He smiled. “Good morning, my dear.” His voice was stronger, but he spoke slowly and the words sounded muffled. As if they had first been doused in honey.

“Good morning, Uncle Alfred.” Lottie shut the door quietly behind her and leaned against the knob, taking him in. “You’re looking more hale today.”

He chuckled and nodded at his shrunken frame. “I’m skin and bones.”

Lottie couldn’t disagree with that, but there was more color on his cheeks and as she drew closer, he watched her with that familiar sharpness. He may be a shadow of his former self in many ways, but his mind was still there. At least for the moment.

Lottie drew a chair close to his bedside and sat down. “I know you must be very angry with me about Italy. And I am so sorry for what’s happened to you.” She paused and glanced back at the door, then leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “But I won’t apologize for leaving Mrs. Wetherby behind in Florence.”

Uncle Alfred still had that fond smile on his face. “She is rather awful,” he acknowledged. “Alec’s cable said he found you in a village near Pistoia. The one your parents visited.”

His congenial tone rendered her momentarily speechless. Was he not going to reprimand her at all? “Yes. I went there directly from Florence.”

“I should have known.”

Lottie bowed her head. “Why did you send him, Uncle?” she asked softly. “It could have been anyone else.”

Uncle Alfred was quiet for so long, Lottie didn’t think he would answer. “I didn’t think you would agree to go with anyone else,” he finally said. “And I’m not sure I trusted anyone else with you, either.” The words, and what they truly meant, stung. “No, it had to be him.”

Lottie’s eyes began to prickle, but she met his gaze anyway. “I wish it hadn’t,” she whispered.

He gave her a sympathetic look she couldn’t bear. Uncle Alfred, still able to see straight into her very soul. Even now. “He stayed behind in Venice?”

Lottie nodded. “We—we did not part on good terms.”

“That is probably for the best,” he sighed. Another long moment passed as a shadow clouded Uncle Alfred’s face. Lottie knew he wasn’t supposed to exert himself, but she was determined to have answers.

“I know about his parents,” she began. “That his mother was married to another man. A count.”

He immediately turned to her with a wariness she had never seen before. “Oh?”

She leveled her gaze. Of course he would not make this easy. “Did she really give up Alec?”

“She had no choice,” he muttered.

Lottie furrowed her brow, but before she could prod further, Uncle Alfred continued: “Her husband was the worst sort of scoundrel. Nearly twenty years older. Involved in all sorts of political intrigues. Had more mistresses than anyone could count. But he was a charming old devil, and their marriage forged an alliance between two very old families. They fought often, though. Maria was always leaving and coming back. Until she met Edward. The count was actually glad at the time, as he had a new mistress of his own.” His voice grew stronger as he spoke, and his words came out faster, but he still kept his eyes fixed elsewhere, as if channeling the spirit of decades past. “Edward kept her occupied. Happy. He didn’t even mind about the child, as long as they didn’t parade him about too much.”