The birthmark appeared two weeks later.
Felix had always had it.
Eleanor knew because she had bathed him herself when he was small, despite her mother-in-law’s opinion that nurseries existed precisely so women of rank would not have to perform work for which servants had been invented.
The mark lay beneath Felix’s left shoulder blade. Roughly oval. Darker at one edge.
Matthias noticed it when Felix ran through the corridor half dressed after escaping his nurse.
The following morning, Matthias asked Hartmann to remove his coat.
Hartmann thought he had misheard.
“My coat?”
Matthias stood beside the library fire.
“Yes.”
“May I ask why?”
“No.”
Hartmann’s expression cooled.
“Then no.”
Matthias walked toward him.
Eleanor, entering from the adjoining salon, stopped behind the half-open door.
Matthias said, “You have a mark on your shoulder.”
Hartmann did not move.
“Many men do.”
“Left side.”
Hartmann’s jaw tightened.
“Who told you?”
Matthias smiled without humour.
“So you do.”
Hartmann looked toward the door and saw Eleanor.
For the first time since she had known him, the physician appeared frightened.
Matthias followed his eyes.
“Eleanor.”
She entered.
“What is this?”
Matthias looked at his wife.
“Ask your doctor.”
“About what?”
“The mark.”
Hartmann said, “Matthias.”
The use of his Christian name made the room colder.
Matthias turned.
“You will address me properly in my house.”
Hartmann’s face went blank.
“Graf von Falken.”
“Better.”
Eleanor stepped between them.
“What are you suggesting?”
Matthias laughed softly.
“Do I have to suggest it?”
She stared.
“The child’s eyes. His shoulder. Hartmann appearing at this house whenever you send word.”
“He is the family physician.”
“Apparently.”
Eleanor’s face changed.
It took several seconds for disbelief to become anger.
“You think Felix is his?”
Hartmann said, “Eleanor, do not.”
She ignored him.
Matthias looked at her.
“Tell me I am wrong.”
“You are wrong.”
“That quickly?”
“How slowly would you prefer me to deny adultery?”
Matthias’s mouth tightened.
Hartmann said, “There is no medical basis for any of this.”
Matthias turned on him.
“I did not ask for a lecture.”
“No, you are asking for permission to turn resemblance into proof.”
“I know my own blood.”
Hartmann’s expression did something Eleanor could not read.
Then he said, quietly, “No. I do not think you do.”
Matthias took one step toward him.
Eleanor caught his sleeve.
“Enough.”
He looked at her hand until she released him.
Then he walked out.
That evening, he moved into the east apartments.
