“It will take but a minute,” Thomas countered. “Please, Nan.”

He waited until William was out of earshot. My heart started to race as I wondered what he might say. I knew I had spoken harshly to Muriel but she had deserved it. Would Thomas defend her and berate me for my words? Should I apologize first and take the wind from his sails?

“Nan,” Thomas said, and waited. I looked up at him. “Is there any possibility,” he said, “that Robert could be our son?”

I waited to feel a sense of shock but it did not come. It did not come because in my heart I had already considered this possibility and pushed it violently away. There was a possibility. Robert could be Thomas’s son rather than William’s. The truth was that I had never known, not for sure.

“No,” I said. “There is no chance of it. I was already pregnant when we...” I stopped. I did not wish to think of it, let alone speak of it. I shuddered at my betrayal of William, the betrayal I had hidden so deep but been unable to wipe out and forget.

Thomas nodded. “So you always said. Yet it was nine months almost to the day until Robert was born.”

“He was late,” I said. “A ten-month baby.”

“It might explain little Robbie’s eye color,” Thomas said, “If he were my grandson.” His voice was very gentle.

I wanted to explode with the same righteous anger with which I had attacked Muriel, but I could not. The fury had gone and I felt nothing but tiredness. “Oh, Thomas,” I said, “do not tell me that you also think it impossible for anyone other than a Tresham to have blue and green eyes? That is foolishness.”

“I did not say that,” Thomas said. “But Francis has different color eyes, as did my father and his uncle before him. It is well known in the male line and may skip a generation.” He was watching me, waiting.

“And Robert is the image of William’s father, so everyone tells me.” I threw down the gauntlet.

Thomas shrugged, straightened. “I merely thought that if this question of Robbie’s parentage was to prove a...difficulty...between Robert and Catherine... If he were to believe there might be some truth in what Muriel had suggested—”

“Why would he countenance it for a moment?” I interrupted him. “Surely you have given him no cause to do so?”

“Of course not,” Thomas soothed. “The idea is ridiculous. I esteem Catherine greatly but no more than that. Yet you must admit that it is a curious situation and Robert may have questions... If he did, I wondered whether you might explain matters to him, in order to ensure there was no ill feeling between Robert and his wife?”

I snapped a spray of thyme between my fingers and crushed the leaves. The heady scent filled my nostrils.

“Yes,” I said, “that sounds like an excellent idea, Thomas. I will tell my son that his wife is true to him and his son is definitely his child even if he does have Tresham blood in his veins. I will tell him that I know this because I was the one who was unfaithful to his father, with you, and that he is your son, not William’s. You know how much Robert loves William? Can you imagine how he would feel? Do you have any other good ideas to suggest?”