“Yet that’s not to say the child he treated was actually the Dauphin.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I have seen the autopsy report—my father kept a copy himself. It has been years since I read it, but I remember noticing that he was very careful to state that the body was identified by the jailors as belonging to the Dauphin. He himself did not make the identification.”
“Did he believe the dead child actually was the Dauphin?”
“I honestly do not know. It’s not something he likes to talk about. I do know he was confused because the jailors insisted to him that the child’s final illness had come on suddenly. Yet the boy died of a long-standing case of tuberculosis.”
“Did he? Or was that simply the story that was put out? A fiction much less damning than to admit that he died of mistreatment or neglect.”
“No; my father told me the child whose body he autopsied most definitely died of tuberculosis.”
Sebastian looked at Gibson, who had his head bent, his attention seemingly all for the task of tying off the bandage. In the sudden hush, the buffeting of the wind against the heavy old windows and the creak of a cart’s axle in the lane outside sounded unnaturally loud.
Alexi Sauvage said, “What precisely are you suggesting? A moment ago, you would have had me believe that Lord Peter Radcliff killed my brother for coveting his wife. Now you’re saying Damion’s death is somehow linked to an autopsy my father performed nearly twenty years ago? Are you actually suggesting that the Dauphin somehow survived his imprisonment, and my father knew it? But . . . that’s absurd!”
“Is it?”
“It is, yes. My father must have believed the Dauphin died in the Temple. Otherwise, why would he—” She broke off, her chest jerking on a suddenly indrawn breath.
“What is it?” asked Sebastian, watching her. “Otherwise why would he what?”
Her tongue crept out to slide across her cracked lower lip. “At the conclusion of the autopsy, my father wrapped the boy’s heart in his handkerchief and smuggled it out of the prison hidden in the pocket of his coat. He soaked the heart in alcohol and has kept it preserved in a crystal vase in his office ever since.”
“Are you telling me your father was the physician who removed the Dauphin’s heart? And he still has it?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell us this? Why?”
Her jaw tightened, her eyes flashing with scorn. “My father has performed hundreds of autopsies over the course of his career. It is preposterous to think that Damion’s murder here, in London, is somehow linked to a death that occurred in Paris decades ago. My brother was killed because he was part of a delegation seeking a peace that is anathema to powerful interests here in England, both political and economic. Powerful interests that include your own father-in-law!”
Sebastian returned her hard stare. “I might be able to accept that more easily if it weren’t for one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Why would Lord Jarvis—or anyone else involved in the peace negotiations, for that matter—want to steal your brother’s heart?”
Chapter 37
“Do you think Gibson is in love with Alexandrie Sauvage?” Hero asked.
It was after dinner, and they were seated in their drawing room. Hero was petting the bored-looking black cat, while Sebastian—who saw no reason to follow the popular custom of drinking port in solitary splendor at his dining table when he could be enjoying the company of his wife—held a glass of burgundy. He was dressed in the silk knee breeches, white stockings, and buckled shoes that were de rigueur for a gentleman attending a formal London function. It was the night of his aunt Henrietta’s musical soiree, and he had suddenly discovered a very good reason for attending.
He took a slow swallow of his wine, for Hero’s question had given voice to one of his own concerns. “I’m very much afraid he might be.”
“It could be good for him.”
“Perhaps—if we were talking about any woman other than Alexi Sauvage.”
“Maybe you’re wrong about her.”
Across the room, her gaze met his, then dropped to the hand she moved slowly up and down the cat’s back.
“You don’t need to tell me,” she said quietly, her voice suddenly, oddly scratchy, so that he wondered what she had seen in his face.