29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

T he carriages halted at the Green Mill Inn, a modest establishment for weary travelers and tradesmen. Alex stepped down from his own conveyance, his eyes sweeping over the weathered exterior with a hint of trepidation. While he had taken care to ensure their journey remained discreet – eschewing the family crest and opting for an unadorned carriage – he couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the thought of being recognised.

His gaze flitted towards Mary's carriage, watching as she emerged with a grace that belied her simple attire. Henry followed close behind, his small hand clutched in his mother's as he peered about with wide, inquisitive eyes. Alex felt a pang of protectiveness stir within his chest, an instinct to shield this newfound son from the prying eyes of the world.

The innkeeper's wife, a stout, matronly woman with a kind face, bustled out to greet them. Her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of their fine clothing and polished demeanour. "My lord, my lady," she stammered, bobbing into an awkward curtsy. "We weren't expecting guests of your... calibre."

Alex offered her a reassuring smile, his tone gentle yet authoritative. "My apologies for the lack of notice. One of our horses cast a shoe, and we're in need of a blacksmith's services."

The woman nodded, her expression brightening with understanding. "Of course, of course. We'll see to it straightaway." She gestured towards the inn's entrance, her voice hushed as if imparting a great secret. "If you'll follow me, I've got a private alcove set aside where you can rest, away from prying eyes."

Mary arched a delicate eyebrow, her expression haughty as she regarded the woman with a cool detachment that gave Alex pause. There was an unmistakable air of nobility about her, a sense of entitlement that seemed at odds with her humble circumstances.

As they followed the innkeeper's wife into the dim interior of the inn, Alex found himself studying Mary with a newfound curiosity. What was her story, truly? How had she come to find herself in such reduced circumstances, with a child in tow and no husband to provide for them? The questions swirled in his mind, unanswered and tantalising.

The alcove the innkeeper's wife led them to was small but reasonably private, shielded from the main taproom by a faded curtain. "I'll have the blacksmith sent for straightaway," she assured them, her gaze lingering on Mary with a hint of deference. "And if m'lady would like to freshen up, I can show her to a private chamber."

Mary inclined her head, the ghost of a smile playing across her lips. "That would be most welcome, thank you."

As she swept past, Alex couldn't help but wonder at the enigma that was Mary Blackwood – a woman who carried herself with the poise and grace of a duchess, yet found herself adrift in the world, her circumstances a mystery. He watched her retreating form, a furrow creasing his brow as that lingering sense of unease stirred once more.

The alcove fell silent as Mary left the room, leaving Alex alone with the young boy who had so unexpectedly been thrust into his life. He studied Henry with a newfound intensity, his gaze roving over the lad's tousled curls and cherubic features, searching for any trace of familiarity.

"Henry," he ventured, the name feeling strange and unfamiliar on his tongue. The boy didn't react, seemingly lost in his own little world as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

Alex frowned. "Henry?" he tried again, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

Still, no response.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "Lad?" The endearment seemed to capture the boy's attention, and those wide, guileless eyes flicked up to meet Alex's own.

A flicker of triumph stirred in Alex's chest, and he offered the child an encouraging smile. "There you are. Now, I was hoping you might tell me a bit about your life before all this." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the whirlwind of events that had brought them to this very moment.

Henry's gaze dropped once more, his small fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his collar as a frown creased his brow. "Lord Ja—" He caught himself, his eyes widening fractionally. "Lord James was good to Mama and me."

Alex arched an eyebrow at the slip, his interest piqued. Before he could inquire further, however, the curtain parted once more, and Mary swept back into the alcove, her presence commanding the room as surely as if she were a duchess holding court.

The innkeeper's wife trailed in her wake, her hands twisting anxiously in her apron as she bobbed another awkward curtsy. "If there's aught else you be needin', m'lady—"

Mary waved a dismissive hand, her expression one of cool disdain. "That will be all."

Alex frowned at her brusque dismissal, disapproval flickering in his gaze. While he understood the need for discretion, there was no call for such haughty condescension, particularly towards those who had opened their humble establishment to them.

As the innkeeper's wife retreated, Mary turned her attention to Henry, her expression softening ever so slightly. "What do you think, my darling?" she cooed, sinking gracefully onto the bench beside the boy. "Would you like for the Duke to be your papa?"

Alex stiffened at her presumptuous words, his jaw clenching as he levelled a sharp look in her direction. She had no right to put such notions into the child's head, not when he had yet to make any decisions regarding their future.

To his surprise, however, Henry's face lit up with a radiant smile, his eyes sparkling with unabashed delight. "Truly?" The word was imbued with such naked longing that it gave Alex pause. "I should be the luckiest boy in all the world!"

Though the sentiment sounded rehearsed, there was an unmistakable sincerity in Henry's tone that caught Alex off guard. He found himself returning the boy's smile, his earlier ire momentarily forgotten as a strange sense of warmth blossomed in his chest.

***

A lex slammed his fist into the leather punching bag, the impact reverberating through his bones with a satisfying jolt. He followed through with a rapid succession of blows, his breath coming in harsh pants as he worked out the turbulent emotions roiling within him.

The events of the past few days had left him reeling. His carefully ordered world upended by the unexpected arrival of Mary Blackwood and her claims of a child – his child. Alex had prided himself on his unwavering sense of honour and duty. Yet now he found himself adrift, not knowing what the right thing to do was for the first time in his life.

The punching bag swung wildly with the force of his strikes, and Alex grimaced, his jaw clenched tight as he grappled with the weight of his predicament. There was something about Mary's story that didn't quite ring true, a lingering sense of unease that he couldn't shake. And then there was the boy himself – Henry.

Alex's movements faltered as the memory of their encounter surfaced, the child's wide-eyed innocence and unabashed delight a stark contrast to the wariness he had come to expect from Mary. There had been something disarmingly genuine about Henry, a quality that had caught Alex off guard.

The sound of the gymnasium door opening drew his attention, and he turned to find Richard regarding him with something between amusement and concern.

"Feeling a bit restless, are we?" The viscount arched an eyebrow, his gaze raking over Alex's sweat-dampened shirt and dishevelled appearance.

Alex huffed out a breath, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You could say that."

Richard's expression sobered as he ventured further into the room. "I take it your meeting with the lady and her offspring didn't go entirely as planned?"

A humourless chuckle escaped Alex's lips. "You could say that," he echoed, shaking his head. "There's something about Mary's story that doesn't quite add up. The boy, Henry..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he replayed their interaction in his mind.

"What about him?" Richard prompted, his interest piqued.

"He seemed..." Alex searched for the right words. "Genuine. Earnest, in a way that Mary most certainly is not. And there were moments when he slipped, when his speech patterns didn't quite match what one would expect from a child of his supposed upbringing."

Richard's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Well, if there's one thing we've learnt, it's that appearances can be deceiving, particularly where the fairer sex is concerned."

Alex shot his brother a withering look, but the viscount merely shrugged, unrepentant.

"All I'm saying is that it might be wise to exercise a bit of caution," Richard continued. "If this Mary Blackwood is indeed trying to ensnare you, she'll no doubt have her reasons. And if the boy is involved..." He let the implication hang in the air.

A muscle ticked in Alex's jaw as he considered his brother's words. As much as he loathed to admit it, Richard had a point – they knew precious little about Mary Blackwood and her motivations. If he was to make an informed decision, he would need to uncover the truth, no matter how unsavoury it might prove to be.

"You're right," he conceded grudgingly. "I've already set my solicitor to digging into her background, but perhaps it's time we employed a more... personal touch."

The corners of Richard's mouth quirked upwards. "I thought you'd never ask."

Alex stilled, the punching bag swinging idly in the aftermath of his flurry of blows. He turned to face Richard, his brow furrowed as he took in his brother's troubled expression. "What is it?" he demanded, sensing that there was more weighing on the viscount's mind.

Richard hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting Alex's eyes once more. "I saw something in the papers this morning," he began, his tone uncharacteristically sombre. "An announcement."

A frisson of unease trickled down Alex's spine at his brother's words. He clenched his jaw, steeling himself for whatever revelation was to come. "Well? Out with it, then."

Richard exhaled slowly, as though bracing himself. "It was an engagement notice," he said at last. "Between Lady Rosalind Harrington and Lord Edmund Ashford."

The words hit Alex like a physical blow, the air rushing from his lungs as though he'd been punched in the gut. He stared at Richard, uncomprehending, willing the words to be untrue.

Rosalind. Engaged to another man.

A maelstrom of emotions swirled within him – disbelief, anguish, a desperate denial. He had thought... He had dared to hope...

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he turned away from Richard, his chest heaving as he fought for control. Without a word, he resumed his assault on the punching bag, each strike fuelled by the tumultuous turmoil raging within him.

Richard watched him for a moment, his expression a mix of sympathy and resignation. Finally, he sighed, recognising the futility of offering empty platitudes. "I'll make some discreet inquiries into Mary Blackwood's background," he said, his voice cutting through the rhythmic thud of Alex's blows. "See if I can uncover anything that might shed some light on her motives."

Alex didn't respond, his focus narrowed to the relentless pounding of his fists against the unyielding leather. He couldn't think about Rosalind, not now – the pain was too raw, too visceral. He would compartmentalise it, lock it away until he could process it properly.

For now, he had a more pressing matter to attend to – uncovering the truth about Mary Blackwood and the child she claimed was his. He would channel his fury, his anguish, into that singular purpose, using it as fuel to drive him forward.

With renewed determination, he redoubled his efforts, the punching bag swinging wildly under the onslaught of his blows.