“What is the worn book you always keep with you?” she asked, focusing on his chin.
“I recorded my days on the island on a register I recovered from the flotsam. I took notes on the plants and animals I saw. Hopefully, it has some scientific value.”
As she worked with the scissors, her fine eyebrows drew together and the tip of her pink tongue stuck out between her lips, starting a turmoil inside him. He lowered his gaze.
A jagged scar crossed the palm of her right hand. Her fingers were slightly skewed with one joint protruding to the side. How much damage had he inflicted upon her? The last time he’d seen her, her hand had been bandaged. He had no idea the glass shard had ruined her hand so badly.
“It’s done.” She straightened, studying his face. “Now the razor. Although I must warn you. I’m not an expert. Are you sure you don’t want me to ask Dr. Landon to do it?”
“I don’t know him, but I trust you.”
Her cheeks flushed the same colour as her lips. “All right. Let me know if I scratch you.” She poured hot water into the basin from a heavy-looking flask.
He didn’t say anything. Although he found people seemed displeased when he remained silent. If he had nothing to add, why bother to speak?
She sat in front of him and applied a wet, hot towel to his face. The smell of soap wafted from it.
“How did it happen?” he asked. “My brother. My mother.” He had to force himself to keep his voice steady.
Maddie lowered the towel. “When your ship sank, His Grace financed an expedition to find you.”
“Robert?” He sucked in a breath. Robert had organised an expedition for him. Had he sailed close to the island?
“Yes. He didn’t believe you were dead, despite the fact there was little hope you might be alive. The wreckage washed over the shores of The Bahamas, and there were witnesses, sailors on another ship, who described how theObservatoryhad been ripped in two by the waves.” She paused, making herself busy with brushing off his cut hair from her skirt. “Unfortunately, your brother contracted a disease while arranging for a search party in The Bahamas. Some said it was yellow fever, others war fever. He died in Nassau a few days after his arrival.”
He was glad she paused again because he needed a moment to collect himself. It would have been just like Robert to search for his younger brother. Hector could easily picture Robert’s determined expression as he’d boarded the ship to sail across the Atlantic. Only to die. For him. Hector’s throat tightened as the numbness that had shielded him faded and the emotions that had been trapped somewhere in his chest erupted. He didn’t care about his composure. He let out a sob as tears smarted his eyes. The only reason why he didn’t let himself cry with abandon was because he needed to hear more.
Maddie touched his hand, and the usual shock of sensation shuddered through his body, sobering him.
He inhaled deeply, tasting his salty tears on his lips. “My mother?”
“Your mother,” Maddie said softly, releasing a breath. “She couldn’t cope with the pain of losing both her sons. It was too much for her.” She took his clenched hand in hers. The contact was enough to help him breathe more easily. “She wouldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. So, she acquired the habit of taking a sleeping draught at night. One night, she took too much.” Her fingers closed around his. If she found his rough, hard-skinned hands disgusting, she didn’t show it. “The physician wasn’t sure if the overdose happened on purpose or not. She’d become more distracted and detached from reality with each passing day. The possibility she made a mistake is strong since she didn’t want the help of a maid. But he didn’t exclude the possibility that she’d done it consciously either.”
“Then why isn’t she buried in consecrated ground in my family’s crypt?” He gripped her hand in turn, but when she winced, he eased his grip. He had to learn to dose his strength. Among other things.
“Your cousin, Lord Quentin Wentworth, the new Duke of Blackburn, didn’t believe your mother should be buried in holy ground.” Her voice lowered. “He believed she’d taken her life.”
“Quentin.” He barely knew him and had vague memories of a cousin who lived outside London. Not that it mattered now.
“I’m sorry for how my mother behaved. It’s inexcusable.” Maddie inched closer. “She spouts gossip without caring about the consequences. Or maybe she knows perfectly well what she’s doing. Both options are awful.”
He said nothing, focusing on their joined hands. Mother. She should be buried in the family crypt next to Father as she’d wanted. A pang sliced through his chest so strongly he couldn’t breathe. His inner turmoil was a stark contrast with the angelic vision of Maddie, who looked so ethereal in a dark-green gown matching her eyes.
She smelled of lavender and cleanliness, of peace and harmony. Her pink skin radiated softness, making him painfully aware of his wild state and shattered mind, and he wasn’t even sure why he noticed her dress now. If it was an unconscious attempt at reining in his grief, it didn’t work.
He couldn’t stop himself and started crying, not bothering to hide his face. Returning to London seemed such a monumental task, harder than surviving on the island. How could he pick up the pieces of his life, be normal again, and bury his mother where she belonged? How could he deal with the strange people around him, people he didn’t understand anymore, when he found it hard to leave his cabin?
Maddie wrapped her arms around him. His first instinct was to stiffen and pull away from her. But her scent and softness calmed the panic rising within him. He let her hold him as he cried on her shoulder. If he was going to be honest, the pain of having lost his family wasn’t the only reason he was upset. He was scared of returning to London, almost as scared as after he’d woken up on the island. Once again, he faced the unknown.
She caressed his hair while whispering something he didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure for how long he cried, but when he straightened and wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, his neck muscles were strained by the awkward position he’d been in. He didn’t feel better, but at least could control himself.
She handed him her handkerchief. “I’m sure your cousin will be happy to see you.”
He dried his eyes and said nothing. Although she seemed to wait for him to talk since she stared at him with her large eyes full of compassion.
“Would you like me to leave?” she asked, already rising. “I can shave your beard another time.”
He shook his head and tilted his chin up, exposing his neck. “Please,” he croaked out. “Unless you want to leave.”
