Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
The gentlemen’s club was quieter than usual for a Thursday evening.
A handful of gentlemen occupied the card room beyond the open doors, while others lingered beside the fireplaces discussing parliament, investments, and the latest rumors circulating through Mayfair.
Crystal glasses caught the glow of the lamps overhead, amber liquor shimmering as servants moved silently through the room.
Hector sat in his customary leather chair near the library, a glass of whiskey resting untouched in his hand. He had ordered it nearly twenty minutes earlier. He had scarcely taken a sip.
His thoughts refused to remain in the club. Instead, they drifted home.
To Jane.
He pictured her sitting in the blue drawing room with a book she was not truly reading. He imagined her walking through the gardens with her mother, smiling politely at the gardeners, thanking the servants by name as she always did.
She had filled Sunderford House with a warmth it had not possessed in years. And he had rewarded her by avoiding her.
He took another drink. It burned pleasantly enough. It accomplished nothing.
“You look dreadful.”
Hector did not need to turn around to recognize Ambrose’s voice.
“You always know how to brighten an evening.”
“I try.”
Ambrose settled into the chair opposite him and accepted the whiskey a servant immediately placed before him.
For a minute neither man spoke.
Ambrose studied his friend over the rim of his glass. “You’ve become rather difficult to find.”
“I’ve been occupied.”
“So I gathered.”
“You disapprove?”
“I don’t particularly care how often you avoid me.”
A faint smile tugged at Hector’s mouth. “I was wondering when the lecture would begin.”
“It already has.” Ambrose leaned back comfortably. “What concerns me is that your wife has apparently become just as difficult to find.”
Hector’s expression flattened. “We have both been busy.”
“Hmm.” Ambrose swirled the whiskey thoughtfully. “I saw the duchess yesterday.”
Hector looked up before he could stop himself. “You did?”
“At Hatchard’s.”
“How was she?”
Ambrose’s eyebrows rose. “So you are interested.”
“I asked a simple question.”
“And I noticed how quickly you asked it.”
Hector sighed. “How was she?”
“She looked... disappointed.”
The word landed harder than Hector expected.
Ambrose watched him carefully. “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain why your new bride appears lonely while her husband hides inside this club?”
Hector stared into his glass. “There is nothing to explain.”
“There never is with you.”
Silence settled between them again.
Finally, Ambrose set his drink aside. “This is about the conversation you mentioned, isn’t it?”
Hector said nothing.
“Children,” Ambrose prompted.
Hector rubbed a hand across his jaw. “She deserves someone better.”
Ambrose blinked. “Better than you?”
“A man who has always wanted a family.”
Ambrose let out a disbelieving laugh. “My dear fellow, she married you.”
“I know.” Hector felt his frustration rise. Why couldn’t his friend leave him alone?
“So let me understand.” Ambrose folded his arms. “Your wife tells you she’d like children someday.”
“Eventually.”
“You tell her you’ve never really considered it.”
“Yes.” Hector did not see where this was going.
“And your solution...” Ambrose gestured broadly. “...is to avoid her for an entire week?”
“It seemed preferable.”
“To whom?”
Hector frowned. “I needed time.”
“To think?”
“Yes.”
Ambrose laughed once. “You’ve had thirty-six years to think.”
“I’ve spent many of those years raising Evan.”
“Exactly.”
Hector looked away. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”
“You don’t have to stop being his brother.”
Hector spoke softly, barely able to let the words out. “It feels as though I’d be replacing him.”
Ambrose’s expression softened. “No.”
“It does.”
“You aren’t replacing anyone.”
Hector was quiet. “I built my life around protecting him.”
“And now he’s safe.”
The simple truth struck deeper than Hector expected.
“He doesn’t need me.”
“No.”
“He has Colin.”
“Yes.”
“And suddenly...” He struggled to find the words. “...I’m standing somewhere I’ve never stood before.”
Ambrose nodded slowly. “You’ve reached the point where your own life begins.”
Hector laughed without humor. “I find myself remarkably unprepared.”
“I imagine most men are.”
“I should know what comes next.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone assumes I do.”
Ambrose leaned forward. “Hector.” His voice carried none of its usual teasing. “You have spent half your life sacrificing your own happiness.”
“I did what was necessary,” Hector said gruffly.
“I know,” Ambrose said. “You have done so admirably.”
“You’d have done the same.”
“Perhaps.” Ambrose smiled faintly. “But I also know something else.”
Hector looked at him. “You love that woman.”
The words hung between them.
Hector did not deny them. “I do.”
“So stop punishing yourself for wanting a future.”
Hector closed his eyes briefly. “It isn’t that simple.”
“Nothing worthwhile ever is.”
A long silence followed.
Finally, Ambrose stood. “I won’t pry anymore.”
“Thank you.”
“But I will give you one piece of advice.”
Hector waited.
“When you go home tonight...” He rested a hand briefly on Hector’s shoulder. “...stop thinking about whether you’d make a good father.”
Hector frowned.
“Think instead about whether you’d like to spend the rest of your life making your wife smile.”
Without waiting for an answer, Ambrose disappeared toward the card room. Hector remained alone. His whiskey sat forgotten.
For the first time in days, he admitted something to himself. He missed her. Not simply sharing meals or exchanging polite conversation.
He missed hearing her laugh across the breakfast table. He missed the way she wandered into his study asking impossible questions while pretending not to distract him. He missed the feel of her hand finding his without thought.
He had hidden from her because he feared disappointing her. Instead, he had already done exactly that. He was still sitting there when a servant approached.
“Your Grace?”
Hector looked up.
“A messenger has just arrived.” The servant extended a sealed note. “The gentleman said it was urgent.”
Hector recognized the handwriting before breaking the seal. It belonged to the member of parliament who had been quietly assisting their investigation into Phineas Strachan: Edward Hale.
His pulse quickened. He unfolded the paper.
Urgent. Meet me immediately. It concerns Strachan. Come alone.
The letter contained nothing more. No explanation. No location beyond the familiar government offices where they had met before.
Hector was already rising. “Have my carriage brought around at once.”
“Immediately, Your Grace.”
Within moments he had collected his hat and gloves. Whatever news awaited him, it was significant enough that his acquaintance had committed it to paper, despite the risk.
There was only one reason he could imagine. After weeks of silence, someone or something had finally moved against Phineas Strachan. And Hector intended to learn exactly who or what it was.