Did he want to be the duke? Go to the House of Lords and deal with aristocrats and politicians? No. He’d never wanted to be the duke. He didn’t know anything about governing an estate or discussing a bill in parliament. Science was his call, not politics. But Robert’s last wish was another matter. Obviously, Robert had believed Hector could lead the dukedom, which hurt because during their last conversations, Hector had thought his brother had been deeply disappointed with him. How wrong he’d been.
“I believe Hector needs to be in full possession of his mental faculties to be the duke under the Righteous Bill. Am I right? We don’t want insane people to hold titles. The Righteous Bill protects us from that possibility.” Quentin sipped his cup of tea with a calm composure contrasting the turmoil in his gaze.
Mr. Merriweather gave a shrug. “Yes, but Lord Hector’s sanity isn’t in dispute.”
“Is it not?” Quentin tilted his head towards Hector and raised his eyebrows.
Mr. Merriweather followed his gaze. The solicitor’s expression hardened as he took in Hector’s opened shirt, lack of shoes, and worn book.
“Hector doesn’t like to wear proper clothing anymore,” Quentin said.
“It chafes my skin.” Hector brought up his legs and crossed them on his seat.
“He doesn’t wear shoes,” Quentin continued, “and he told me a bird was his best friend. Am I correct?”
Hector folded his arms over his chest. “Thomas saved my life.”
“Thomas, sir?” Mr. Merriweather tilted his head.
Hector nodded. “I talked to him every day. He was a good listener, which can’t be said of other people I’ve met.”
“Except Thomas isn’t a person.” Quentin gave him a pointed look.
“He was to me.”
“Hector also told me he lived in the stars.” Quentin stirred his damn tea again.
Mr. Meriwether angled towards Hector, his eyebrows pulling together.
“You know what I meant. You’re twisting my words deliberately.” Hector bared his teeth. “I talked about my life on the island with Maddie, and she understood me perfectly well.”
“I’m sure she did,” Quentin said.
Mr. Merriweather’s face didn’t brighten.
“I owe Maddie my life,” Hector said through clenched teeth. “And I have every intention of repaying my debt.”
“And why don’t we read a page of that awful book you always carry with you?” Quentin went to take Hector’s book again.
Hector let out a feral growl, something he’d learnt was effective to scare the primates. “It’s mine.”
Mr. Merriweather inched away.
Quentin stretched out an arm towards Hector. “There. Mr. Merriweather, until you prove beyond any reasonable doubts that my cousin has the mental capability to take the responsibilities entailed by the management of a dukedom, I’ll remain in my position. Thank you.”
Mr. Merriweather clenched the folder against his chest. “But sir, the law—”
“You may go.” Quentin’s voice rose. “We don’t have anything else to discuss at this stage. Remove yourself from my house, Mr. Merriweather,” he added when the solicitor didn’t move.
Mr. Merriweather offered a shallow bow, his jaw clenching. “We’ll have something to discuss soon.” He turned towards Hector. “Your Grace.” He spun on his heels and marched out of the room before Quentin could reprimand him again.
Hector wondered why the solicitor was so upset. A deep sense of justice, attachment to Robert, or something else? He read Robert’s letter again. So many words to simply say he trusted Hector to take care of the dukedom and the tenants admirably.
“Don’t trouble yourself with legal matters.” Quentin went to take the letter, but Hector kept it out of his reach.
“Don’t worry. It’s no trouble at all.”
fifteen
