But there was no use in waiting around, moping about what could not be. He marched up to the front door, absolutely furious that he had to knock like he was a mere guest.
He would take his revenge for these petty humiliations in due time.
For now, there was business to be done.
He used his stick to rap at the door, not bothering to be gentle. The response came almost immediately in the form of a middle-aged butler who was going slightly bald on the pate of his head. He had that ‘stiff upper lip’ look that Hector most hated about the aristocrats and their hangers-on … right until he took in Hector, damaged leg and all, and broke into a smile.
It wasn’t there for long; that proper look resumed. But Hector had seen it. And even if he hadn’t, the man’s words would have confirmed it.
“Excuse me for saying it, Your Grace … But it is good to have you home at last.”
And damn him if the man’s Northern accent didn’t almost make Hector smile in return.
“Thank you …”
“Jonathan,” the man said, supplying a bow. “Forgive me for leaving you here on the doorstep.” He stepped aside and tookHector’s battered old coat and shoulder bag, which he’d carried from the carriage himself; he wasn’t some lily-handed lord who needed a servant to help him every time he so much as needed to take a piss.
“Shall I let Lord Ferrars know that you’ve arrived?”
It was a jolt, hearing Hector’s old title—a courtesy title—applied to his brother. Jonathan didn’t seem as though he liked saying it any more than Hector liked hearing it.
Damn it all, helikedthis butler fellow.
“May as well get it over with,” Hector replied. He might as well be candid about how he felt. “I take it, then, that Matthew is in residence?”
“Lord Ferrarsis indeed in residence,” came an icy voice that was at once foreign and all too familiar from the landing. “Given that this ismy home.”
Hector looked up … and his heart skipped a beat as he saw the spitting image of his father.
It wasn’t just the black hair and dark eyes, nor was it the sharp, Roman nose. Hector shared those features, except for his blue eyes, which had come from their mother. It was more that Matthew held himself the way their father always had, like he was a king forced to suffer the indignity of looking downon disgusting peasants when he would have preferred to be stepping on them.
Hector was not a boy any longer, however. He could not be bullied by a dismissive look and a few errant slaps. Although he wouldn’t have minded if Matthew tried, Hector had spent the last two decades over a sweltering forge while Matthew had been primping and prancing about. Hector liked his odds in a fight.
“Technically,” he said, feeling rather pleased with the way his own rough accent contrasted his brother’s schooled, plummy tones, “I think ye will find that it ismyhome.”
Matthew smiled, but it really looked more like a grimace.
“I understand that you may feel that you were compelled to return, given Father’s passing,” Matthew said. He still hadn’t come down from the landing, the imperious prick. “But I’m certain that you will find that everything is in order. I was, after all, learning how to manage this estate at Father’s side for years.”
Oh, sothatwas how Matthew was going to play it.
“A strange way for our father to spend his time, I admit, given thatIwas his heir,” Hector returned. “But maybe he just liked spending time with ye. Maybe ye were his wee hobby.”
Hector let his accent be as thick as it could be. Behind him, he thought he heard the butler snort quietly.
Hector made a mental note to give the man a raise. Those blasted ducal coffers ought to be good for something besides padding his brother’s vanity.
Matthew stalked down the stairs, fury lining his features. He came up short a few paces away from Hector. Matthew was taller—which was strange enough to realize, as the last time Hector had seen his brother, Matthew still had most of his milk teeth—but Hector was significantly broader.
“You should have stayed in theNorth,” Matthew said, hissing the word in the same tone that he would have used to saythe pits of hell. “My father raised me to this role.Iwas the one born to do this. You were … a mistake. Why do you think they sent you away?”
The animosity in Matthew’s words nearly made Hector smile. His brother was showing his hand too early—that was all he had in his personal armory.
“Perhaps so,” Hector allowed. “But still, I think you will find thatIam the duke.”
“Innameonly,” Matthew insisted. “When I wrote to tell you that Father had died, you told me you planned to stay in the North.”
He sounded petulant, like a child who had just been denied his favorite sweet.
