A recipe of love

Chapter 30

The tension in the drawing room grew near unbearable, pressing upon them both like a weight. At last, Nathaniel's composure fractured, his voice ringing with barely contained fury.

"Answer me, Elsa." His tone held a dangerous edge. "Who was that man at our door, and what did he mean by his vile insinuations?"

Elsa lifted her chin, her gaze resolute despite the tremor in her hands. "I have told you already, Nathaniel-I do not know him. I have never set eyes on him in my life."

"Do not take me for a fool." His voice dripped with scorn, and he threw up his hands, pacing the room in tight circles. "A man intrudes upon my home, demands to see you with a familiarity no stranger should dare, and speaks as though privy to matters of which I am wholly ignorant. And you expect me to believe it means nothing?"

Elsa's own voice rose, flaring with anger. "Why should it matter to you, Nathaniel? Even if he did know me-which, I assure you, he does not-what concern is it of yours?"

"Why?" he hissed, his voice laced with pain. "Because he spoke of Timothy, Elsa. He dared to suggest-nay, he implied outright-'Does he not look like his father?' And tell me, who else could he mean to insult if not me?"

Elsa flushed, stepping back as though struck. "How dare you?" she gasped. "How dare you question Timothy's parentage? You allow the words of some stranger to cast doubt upon your own son?"

Beyond the door, Miss Lacey knelt beside Timothy, who peered anxiously into the room, his small face drawn with worry. "Miss Lacey," he whispered, tugging at her sleeve, "are Mama and Papa quarrelling because of me?"

Her heart breaking for the boy, Miss Lacey lifted him into her arms and kissed his forehead. "No, my dear," she murmured, though her own voice trembled. "It is not about you at all. They love you very dearly, Timothy. Let me sing you a song, shall I?" And as she carried him up to his room, her lullaby drifted down the hall, softening the edges of the fierce voices below.

Nathaniel's voice, brittle with accusation, pierced the stillness. "If his words were mere ramblings, I might let them lie. But there was a look in your eye-fear, Elsa. Why would you fear a stranger, if he speaks naught but madness?"

Elsa straightened, her voice icy with disdain. "I fear nothing from him, Nathaniel, for I know him not. Perhaps it is some other Elsa he seeks, but not I."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a lethal calm. "Do not turn this upon me. If you truly know nothing of this man, why such vehemence in your denial? I ask for honesty, Elsa. Better the truth, however bitter, than shadows and half-truths."

"Shadows and half-truths?" she laughed bitterly, the sound thick with scorn. "So you would truly think me capable of such betrayal? You believe that I, the mother of your son..." Her voice softened, mocking. "Very well, since you insist on your suspicions-yes, I have bedded many men, perhaps lost track of a few, and now one has come to collect his dues. Perhaps he came seeking funds, did he not?"

Nathaniel's face darkened, and his hands gripped her shoulders with a force that startled her. "Do not tell me you dared to bring such men into my own home."

Elsa broke free of his grip, her voice trembling with a rawness she could scarcely contain. "Take me not for a fool, Nathaniel. I met them far from this house, as you well know."

But there was no softening in his gaze, only grim determination. "I no longer trust you, Elsa. And one way or another, I shall find the truth. I'll track down this man myself and ask him what you refuse to tell. Mark my words."

Though Elsa held herself with outward composure, a chill settled within her heart. She feared that Nathaniel might indeed uncover the truth-that Timothy was not his son. Already, he held little love for her, but if he discovered her deception, he would surely cast her out, leaving her without protection, without a home.