“It’s true. You’re, er, interested in death, are you?” What a foolish thing to say to a small child, Benjamin thought. Was this fascination related to Alice? Could it be when it appeared so…clinical?

“Tom doesn’t know where his family died,” Geoffrey answered with no sign of distress. “’Cept maybe Bristol.”

“Yes.”

“But I do.” This knowledge seemed to gratify him.

“Indeed,” said Benjamin. “I’m still alive, of course.”

Geoffrey gave him one of the measuring looks that always made the boy seem older than his years. Benjamin wondered if he ought to say something comforting about Alice. He couldn’t say she’d loved her son, because she’d died without even seeing him. Shewouldhave loved him of course, but was that a consolation? “You look just like your mother,” he said. And then nearly cursed. Had the servants talked about his reaction to this fact?

The boy still seemed unaffected. “I know. She’s in the library.”

Did he believe Alice was actually there? Had Benjamin’s brooding over the portrait taught him that? Benjamin felt all at sea and just a bit aggrieved. Gentlemen of his acquaintance were not required to grapple with such questions. Women took care of the children. Didn’t they? Finally, he said, “Her picture is there, yes.”

Geoffrey stared up at him. Benjamin had rarely felt at such a loss for words in his life. Before he found any, his son shrugged and turned away. “I’m hungry,” he said again. He started to walk away.

“Wait a moment.” He’d been searching for a miscreant before they veered into this exploration of mortality, Benjamin remembered. “We have certain matters to discuss. Concerning Miss Saunders’s kitten.”

Geoffrey’s expression grew sullen.

Benjamin pressed on. “You shouldn’t have taken it from her room. You understand that was wrong?”

“I would’ve put him back,” his son replied impatiently.

“And Lily says you lied about having it.”

“I did not! I didn’t speak!”

“A lie isn’t always spoken aloud. Not admitting what you’d done was a lie.”

Geoffrey scowled. He was quite good at that, Benjamin noted.

“Did you take Miss Saunders’s kitten because of…anything you saw in the attic?”

The boy looked less, not more, self-conscious. His celestial-blue eyes, Alice’s eyes, fixed on Benjamin. Then he let out a sigh and spoke like someone wishing to conclude an irritating bit of business. “What’s the punishment?”

“Eh?”

“That’s the rule. There’s always a punishment. Lily gives really stupid ones.”

He appeared to see this as an annoying game. Misbehave, receive a silly punishment, and forget the matter. “An honorable gentleman makes things right,” Benjamin said. “When he sees that he has made a mistake, he takes steps to correct it.”

Geoffrey’s face showed apprehension for the first time. Or perhaps it was just confusion?

“What do you think the punishment should be?”

His son blinked, astonished.

Briefly, Benjamin enjoyed seeing the boy as bewildered as he was coming to feel much of the time. Then, Geoffrey’s cerulean eyes flamed. “I won’t give up Fergus!” he declared. He stood straight and fierce, his little hands closed into fists. “If you try to take him away, I’ll…I’ll—”

“No.” Benjamin knelt and started to put his arm around the small, rigid figure. But Geoffrey stepped away before he could touch him. Benjamin put his reaction to this aside. “No, that’s too much.” And it was too much to ask the boy to choose his own punishment, he realized. “You will apologize to Miss Saunders. And you will leave her kitten alone unless you have her permission to play with it. Also, you will have no cakes for…a week.”

Geoffrey’s glare gradually eased. His chest still rose and fell rapidly. “Muffins?” he asked.

“No muffins. Or jam. In fact, no sweets of any kind.”

“Not even cocoa?” The wheedle of negotiation had entered his tone.