“But Mr. Wentworth is strong enough to fend off fierce opponents,” Mrs. Debenham said. “Doesn’t he look brawny?”
Frances blushed to the roots of her hair. “I believe you’re right, madam,” she said in a low voice.
Mr. Merriweather narrowed his keen gaze on her. Hector wouldn’t be surprised if the clever solicitor suspected something.
Oh, strawberries. A perfect balance between sweetness and sharpness. Hector went to snatch another pastry and stuff his mouth but caught himself on time and selected one gently. He’d dreamt of such delicacies for years.
“You should write your story,” Verity said.
“And Maddie would illustrate it,” Mr. Merriweather added.
Why hadn’t he thought about that before? “That’s a wonderful idea.”
Maddie didn’t return his smile this time. “I’m not a professional artist.”
“Your sketches are beautiful.” When he took her hand under the table, she let out a small noise she covered with a cough. “I can describe to you the plants and animals I saw. It’d be a good way to let your name be known.”
“I’m not sure.” She sipped her tea.
Mrs. Landon selected a different type of pastry from the china plate. “What are you going to do, Lord Quentin, after Lord Hector becomes the duke?”
Silence dropped like a theatre curtain. Even Albert remained silent on his mother’s lap. Mrs. Debenham smiled so widely he could see her back teeth.
Quentin seemed about to choke on his lemon pastry. He coughed into his closed fists and sipped before answering. “I’m afraid that day isn’t close, madam.”
“You’d never know.” Mrs. Debenham lifted her cup as if in a toast.
Hector half closed his eyes as the velvety taste of the lemon pastry hit his tongue. The cream was perfect. Not too tangy, not too sweet.
“But Lord Hector isn’t the savage everyone talks about.” Mrs. Landon grinned. “I’m a little disappointed, if I may say so. I don’t see why he wouldn’t find a champion. Any peer would be happy to support him and…” She frowned at the pastry. “This lemon pastry is terrible.”
Hector took another. Sweet and creamy, there was nothing wrong with it.
Mrs. Landon waved a hand, summoning the maid. “These aren’t good enough. Take all these away. Horrible.”
When the maid tried to take Hector’s plate, he held it. “My pastry is fine.”
Mrs. Landon huffed. “Nonsense. Too much lemon. That silly baker doesn’t know his job. Please, Mr. Wentworth, put it on the plate. My cook will serve you something else.”
“I agree.” Mrs. Debenham twitched her mouth. “Rather tangy.”
“My pastry is good,” he said through gritted teeth.
Mrs. Landon sniffed, her glasses slipping down her short nose. “I assure you, Mr. Wentworth, you’ll enjoy the other pastries more. These are going to the rubbish.”
“What?” he said. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
Maybe he overreacted, but why did they have to insist on taking the delicious pastry from him? It was like that time he’d fought the monkey over a large fruit. A battle had ensued, and the monkey had won. Except the monkeys had wanted to eat the fruit, not to throw it away.
“Mr. Wentworth.” Dr. Landon scowled in the same fashion as his wife did. “I beg you to be polite.”
Albert watched him with childish admiration, or maybe fear. Frances flushed red again. Lord Naylor pretended to find his cup of tea fascinating, and his wife clenched Albert as if worried Hector might hurt him. Everyone at the table fell silent. Even Verity and Mr. Merriweather showed matching, concerned expressions. Maddie was the only one who gave him her support by holding his hand under the table.
Rage cast a shadow over Hector’s sight. “Do you know what it means to be starving? Having your stomach so empty it cramps? Fainting because you haven’t eaten enough? These pastries are perfectly good, and you want to throw them away?” His voice rose. He wanted to upturn the table and smash that silly pink vase on the mantelpiece. He wanted to yell at the grey sky of London and tear his clothes apart—Maddie squeezed his hand.
“Perhaps you want to take a walk with me?” She stood up.
The gentlemen stood up as well. Mrs. Landon scowled, a hand on her chest. Dr. Landon shook his head. Mrs. Debenham’s smug expression turned into one of worry. Instead, Quentin smiled, throwing his half-eaten pastry on the plate for the maid to take away.
