XXXV

Two hours later, Westlin was still at a loss.

The crackling of the fireplace was his only companion as he sat, lost in thought. His mind, usually disciplined, had become a whirlwind of memories and regrets since arriving in the village. Ten years had passed without her, but her absence had marked every second of those years. The weight of guilt clung to him like a shadow: he had abducted her under the delusion that she was an imposter, convinced that she had to pay for her insolence. He had mistaken duty for justice, and in the process, had lost the only thing that had come to matter more than his own honor.

"If only I had trusted her," he thought, clenching his fists as frustration consumed him. He had let his sense of duty and pride cloud his judgment. And now, after uncovering the truth, he had returned with the purpose of repairing the damage his stubbornness had caused. Fate had granted him a second chance, though the reality was far crueler than he had anticipated.

Grace did not recognize him, and rather than easing the situation, it only complicated his plan further. How could he confess that he—the man she had fled from—was the same man now seeking her forgiveness? Worse still, how could he expect her to forgive him? The lie about his identity, though necessary, felt like a chain dragging him back to the past, to the very shadows he had tried to escape.

"What if it's already too late?" he wondered, as the image of Elior loomed ever clearer in his mind. He couldn't let that man take advantage of Grace's confusion to drive her away from him. "He can't give her what I can offer," Marcus repeated to himself, feeling that every second was another step toward losing the woman he loved for good.

The fire continued to crackle, but its warmth did little to console him. Westlin knew he had to act, but how could he reveal the truth without destroying what they were starting to rebuild? That was the dilemma imprisoning him in his own thoughts. The years of separation had left deep scars, and the fear of opening new wounds paralyzed him.

At that moment, the study door creaked open, a familiar sound. Holloway entered, agitated as usual, but this time his face bore something deeper, as if he had been working up the courage to share a thought that had been troubling him for some time. Marcus, still enveloped in the fog of his own torment, slowly looked up, surprised by the interruption. Yet, to his surprise, the presence of his young butler momentarily relieved him. The inner storm that had consumed him for hours dissipated, if only for a few seconds, as he saw Simon's concerned expression.

The butler nervously made his way to the center of the room, rubbing his hands together—a clear sign that something was troubling him or that he was hatching one of his brilliant ideas. Marcus watched him warily; he already knew what that meant. The last time Simon had had a great idea, things had gone terribly wrong, preventing Marcus from acting as he had wanted. Marcus suppressed a sigh, aware of what was coming, but let him speak.

"My lord, I've been thinking..." Simon began with his usual clumsiness, hesitating at first as he searched for the right words. "You know, while I was in the classroom with the children, something caught my attention, something that might help you."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

"Another idea, Holloway?" he asked cautiously, his tone a mix of curiosity and distrust.

Simon, visibly nervous, nodded eagerly, though aware he needed to choose his words carefully.

"Yes, my lord. While I was sitting in one of those tiny desks, watching Lady Grace teach, I noticed something... something about young Master Collier," he said, pausing to gauge Marcus's reaction.

The marquis's interest was piqued at the mention of Grace's son. His posture straightened, and though he tried to maintain a neutral expression, his eyes betrayed his full attention.

"Robert?" he inquired, a mix of surprise and caution in his voice, no longer sure what Holloway was implying.

Simon nodded vigorously. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, as though he was about to reveal something that had been weighing on him all day.

"Yes, my lord, the boy... Don't misunderstand me, but I've noticed certain things about him... things that caught my attention. Not just physically," he hesitated, as if unsure whether he was crossing a line, "but in his gestures, his expressions... I would dare say, my lord, that the boy bears a strong resemblance to you."

Marcus frowned, processing what his butler had just said. A palpable tension filled the room. Simon, nervous, pressed on, now with more determination in his voice:

"I know it might sound like madness, but... is it possible that Robert is your son?"

Marcus remained silent. The question, though unexpected, struck him deeply. He knew the truth, but hearing it spoken aloud, coming from his butler, made the reality feel even more tangible. Every second after that revelation seemed to stretch, as if time itself had slowed. Finally, his voice came out low, controlled, but laden with a deep gravity.

"I won't deny it, Holloway. Robert must be my son," he confessed, letting the weight of the long-hidden truth hang in the air.

Simon's reaction was immediate. His eyes widened, not so much from surprise as from the confirmation of what his intuition had been whispering to him for days. Regaining his composure, he took a step forward, his words now clearer.

"Then, my lord, if I may offer a suggestion... If Lady Grace isn't ready to hear the truth, perhaps Robert is the key." Simon paused, weighing his words carefully. "My stepfather did something similar when he met my mother. He first won me over, earning my trust, and then softened my mother's heart. I'm not saying it's the same, but you could try. Get close to the boy. If you manage to form a bond with him, I'm sure Lady Grace will see you differently."

Holloway's words echoed in Marcus's mind: "Get close to Robert..." It was an idea he hadn't fully considered until now. He had been so focused on Grace, so afraid of losing her, that he hadn't allowed himself to imagine how he might approach his own son. Now, that suggestion was beginning to take shape in his mind, offering a possible way out of the predicament in which he found himself trapped.

Just as he was about to respond, a soft knock at the door broke the silence. Both men quickly moved to the window to see who it was. Standing there, with a shy smile, was Robert.

"My lord!" Simon exclaimed, turning to the marquis. "I'm sure this is the sign we were waiting for. Didn't I say that fate would do its part? God Himself must have heard my thoughts and is helping us at this very moment!"

Marcus looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and resignation.

"Go welcome him," he instructed, adjusting his mask, "and don't create any more problems for me."

"Yes, milord!" Simon shouted as he ran out to the hall.

Once he was positioned behind the door, he took a deep breath and slowly opened it. Seeing the boy up close, Simon immediately knew what he needed to do to help his master.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Holloway. I brought the math exercises," Robert said, holding up the papers with an innocent gesture, "though I'm not sure if you'll be able to understand them."

Simon, his face lit up with a bright smile, looked him up and down before replying.

"Thank you very much, Master Collier. You're right, arithmetic is quite difficult for me to understand, but I know someone who's very good at it and can help me."

Robert, displaying that natural curiosity children have, looked at him with a slight sparkle in his eyes.

"Who?" he asked with genuine interest.

"My lord," Simon said, still smiling. "Come with me, and you'll see how quickly he can solve those tricky problems."

The boy, surprised but gaining confidence, nodded and allowed Simon to lead him to the room where Marcus was waiting.

Marcus, still processing what he had just heard, watched as the boy approached. When Robert entered, he glanced at Marcus timidly, clutching the papers in his hands as though holding something of great importance. Aware of what this moment meant, Marcus knew he had to handle the situation delicately. Before he could say anything, Robert greeted him formally.

"Good morning, milord," the boy said, bowing his head slightly.

Marcus smiled, responding calmly.

"Good morning, Robert," he returned the greeting, trying to make his voice sound warm and approachable. "What do you need?"

Before the boy could answer, Simon, clearly excited about the unfolding situation, chimed in.

"Nothing in particular, milord," he said, flashing a smile at Robert. "Master Collier has been quite the gentleman, bringing me the arithmetic exercises Lady Grace assigned." He paused, glancing at Marcus.

"Arithmetic?" the marquis responded with a mix of surprise and curiosity, which made Robert giggle and start to relax.

"I've already told him I'm not good at it," Simon whispered to the boy, giving him a playful look. Robert smiled, clearly feeling more at ease.

"Milord," Holloway continued with his usual cheerfulness, "if you don't mind, while I prepare a small gift for my classroom companion for kindly bringing me my assignments, perhaps you and Master Collier could have a little chat."

Marcus immediately understood what his butler was trying to do. He nodded, agreeing to the plan without objection.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," he declared before turning his attention back to Robert. "Please, have a seat."

The boy promptly obeyed, sitting quickly in one of the nearby chairs as Marcus watched him closely. After a few moments of silence, Marcus decided it was the right time to start a more personal conversation.

"Tell me, Robert, how old are you?" Marcus asked softly, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible, though he felt a lump forming in his throat.

"I'm nine, milord," the boy answered proudly, as if that information were of the utmost importance.

Marcus nodded, trying to control the surge of emotion those words triggered in him. "Nine years... My son." It was a thought that tore at him inside, yet at the same time, filled him with a joy he hadn't felt in years.

"Nine years... a magnificent age," Westlin commented with a gentle smile. "Tell me, do you like school? Do you have friends in the village?"

Feeling treated like an adult, Robert grew more confident and eager to speak.

"Yes, I like studying. And I have some friends, but sometimes they don't let me join in the games..." the boy explained, lowering his gaze, a mixture of pride and shyness in his voice.

Marcus sensed the shift in Robert's tone and decided to steer the conversation carefully, wanting to avoid making the boy uncomfortable.

"Well, I'll be needing your advice, Master Collier," he said calmly. "I'm thinking of staying in the village for quite some time, and who better than a local expert like you to tell me what activities I should do around here?"

Robert's face lit up at the suggestion. The idea that Lord Haspirin trusted his opinion made him feel important, and that was enough to break the barrier of shyness between them.

Just at that moment, Holloway appeared with a tray filled with pastries and orange juice, interrupting with his usual exuberance.

"And here are the treats for the gentlemen!" he announced cheerfully, as though his arrival were part of a carefully choreographed plan.

Both Marcus and Robert looked at the tray with the same expression of surprise and delight, which brought a beaming smile to Simon's face. Seeing their nearly synchronized reactions, he couldn't help but feel proud of his intuition: father and son, unknowingly, shared the same tastes.

As they chatted and ate, Westlin could feel a deeper connection beginning to blossom between him and Robert. The conversation flowed naturally, and though it was just a simple exchange between two people who hardly knew each other, the invisible bond linking them started to strengthen. Simon, standing by the door, watched with visible satisfaction as the two kindred spirits shared a moment that, in silence, promised a future of reconciliation.