The intense agony tearing her apart cut her so deeply she couldn’t even howl, although an insistent ring buzzed in her ears. If she was about to faint, she wouldn’t oppose any resistance. Unconsciousness sounded like a jolly good idea now.
Voices echoed around her. The man talked, gesturing at the window and shaking his head. Everyone talked. Verity supported Maddie’s injured hand, blathering something about calling their physician, but Maddie couldn’t focus on anything aside from the paint smearing across her shattered dream.
* * *
Sitting in the armchair,Maddie cradled her bandaged hand. A blazing log fire roared in the hearth, and the gas lamps and candles spread a warm atmosphere. It’d be cosy and comfortable if not for the throb in her palm and the tangible tension in the room.
The family physician had been summoned from Harley Street, the glass shard had been removed, and the wound promptly stitched. But the pain in both her hand and chest remained. The ointment the physician had applied to the wound smelled like vinegar, and the numbing pain potion had left a sour taste in her mouth. But somehow, she didn’t care about any of that. It was as if she witnessed her own downfall as an observer, watching her life crumble with a sense of helplessness.
Now she was in the sitting room with her assailant, her parents, Verity, and a very agitated young constable who blushed so fiercely she wouldn’t be surprised if he passed out. In the midst of the utter chaos following the destruction of her window and life, no one had properly interrogated the intruder who, to his credit, hadn’t tried to flee. Maddie’s mother had never stopped talking, but Maddie couldn’t tell about what.
“Please, madam.” The constable dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, cutting off Maddie’s mother. “Let me ask a few questions to the gentleman.”
“Gentleman?” Her mother tilted her chin up. “He’s an intruder.”
“My name is Mr. Hector Wentworth,” her assailant said in the tone of someone whose patience was wearing thin. That made two of them.
Tall and gangly, he had the refined manners and cultured speech of a lord and the sapphire eyes of a perfect spring sky; it was a peculiar colour, not quite blue and with a hint of violet. She would love to replicate it once she came out of her catatonic state.
Not that any of Mr. Wentworth’s striking features changed the fact he’d attacked her, broken her window, destroyed her precious painting, and injured her hand. The hand she used to paint. Her mind was a jumble of incoherent thoughts. One moment, she wondered if her hand would allow her to paint any time soon. The next, she pondered if she could have a nice cup of tea, perhaps with an oat biscuit. No, her stomach roiled at the thought of food, but a cup of tea would be wonderful.
“Wentworth?” Mother asked. Her dressing gown covered her from chin to toe, but even in a garment that made her look tinier and shorter than she was, she didn’t lose her commanding aura. “Are you a relative of Lord Robert Wentworth, the Duke of Blackburn?” Her voice acquired a sudden sweet note that even Maddie in her confused state couldn’t miss.
Hector nodded several times, his curly golden hair bouncing over his face. “I’m his brother, actually. Please call him. Robert will vouch for me.”
Duke, earl, prince, king. Who cared? Maddie slouched back in the armchair. She didn’t care who the man was, but her mother apparently did because she smiled and ordered the constable to call this duke.
“What were you doing in my sister’s bedroom?” Verity asked, holding Maddie’s good hand.
Hector twisted his flat hat with his restless fingers. “There’s this rare plant covering Miss Madeline’s window.” He paused to inhale. “It’s an extremely rare species, believed to be extinct, and I wanted a sample to take to the Royal Botanical Society. But when I reached the gutter where the plant had its root, I tripped and smashed through the window. It was breaking the window or falling to my death.” He rushed to Maddie and took a knee in front of her, startling her. His unique eyes widened, and the light from the fire was reflected in them. Really peculiar colour.
“Miss, I swear I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was an accident.” He was so lean his Adam’s apple was particularly prominent.
In a tiny corner of her mind, she found his large eyes, strong jaw, and straight nose worthy of being captured in a painting. He’d be a great model for a Greek god or an angel, although she knew better. The man was no angel.
But then his words sank. A plant. The entire disaster had happened because of a stupid vegetable. She snatched her hand out of Verity’s, her chest rising and falling quickly.
“Why didn’t you simply ask?” she hissed.
He blinked as if the possibility of asking had never crossed his mind. “I couldn’t wait. See, I needed a sample of the plant in order to apply for the expedition financed by none other than Sir Alexander von Humboldt. It’s a one-year-long trip to the Amazon with a team of selected scientists. An opportunity I couldn’t miss.”
“Oh, Lord.” Maddie stifled a sob, the first since the incident. Her state of numbness was fading, and it wasn’t a good thing. “You should have asked. I would have given you the whole stupid plant.” She cried, unable to hold back the tears. “Th-there was no need to break m-my window.” And wreck her life.
“By Jove, Mr. Wentworth.” Maddie’s father plonked down onto his chair. “My daughter is right. A simple inquiry would have sufficed.”
“My brother sent a letter,” Hector said. “Haven’t you received it?”
Verity trapped her bottom lip between her teeth. “I saw a letter and took it to the parlour, but I forgot about it and didn’t mention it to anyone. I’m sorry. Was it important?”
“The letter was a formal request to take a sample,” Hector said in a resigned tone. “You didn’t answer, and I was in a hurry. It’s not an excuse, but I was eager to get the plant.”
Obviously. Maddie shook her head.
Her mother waved a hand. “But the window can be repaired and Madeline’s hand will heal. Nothing irreparable happened.”
More tears poured out of Maddie’s eyes. She disagreed. The damage was irreparable because she couldn’t finish a new painting in a matter of days even if her hand hadn’t been injured. Aside from sketches and a few other canvases that weren’t halfway ready to be shown to Mrs. Blanchet, she didn’t have anything complete. Her fellowship? Gone, like the colours melting on her painting. She glared at her mother who glared back as if challenging her to contradict her.
Verity hugged Maddie. “Mother. Maddie lost her painting and her hand is wounded.”
