Her breath caught in her throat. She collected herself quickly, burying her disappointment in him at courting her friend behind her back. “Tell me about your sister and brother. What were they like?”
“Rosemary didn’t like being left behind when we went fishing. She didn’t like behaving as a lady, but mother was remarkably good at keeping her at home.”
“Your parents sheltered her from unpleasantness?”
He scrubbed his jaw. “I wouldn’t say that. She wasn’t naïve by any stretch of the imagination. People always said she’d come to a bad end if she didn’t behave with more decorum. I suppose they were right. She did try to fight her abductor.”
Blythe thought that through. If Rosemary was wise to the ways of the world she would have feared a future in which she had no voice. An unacceptable marriage, slavery of her body for men’s pleasure, and to live in poverty could have been what she feared most. If she had been raised a lady, but chafed at the restrictions required of that life, what would she have done to save herself? If she was free but poor, she’d likely find a way to make the situation better. If she was confined in a terrible situation, what might Rosemary do to escape it?
Oliver Randall, too, was a mystery to her. “What of Oliver?”
He frowned. “Most would describe my brother as cold fish.”
“Oh, how so?”
Tobias leaned against a table. “Oliver may have been a genius, but he wasn’t particularly friendly. When he wasn’t in school, getting him from his bedchamber at Harrowdale was something of a feat. He didn’t enjoy socializing, preferring his books to conversing with people. When he did speak, it was mostly in the form of a lecture and he often used mathematical terms that confused people.”
“Did he have friends here?”
Tobias nodded. “A few put up with his lengthy silences. Murphy was one. Oliver never seemed to notice the passage of time when he was absorbed in his studies. Mother frequently resorted to blackmail to get him to eat.”
Blythe’s pulse raced. Could Tobias already have the clue she needed? “What sort of blackmail?”
“She would invite Beth to visit.”
“Beth Turner? But why would that make a difference.”
“She was Beth Gallagher once.” Tobias stood and touched her cheek. “Before her death, my mother was trying to engineer a match between Oliver and Beth. Oliver was Beth’s first love you see.”
“But I thought she was your good friend.” Blythe’s mind reeled. “Why did your mother not succeed?”
“Beth has always been a favorite with me.” Tobias cupped her face. “But as to why Beth never married him, I cannot imagine. Beth had married Turner before my parents were murdered. Given my brother’s nature, I’m not even sure he noticed she stopped coming to the house.”
The picture Tobias painted was of a considerably eccentric young man. Her eyes filled with tears. “Poor woman. I had no idea.”
“And she would like it kept quiet. Leopold, by the way, knows none of this.”
“Of course, of course.” Blythe rubbed her hands together, suddenly chilled to the bone. “I would never say anything to cause her distress.”
“I know you won’t.” He smiled down upon her and smoothed her hair away from her cheek. “You are a kind woman.”
Blythe’s stomach did a little tumble, but she buried the sensations quickly. She had no time for his flirtations right now. She was sure she was onto something.
A genius, Tobias called Oliver. In her experience, most men prone to be studious had an even temperament. Would he have fought the duke’s plans and attempted to free himself?
Blythe closed her eyes and tried to picture such a man in society. He would be talked of, gossiped over. He was different from most men she knew. A fission of disquiet rushed through her body. Being different, odd, eccentric, made one a pariah in their society. Those whose actions were too odd were avoided or worse, hidden from sight.
Blythe rocked back on her heels as an appalling idea took shape. Where else to hide an unfriendly genius than within a house for the mad? No one would pay attention to his protests. He’d be just one of any number of eccentric minds not suited for the real world. His origins would be forgotten like the many paintings of Romsey Abbey.
Her heart stopped.
The paintings!
Blythe spun about and stared at the walls. Her gaze fixed on the portrait of the duke, and then she looked at the wall directly opposite. Of the five paintings hung, one was of a storm tossed ship, two were of country houses, and the remaining two—a market square in a foreign land and horses milling before a stable.
She approached the painting of the ship tossed at sea. The sailors aboard the vessel appeared in grave peril. She curled her hands
into fists as she spied one small figure clinging to the uppermost masthead as it toppled toward the churning ocean. “What did you fear most when you were a child, Tobias?”