Page 73 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

Chapter 25

Bentley picked at the roasted fowl congealing on his plate, but his appetite had long abandoned him. He was warm, dry, and restless, but the door to his bedchamber remained closed. Somehow, he had imagined his mother would break down the door and force him to speak to her, but she hadn’t.

Though if he were being honest, she never had pressed herself upon him, had she? She merely sent him letters at a rate that even a spendthrift would balk at. One would believe she wanted nothing to do with him if it wasn’t for her incessant requests for him to come and visit her, or to put off his ideals and return home to his rightful place.

Ha. His rightful place. What a joke that was.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he blew a long breath through his nose. He needed to gather courage and go to her, but he was afraid.

What would Hattie do if she was there with him at that moment? He imagined her plain, guileless smile and knew at once what she would do. She would simply allow for the opportunity to talk. She would not walk into the dining room and demand answers. She would be compassionate and kind, and he would do his best to emulate the behavior he knew she would respect.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Bentley left his room and walked the corridor toward the small parlor he knew his mother had once favored. Dinner was long over, and he hoped to find her there. But when he reached the room, it was empty. The lack of fire in the grate indicated that she certainly wouldn’t be entering it at all that evening.

“May I help you, Your Grace?” a timid voice said behind him.

He turned to find one of the footmen standing there nervously. Was it Philip or Ralph? He couldn’t recall which name belonged to which man. He would usually have remembered easily, which was a testament of how jumbled his mind was.

“Where may I find my mother?” he asked.

“In with Mr. Humphries, Your Grace.”

Well, that certainly wouldn’t do. He thought over his options. “Will you inform her that I request her presence? I will meet her in the dining room. Unless there is another room warmed at present.”

“Afraid not, Your Grace. We warmed more rooms for Mr. Humphries’s guest, but he left yesterday to see to a family matter and shan’t return until tomorrow. Mrs. Humphries doesn’t go anywhere but the dining room and her own bedchamber when there is no one else to attend to.”

How touching and revolting at the same time. Could Mother not have been half so dutiful when his own father lay on his deathbed?

“The dining room will suit well enough,” he said gruffly.

Philip or Ralph, whichever he was, nodded and walked toward the mistress’s suite, and Bentley left to await her in the dining room. His heart raced, but he did his best to breathe calmly and deeply, reminding himself to be level-headed and kind.

The door opened, and his mother stepped into the room, resplendent in her royal blue gown, her dark hair immaculately coiffed. Bentley’s heart leapt to his throat. It hardly mattered how old one was or how horribly dishonest their mother had been, there was something quite soothing in the familiarity of seeing one’s mother. It was quite at odds with the anxious fretting in his stomach.

“Silas,” she breathed, stepping further into the room. Her face was more lined than he recalled, her skin looking soft and shinier with age, but her eyes were very much the same, and her bearing had not changed at all. She was still the regal duchess.

The darkness of night beyond the glowing windows made the room dim, with only the blazing fire beside him for light, bouncing from the walls and ceiling and illuminating his mother’s face with a warm sheen. The table sat between them, a comfort to him as it would keep some space there.

“Mother,” he said, and unfortunately the word sounded strained. He cleared his throat softly. “Are you well?”

She tilted her head to the side. “No. But you haven’t come here to ask after me.”

Indeed, he hadn’t. “I came to give you one last opportunity to apologize.”

She looked surprised at this, her thin eyebrows rising. “Apologize? I’ve done little else.”

Bentley swallowed back a harsh retort, doing his best to sound even-tempered despite his emotions jumping about like a wild hare. “On the contrary, I’m not certain you have even once.”

She scoffed lightly. “What do you make of those letters I’ve sent you over the last seven years?”

“Requests.”

“Of forgiveness.”

“No, Mother. You merely requested I travel to Kent, or retake my seat in Lords, or reclaim my rightful position as the duke. You ask for all these things from me, but you have never once admitted your fault.”

She was quiet, staring at him as though he had turned into a horse before her very eyes. “Well, I hadn’t realized an apology was still needed. Will you forgive me now?”

“Will you apologize?” he countered. So much for his well-intentioned plan of doing his best to emulate Hattie. It had surely worked, of course, just not in the way he’d planned. Bentley was never this sassy of his own accord.

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