Patrick stumbled but regained his balance quickly. “That’s a story I’d like to hear,” he said. “And be careful with it. I’m friendly with the lady and will know if you’re lying.”

“We had words in the courthouse,” Liam admitted. “I shouted at her and said she didn’t deserve to wear a ring like that when there were poor people working in Blackstone companies who couldn’t feed their children.”

“And she just gave it to you?”

“She did.” His voice was pensive and confused, lending credence to his words. “I was minding my own business after the hearing, but she grabbed my arm and came at me, stirring up old rumors and such. I didn’t like it.”

Patrick straightened a chair he’d knocked over in the scuffle, then sat back on the bench, gesturing for Liam to do the same. They were both tense and cagey, but Liam resumed his position, slumped against the back of the bench with his arms crossed.

“What old rumors?” Patrick asked.

“There’s always been rumors about me,” Liam said. “I don’t think they’re true, and she should have left well enough alone.”

“What sort of rumors?” he pressed.

Liam snorted. “That Uncle Mick found me under a toadstool. That he bought me from the gypsies, or that the fairies dropped me down a chimney. It’s all hogwash. My mum swears it’s a big lie, and that she suffered the agonies of the damned when she gave birth to a ten-pound baby.” He gave a harsh scoff. “Don’t ever get her started on the topic, because she won’t stop bellyaching about the torture she endured giving birth to me, and I have to promise her pearls from the East to make up for it.”

Patrick leaned closer. “And did the rumors say it was a three-year-old child Mick found under a toadstool?”

“Nope.” Liam’s face grew pensive as he stared into the distance. “I think I might have been born in Ireland. I remember being on a ship, feeling the wind on my face and the sun glinting on the water. I think maybe someone brought me over and gave me to the Malones. I don’t look like either one of my parents.”

“But you remember being at sea?”

Liam nodded. “I think it’s my earliest memory. I remember standing beside a man and being very happy. I felt safe.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Of course, if I came from Ireland, that means my parents aren’t my parents, and nothing will set Janet Malone off faster than implying something like that. ‘Ten pounds,’ she’ll holler, then cuff me on the head.”

“Did you know Liam is the Irish name for William?”