doesn’t hate you.’
‘He’s every right to. I killed my mama.’ Oliver’s voice broke and he turned away from her, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. ‘If it hadn’t have been for me, she’d be alive now.’
Belinda slipped her arm around his shoulders. ‘That’s nonsense, Ollie. Your mother died in childbirth. It’s tragic but it’s not uncommon. It wasn’t your fault and no one, least of all your father, thinks any differently.’
He turned to look into her eyes. ‘You’re wrong, Belle. He can’t abide me. That’s why he left me in England while he went off to India. You wouldn’t have abandoned your child, would you?’
His words struck her like barbs and she held him close, unable to look him in the eyes. Hadn’t she done exactly the same thing, although for very different reasons? She could feel his pain and her heart ached for him. ‘Now listen to me, Oliver,’ she said softly. ‘Your father left you in England because it was better for you, and not because he didn’t want you with him. Have you any idea how many infants and young children die from disease in that country?’
He shook his head.
‘It would have been a terrible risk,’ Belinda continued without giving him time to voice further concerns. ‘Your father knew that you would be safe here in London, and that your Aunt Flora would look after you.’
Oliver made a sound between a snort and a sob. He drew away from her and went to stand with his back to the fire, in a seemingly unconscious copy of the stance that his father often took. ‘Aunt Flo is mad as a hatter, Belle. You wouldn’t believe the things I saw and heard living with her. By the time I was five I’d had my first glass of port and puffed away on several cigars. I’d seen exotic dancers and men dressed like women. I’d stayed up until the early hours at some of her parties, falling asleep in a corner unnoticed until the tweeny came to clear the grate next morning.’
Belinda shrugged her shoulders. Flora Fulford-Browne’s reputation for partying and eccentricity was almost legendary, but she had a good heart and her house in Duke Street was always filled with people, even if most of them were down on their luck and living on their hostess’s generosity. ‘That’s as maybe, Ollie. But don’t judge your father too harshly. He’s a good man and he does what he thinks is right. No one can do better.’
‘And do you love him, Belle? Does he make you happy?’
‘Of course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Something makes you sad. I’ve heard it in your voice and seen it in your eyes. Sometimes I think it’s because of me. I’ve always been a trial to you, I know that.’
Belinda met his troubled gaze with a straight look. ‘Don’t ever say that, Ollie. Yes, you’ve been a handful, and no you don’t make me sad. In fact, I think having you to love and care for has made my life happier than I could have hoped for, so don’t let me hear you talking like that again.’
A reluctant smile lit his blue eyes. ‘You’re a fierce little thing when roused, aren’t you, Belle? I love you, you can be sure of that.’
She went to him and had to raise herself on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘And I love you, you silly boy. So let’s put all this behind us and think how we’re going to set matters right with your papa.’
A knock on the door put a stop to the conversation and Hartley, the ageing butler, entered bearing a tray of cold pie and small beer. ‘Cook sent this for Master Oliver,’ he said stiffly as he placed the tray on a sofa table.
‘Thank you, Hartley. That will be all.’ Belinda waited until he had left the room. She turned to Oliver but he was already attacking the food with the appetite of a hungry schoolboy. ‘Eat up,’ she said, smiling, ‘and then we’ll decide what we’re going to do with you.’
He swallowed convulsively, washing the mouthful down with a draught of ale. ‘Good pie. The tuck at school is pigswill
‘He’s every right to. I killed my mama.’ Oliver’s voice broke and he turned away from her, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. ‘If it hadn’t have been for me, she’d be alive now.’
Belinda slipped her arm around his shoulders. ‘That’s nonsense, Ollie. Your mother died in childbirth. It’s tragic but it’s not uncommon. It wasn’t your fault and no one, least of all your father, thinks any differently.’
He turned to look into her eyes. ‘You’re wrong, Belle. He can’t abide me. That’s why he left me in England while he went off to India. You wouldn’t have abandoned your child, would you?’
His words struck her like barbs and she held him close, unable to look him in the eyes. Hadn’t she done exactly the same thing, although for very different reasons? She could feel his pain and her heart ached for him. ‘Now listen to me, Oliver,’ she said softly. ‘Your father left you in England because it was better for you, and not because he didn’t want you with him. Have you any idea how many infants and young children die from disease in that country?’
He shook his head.
‘It would have been a terrible risk,’ Belinda continued without giving him time to voice further concerns. ‘Your father knew that you would be safe here in London, and that your Aunt Flora would look after you.’
Oliver made a sound between a snort and a sob. He drew away from her and went to stand with his back to the fire, in a seemingly unconscious copy of the stance that his father often took. ‘Aunt Flo is mad as a hatter, Belle. You wouldn’t believe the things I saw and heard living with her. By the time I was five I’d had my first glass of port and puffed away on several cigars. I’d seen exotic dancers and men dressed like women. I’d stayed up until the early hours at some of her parties, falling asleep in a corner unnoticed until the tweeny came to clear the grate next morning.’
Belinda shrugged her shoulders. Flora Fulford-Browne’s reputation for partying and eccentricity was almost legendary, but she had a good heart and her house in Duke Street was always filled with people, even if most of them were down on their luck and living on their hostess’s generosity. ‘That’s as maybe, Ollie. But don’t judge your father too harshly. He’s a good man and he does what he thinks is right. No one can do better.’
‘And do you love him, Belle? Does he make you happy?’
‘Of course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Something makes you sad. I’ve heard it in your voice and seen it in your eyes. Sometimes I think it’s because of me. I’ve always been a trial to you, I know that.’
Belinda met his troubled gaze with a straight look. ‘Don’t ever say that, Ollie. Yes, you’ve been a handful, and no you don’t make me sad. In fact, I think having you to love and care for has made my life happier than I could have hoped for, so don’t let me hear you talking like that again.’
A reluctant smile lit his blue eyes. ‘You’re a fierce little thing when roused, aren’t you, Belle? I love you, you can be sure of that.’
She went to him and had to raise herself on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘And I love you, you silly boy. So let’s put all this behind us and think how we’re going to set matters right with your papa.’
A knock on the door put a stop to the conversation and Hartley, the ageing butler, entered bearing a tray of cold pie and small beer. ‘Cook sent this for Master Oliver,’ he said stiffly as he placed the tray on a sofa table.
‘Thank you, Hartley. That will be all.’ Belinda waited until he had left the room. She turned to Oliver but he was already attacking the food with the appetite of a hungry schoolboy. ‘Eat up,’ she said, smiling, ‘and then we’ll decide what we’re going to do with you.’
He swallowed convulsively, washing the mouthful down with a draught of ale. ‘Good pie. The tuck at school is pigswill
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