Page 13 of The Not So Perfect Duke

The doctor cut his ham into small pieces. “They can be, but it is not the case here. Doctor Breaks informed me that your father had scarlet fever as a child. The damage to his heart was done then, and it steadily worsened the older he grew until the heart ceased functioning. Nothing to be done, Your Grace. As I relayed, it is ultimately a fatal condition.”

Damon had no idea. But as he observed earlier, he and his father never had any conversation of consequence, especially related to anything personal or medical.

“I appreciate that you could attend at such short notice and collect this information for me. You seem a learned fellow. Can I ask you something completely off the topic?”

The doctor sipped his coffee. “Of course.”

“I was told by a doctor at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital that there is work being done to classify blood types in Vienna. Theoretically, at some point in the distant future, you will be able to classify people according to these types, and these categories could show commonality through the paternal link. Is this accurate?”

Althea looked at him as if he had grown another head.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, Your Grace, I have heard of the theory. But that will be years away, decades, even. Blood study is long, tedious work and won’t happen overnight.”

Damon took a sip of tea. “So, here in 1898, there is no medical or scientific way to prove if someone is related.”

Buchanan raised an eyebrow. “Have you a paternity suit being pressed?”

“Ah, no. God forbid. I am merely curious,” Damon nonchalantly responded as he placed the cup on the saucer.

“There is no definitive way to prove it, though there are quacks aplenty who will testify as to nose and finger lengths being communal features as well as hair and eye color. Even the roof of the mouth has been measured. It proves nothing, and neither does hair and eye color. I have seen black-haired parents give birth to a red-haired baby, and the mother was not unfaithful.” Buchanan popped a ham in his mouth, chewed, and then swallowed. “A simple investigation found redheads in the past paternal bloodline.”

“There is much we do not know, Your Grace,” the doctor continued. “In 1889, a Swiss chemist, Johann Friedrich Miescher, discovered and isolated a material from white blood cells called nucleic acid. Again, this will take years to research, though they have given it a scientific name: deoxyribonucleic acid. This substance may also hold the key to common features passed on to families, but who knows?”

“You seem to understand a good deal about it,” Damon said. “For a police surgeon.”

“I am actually a physician, educated and trained. I like to keep up on the latest discoveries or theories, any doctor worth his salt would do so,” Buchanan said matter-of-factly. He did not take what Damon said as an insult.

And how astounding to discover Damon had not meant it as one.

Damon glanced at Althea, who was busily constructing a sandwich. “What are you doing, Miss Galway?”

“Making my favorite sandwich. Bacon and cheese on toast. It is my comfort food, as it were.” She neatly sliced the sandwich into two wedges, then passed him the plate. “Here. This is for you, and perhaps it will also bring you comfort.”

And there was that compassion. That Althea cared enough to offer him a sandwich from her own hands caused a lump to lodge in his throat. Not like him at all. He could be callous and refuse her sweet gift. But for the life of him, he could not do it.

Damon took the plate. “Thank you,” he whispered.

He bit into it, and it was delicious.

Comfort, indeed.

* * *

Althea looked away and started to make another sandwich for herself. What possessed her to do that? The room was quiet for several minutes as everyone ate. She cast the occasional clandestine look Damon’s way. He was unshaven, and even though he had slept for hours, he still looked exhausted. Althea had the sudden impulse to hold him close and protect him from the world. How ludicrous.

Corbett laid his napkin across his empty plate. “I must return to Bethnal Green. Another autopsy awaits. Althea, are you coming with me?”

“Could you wait one moment, Miss Galway?” Damon asked. “I would like a word.”

“I will hail a hansom,” Corbett interjected.

Damon stepped forward and held out his hand, and Corbett took it. “Thank you, Doctor Buchanan. I am glad your services are available to The Galway Agency, for I may need them again. If it is acceptable, I have another appointment and can drop Miss Galway at Cleveland Street or wherever she wishes.” Damon turned to look at her. “Is that satisfactory with you, Miss Galway?”

“Yes, it is. You return to your work, Corbett. I’m fine,” Althea replied.

Once alone, Damon kissed her gloveless hand, causing heated waves to roll through her. “And thank you for taking my case. There is no time to go over what the next part will entail, but if you can glean any idea, it’s from my questions to the good doctor. I recently visited my mother in Spain. She gave me a list of the illegitimate children that she knew of. Ones that my father sired. I suspect there are more than what is on her list, and I want to trace them.”

Now that topic she did not expect.