Voices coming from the corridor interrupted his contemplation of the painting. Footsteps thudded. His name was mentioned. Maddie stepped next to him as if ready to shield him from whoever entered the parlour.
The door opened, and Quentin swept into view, holding a crumpled piece of paper. He was taller than Hector remembered, but even so, Hector towered over him. Quentin’s dark hair was neatly styled, but a rebel strand fell over his forehead. The fabric of his dark suit shone with the hue only good quality clothes had. The straight nose and large blue eyes were similar to Robert’s, but aside from that, Quentin had little in common with the rest of the Wentworths. His facial muscles contracted with an emotion that could be either anger or surprise.
“Your Grace. You’ll probably remember me. I’m Miss Madeline Debenham.” Maddie curtsied, breaking the awkward moment. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I believe you received a wire from Southampton about the incredible news that your cousin Hector, thought dead, had been rescued.”
Quentin blinked. He glanced at the piece of paper then at Hector. Behind Quentin, the maid and other members of the household rose on their tiptoes to glance past him and into the room. Whispers and worried looks were exchanged.
“I did receive a wire, but I thought it was a joke.” Quentin peered at Hector with an intensity making Hector uncomfortable.
“It’s not a joke. It’s me.” Hector straightened, ignoring his starched shirt chafing his skin. “I was stranded on an island for years. The ship, on which Miss Madeline sailed back to England, found me.”
“Hector.” Quentin stepped closer, his pale-blue eyes fixating on him. “I can’t believe it. You must tell me everything.”
“Lord Quentin.” Maddie bowed her head. “Mr. Wentworth has been through some harsh days. The physician, who was on board theSteamship Empress, recommends that Hector rest.”
“Of course.” Quentin crushed the message and tossed it in the fireplace, keeping his gaze on Hector. The flames flashed brightly as they devoured the paper. “Miss Debenham, thank you for having taken Hector home. Cousin, this is where you belong.” He spread his arms as if to embrace Hector, who shifted away from him.
Quentin’s face stiffened. “Welcome home, Cousin. I’m eager to hear everything about your extraordinary adventure. I’ll have a room ready for you immediately. What a bizarre day.”
“I’ll leave you then.” Maddie curtsied again. “Mr. Wentworth, we’ll see each other soon.” She lingered, her lips parting ever so slightly.
Don’t leave me. He bit down the plea. He’d survived alone for years. He wouldn’t force Maddie to look after him. He waited for her to add something, but she curtsied again.
“Good day.”
“Thank you.” A sharp sensation chilled him as she walked out of the parlour. The farther she went, the less he could breathe. The servants’ chatter receded to a dull noise, and the light dimmed. Only his own pulse pounded loud and clear in his temples. “Maddie!”
She came to an abrupt halt. “Yes?”
He reminded himself he didn’t want to be a burden. So he bowed his head. “I’ll see you soon.”
fourteen
HECTOR’S THROAT BURNED from the endless talking he’d done in the past hours.
Quentin had asked him dozens of questions about the storm and his life on the island, about how he’d been rescued and what he remembered of his life in London before the tragedy. He’d inquired about some personal events of the family, things only a Wentworth could know. Likely, Quentin tried to understand if Hector was an impostor. Funny, but Hector wondered the same thing about his cousin.
Hector had answered with brief replies, and yet, his throat burned. He rubbed his forehead, exhaustion weighing him down. “Enough questions. I need to sleep.”
Quentin’s smile tightened for a moment. “You must be tired. Your room should be ready. Mr. Jones will take good care of you.”
An ache pounded against Hector’s temples when the butler showed him to his bedroom. Not the room he’d occupied years ago but a guest room at the end of the corridor. He didn’t recognise the house. The ground floor was the same, but Quentin had renovated the other two floors, bringing down walls to create a large bedroom for himself and changing the white wainscoting with brown panels. Even the white doors had been replaced with dark ones. The result was an oppressive, dim surroundings.
His small room was an improvement compared to his shelter or even the cabin on theEmpress. But knowing that Quentin was asleep in the room that had belonged to his parents started an itch along his skin. Not even Robert had dared take the master bedroom, despite Mother’s insistence. He’d wanted to let her stay in the master bedroom she’d shared for more than fifty years with her beloved husband. Yes, Mother was dead, and Quentin wasn’t her son. But Hector couldn’t help the wave of annoyance taking him over.
“Do you have any luggage, sir?” Mr. Jones asked, the tip of his nose tilting up.
“Only my satchel.” With his precious book.
Mr. Jones eyed the satchel as if it were a rat. “Would you want to come down to the dining hall for dinner?”
“No. I’d rather stay here.” He paced around the room. It didn’t take long.
“I’ll bring you a little supper, then.” Mr. Jones bowed his way out.
Finally, Hector was alone in peace. Although London’s traffic didn’t allow for much peace.
He lay on the bed, staring at the gloomy ceiling. What had possessed Quentin to paint the ceiling grey in a city that was mostly grey? The sky didn’t offer a better view. The clouds and smog obscured the stars. Only the city’s lights blinked in and out of view through the mist. He rubbed his chest where an ache spread. Maddie’s absence screamed in the room. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, be a burden for anyone. He’d survived on a damn island; he could survive in London.
