Ben was busy doing math in his head, which had never been his strongest suit. One to three years, minus nine months. Almost two years ago to almost five years ago. What had he been doing five years ago? He'd returned from America in 1884 and started cursebreaking, so anyone he'd encountered on his various tours around Europe was out of the running, as was Una Walsh (not that he'd ever slept with her, anyway). In Egypt he'd started sort-of seeing Angie Swan, but it couldn't have been her. She would have told him sooner, even if she didn't want anything from him for the sake of the child, because they had that kind of casual and open relationship, he thought. There was also the bit in the letter about how Ben had been the only man to visit her bed — he highly doubted that had been the case with Angie Swan. Or Apollodora Vablatsky, the only other contender from 1886.

1887 was when he'd met Melody. So it was after he'd met her, it had to have been. After Art's last letter Ben had been holding out some slight hope that it might have been well and truly before the Princess chapter of his life, which might have put him in the clear if she ever found out. Not that he ever particularly intended her to.

"Sorry, my opinion?" he said, realizing that he had heard her words but failed to take in any of her meaning. "Opinion on what?"