“Everything looks different. Bigger. More crowded,” he said.
“That’s your house.” Mrs. Debenham pointed at the three-story red-brick house surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. “Do you remember it?”
The evergreen bushes of privet had grown a few feet and had been trimmed in an unusual, squared shape his mother wouldn’t approve of. The white curtains had been swapped with grey ones; another change his mother would frown upon. But aside from these differences, the building was the same.
His pulse spiked and he half-expected to see Robert coming out of the front door in one of his impeccable dark suits and tall hats. A knot of sadness was stuck in his throat. Mother wouldn’t be reading a book next to the fireplace while she waited to welcome him and kiss his cheek, complaining about how thin he was. No one was waiting for him.
He stayed in the carriage, letting the ladies go out first.
“Gentlemen should go out first and help the ladies,” Mrs. Debenham said in a forcibly patient tone.
“Don’t worry about that, Hector.” Maddie waved him out.
He inched out and lingered on the pavement.
“It’ll be a shock for your cousin,” Maddie said.
“And for me as well.”
“Verity and I will wait here.” Mrs. Debenham stepped aside to let Hector pass. “It’s a family moment, after all.”
Not really.
As he walked towards the door with Maddie, he gazed up at the towering building. It was home but not quite so. Heartbeat thudding in his ears, he knocked on the door. Moments passed. His hands became clammy. The door was swung open, and an unfamiliar maid came into view.
She cast a curious glance at him. “Wentworth residence. How can I help you?”
Hector took a deep breath. “This is Miss Madeline Debenham, and I’m Hector Wentworth, Lord Quentin’s cousin. I wish to see him.”
“His Grace’s cousin? Mr. Hector Wentworth is dead.” The maid inched the door closed. “I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Wentworth was pronounced dead after his ship sank into the ocean.” Maddie gently pushed the door again. “He was rescued from the sea recently.”
The maid frowned, and Hector couldn’t blame her. He could hardly believe the tale himself.
“Please, may we see Lord Quentin?” Maddie said, almost getting inside. “We sent a wire his lordship should have received.”
“Sir. Madam.” The maid stepped aside. “I’ll call Lord Quentin immediately.”
She showed them to the parlour where his mother had enjoyed reading and receiving her guests.
A weight pressed against his chest when he entered the room. Mother’s favourite armchair had been moved next to the window, and the antimacassar was missing. The Persian carpet, where he and Robert had played with their train sets, was gone, replaced by a dull dark rag. Even the scent had changed. No longer flowery like his mother’s perfume, but woodsy. He ran a hand over the back of the silk sofa, the only original piece of furniture. Tea and coffee stains marred the precious fabric. Mother would be outraged.
Maddie put her hand over his. “How are you? Do you want to come here another day? I’m sure my parents won’t object if you stay with us for a while.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Nothing feels like home, but I want to stay here.”
He wouldn’t impose upon Maddie. He needed her, yes, but he wouldn’t tire her. He paced around the room and paused next to an ugly painting radiating depression.
Maddie shook her head. “What a horrible painting...I’m sorry.”
“No, please. I was thinking the same. I’ve never seen it before and I’m most curious to know your opinion.”
She assumed the adorable expression she always wore when she focused on something. “It’s so ugly it could be used as a weapon. The landscape is dull, painted with lazy, weak strokes that have no depth or tension. Too many strokes. Less is more. Look at those leaves. They’re all over the place. The colours haven’t been mixed properly. See those strikes?” She pointed at a few thick green lines. “An amateur, if you ask me, and not even a particularly creative one. Who would want such a painting in their own house? I’ll get depressed by viewing it.”
He smiled, releasing some of the tension. “I agree with your assessment.”
A delicious pink crept over her cheeks. “Thank you.”
