Before more could be said, another knock sounded.
The door opened, and Rodney Wilkinson entered, composed as ever, his expression schooled into a pleasant surprise.
“Mrs. Bainbridge.” He turned toward Quinton. “Lord Rockingham,” he said warmly. “Welcome home.”
Quinton inclined his head. “Mr. Wilkinson.”
“How fortunate that you’ve arrived now,” Wilkinson continued. “There’s so much to celebrate.” He turned towardMary-Ann. “I was on my way to your father. He mentioned a discrepancy in the quarter report.” He gave her a hint of a smile. “I told him I’d sort it out for him.”
Mary-Ann’s stomach turned. That was her responsibility.
Quinton didn’t flinch, but Mary-Ann saw it, the slightest stiffening.
“I’ll take my leave.” Quinton turned to Mrs. Bainbridge. “It was good seeing you, Mrs. Bainbridge.”
“I’m so glad you’ve returned.” Her eyes softened.
Mary-Ann took a step toward him. “Will you stay in Sommer-by-the-Sea long?”
He turned to her. “That depends,” he said, his voice low. “But I won’t be far.”
“Quinton—” she began, but he was already turning.
He paused at the threshold and glanced back, his voice low and certain. “You look well, Mary-Ann, and strong.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
She stood still, her heart thudding against her ribs. The ache that bloomed in her chest wasn’t confusion. It was recognition.
She moved to a chair and sat.
Wilkinson lingered, his expression unreadable. He poured himself a glass of sherry from the sideboard.
“He doesn’t look well,” he said, swirling the sherry in his glass.
Mary-Ann glanced at Mrs. Bainbridge but didn’t respond to him.
“No doubt he’s had a… complicated journey,” he added.
She looked up. “You make it sound like you know what happened.”
“I know he was missing. And now he’s not,” Wilkinson said, lifting his glass slightly. “We should all be grateful for that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That doesn’t sound like gratitude.”
He offered a tight smile. “My apologies, Mary-Ann. I meant no offense.”
She rose, suddenly aware she was still wearing her gown. “Please excuse me, Rodney. I need to change.” She turned to Mrs. Bainbridge. “Will you help me, please?”
“Of course,” came the reply.
Rodney bowed slightly. “Of course. You go on. I’ll see myself out.”
Mrs. Bainbridge offered her arm without hesitation. Together they crossed the room, their steps quiet over the carpet. Mary-Ann did not look back.
Rodney remained by the window, still holding the glass of sherry. He watched them go, the faint clink of the glass against his ring the only sound.
Then he drained it, set it aside, and followed the silence out.
