly had grabbed and then turned around and put his arms behind his back, the colorful picture still in his hands. He began walking back the same way he’d come. I could hear his sniffles, but he kept his spine straight and his head up.

Cass looked like he was going to throw up and I wanted desperately to move to his side and give him whatever support I could, but I forced myself to keep my emotions separate from the facts that I so badly needed.

“I’d love to see your picture,” I called to the little boy. Renly tried to intercept him again when the child glanced at me, butthis time, Cass stepped between Renly and the kid. Renly began snapping his fingers at a maid standing by the entrance to the solarium. She immediately began hurrying forward.

To Renly, I hardened my voice for the first time and said, “Surely there’s no harm in allowing the child to show me his drawing.”

I could see Renly’s eyes darken with fury at my unspoken threat. He put his hand up to signal the maid to stop and then he returned to Mrs. Ashby’s side. The old woman was now watching the situation unfold. Cass, for his part, was staring at the child like he was seeing a ghost or some other apparition. The man I loved was in a complete state of shock, but I didn’t know why. It didn’t matter because he needed me and yet I couldn’t go to him. Not yet. The boy’s presence meant something, and I had to find out what because I would be of no help to Cass if I couldn’t figure out what was going on.

The kid walked quickly to me, clearly relieved. He kept glancing at Mrs. Ashby, who was still staring at all of us like she had no idea where she was.

When the boy reached me, I asked, “What’s your name?”

The child looked at Cass’s grandmother as if waiting for permission to speak to me. Mrs. Ashby had disengaged from the encounter and was holding on to Renly’s arm as he escorted her out a side door and into one of the endless rows of neatly trimmed rosebushes.

The boy watched the old woman leave. All the excitement he’d shown when he’d wanted to show off his picture was gone.

“It’s okay, Mother Ashby’s just a little tired right now, but I’m sure she’d love to see your picture tomorrow,” I said gently even as I shifted my gaze back and forth between Cass and the boy. I reached out to pick the little boy up so he could sit on my lap. He seemed surprised by the move but warmed up quickly and eventually leaned against my chest as he studied his picture.

When he handed it to me, he said, “It’s a rose. ’Cause Mother Ashby says I’m her little rose. Like the big ones out there,”—the boy pointed toward the garden of roses—“but little.”

“It’s a beautiful picture,” I told him. “Did you sign it?”

When the boy looked down at his picture in confusion, I used the opportunity to study Cass. He’d sat back down in his chair, but he looked ashen. He couldn’t take his eyes off the little boy in front of me.

“Sign?” the kid asked curiously.

“Yeah, every great artist signs their work with their name,” I explained. “What’s yours?”

The child looked around the room as if to make sure it was okay before answering with, “Channler Charles Ashby.” He held up four fingers.

“Do you mean Chandler Charles Ashbythe Fourth?” I asked. Ice filled my veins when Charles nodded.

Even though all the direct male descendants of the very first Chandler Ashby shared the same first name, the fact that they had different middle names meant they didn’t need numbers after their names at all because suffixes were only needed when the full names matched perfectly. Either way,Casswas considered the fourth Chandler in the Ashby family. He’d mentioned his father having another son with a different wife, so that child would likely have not even had a suffix at all but if the Ashby patriarchs had decided to stray off the beaten path when it came to how their heirs were named and titled, it was foreseeable that they could have done the same with Charles. That meant that in the Ashby line, the little boy would have been the fifth Chandler.

But if the child was introducinghimselfas the fourth Chandler, that meant that Cass?—

Cass chose that moment to stand. In his haste, he knocked the metal chair over, startling Charles. Then he was striding down the walkway that led back to the main part of the mansion.

I was torn between leaving the child by himself in the suddenly empty solarium or trying to find someone to take him. Thankfully, a frazzled woman came running toward us.

“Charles!” she called. He jumped off my lap and ran to her. The woman and I shared a few brief words before I quickly said my goodbyes to the little boy and then all but ran to catch up to Cass.

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