“Is something the matter?” Quentin kept glaring at Hector.
“Mr. Merriweather wishes to see you immediately.” Mr. Jones cast a disapproving glance at Hector. It had to be a favourite activity of his. “He has been insistent on wanting to see you now. Very insistent, sir.”
Quentin’s gaze shot towards the ceiling. “The nerve of that man. Show him to the ground-floor parlour.”
“Actually, sir, he wishes to see Your Grace and…” Mr. Jones regarded Hector as if he had no idea what to do with him. “And Lord Hector.”
Both Quentin and Hector scowled. Who the hell was this Merriweather?
Quentin pressed his lips together and folded his napkin neatly. “I see. Well, then, let Mr. Merriweather in.” He waved dismissively, and Mr. Jones left the room.
“Who’s this gentleman?” Hector asked.
“A pain in the neck. A solicitor with an opinion on everything. The worst thing our society could ever produce,” Quentin said. “I’m glad I gave him the sack.”
Hector scratched his chin where a stubble had grown since Maddie shaved him. Why would a solicitor want to see him?
Mr. Jones opened the door and bowed again. Hector had forgotten how many times the servants bowed. Too many.
“Your Grace, Mr. Merriweather.” Mr. Jones barely finished introducing the guest before a brawny, bronze-haired man strode inside, chest thrown out and shoulders squared.
Holding a leather folder for dear life, Mr. Merriweather walked into the room with long strides and came to a halt in front of Hector, ignoring Quentin. A boyish smile stretched his wide mouth.
“Good Lord. Your Grace. It’s true. You’re alive.” His brown eyes widened so much his eyebrows hit the hairline. “I couldn’t believe the news, but I’m so glad it’s true. You probably don’t remember me, but we met years ago before you left for South America.”
No, Hector didn’t remember the man. Back in those days, botany had been the only thing on his mind. He hadn’t paid attention to anything else, certainly not to social interactions.
“Unfortunately, I don’t remember you.”
Mr. Merriweather didn’t seem disappointed. His smile was still bright. “Do not worry, Your Grace. You might be interested in knowing I’m also Miss Verity Debenham’s betrothed.”
Hector perked up. “Miss Verity and her sister have been very kind to me.”
The solicitor drew in a breath, thrusting his chest further out as if he were proud. “I have no doubt, Your Grace. Those two ladies are unique.”
Indeed.
Quentin cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, Merriweather. Iamthe duke. Stop addressing Hector with Your Grace. And why are you here? My business doesn’t concern you any longer, thank goodness.”
Mr. Merriweather straightened. His demeanour changed in a moment from pleasantly surprised to utterly aggressive. If there was one thing Hector had learnt from the primates on the island, it was to pay attention to even the smallest twitch of a facial muscle. Every tiny gesture or contraction of a muscle had a deep meaning with animals. Humans weren’t different.
“I’m pleased you mentioned your title. It’s the reason I’m here today, Lord Quentin.” Mr. Merriweather opened his leather folder and produced a few documents he laid on the table. “I stayed up all night to have these documents ready. The late Lord Robert…”
Hector clenched his jaw at the mention of his brother. For everyone in London, Robert had died years ago, but for him, only a few weeks.
“Lord Robert and the late Lady Wentworth left me strict instructions.” Mr. Merriweather went through his documents with methodical precision until he selected a single sheet and handed it to Hector with an air of triumph.
Quentin snatched the document first, though. “What is this?”
Hector snatched the document back. “It’s for me.”
Another thing he’d learnt from dealing with the primates was not to cower in front of a bully. It would only make the bully stronger.
“Can you even remember how to read?” Quentin smirked. “What does the bloody document say?”
Mr. Merriweather rubbed his forehead. “If you’d allow me, sir. Lord Robert didn’t believe Lord Hector was dead. It turned out he was right.” He flashed his all-teeth smile again. “Thus, before he departed for his unfortunate trip to South America in search of his brother, he left me the order to help Lord Hector in his role of Duke of Blackburn in the unlucky case something horrible happened to him.” He gave a final nod as if his words were the end of the conversation. “Lord Hector is here. Thus, he’s the duke. The fact he went missing for a few years doesn’t have any impact on the legitimacy of his title. Besides, even the Succession Law establishes the line of inheritance quite clearly. Lord Robert believed his brother would be an excellent duke.”
Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, Hector skimmed the document. He recognised Robert’s elegant handwriting, but the legal words had little meaning to him.
