by Regina Darcy
Beatrice coloured. “Lord Barrington, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Come now Miss Beatrice,” Lord Barrington interrupted, reaching for her hand and placing a soft kiss atop her flesh. “I will not take no for an answer.”
“All right,” Beatrice acquiesced. “I’d be honoured, my lord.”
SIX
Percival could scarcely believe his good fortune when he spotted Miss Beatrice in the village high street. Indeed, it took everything within him not to walk with undue haste to join her. Beautiful like a mirage she had remained there, her sister by her side, the two of them gazing through an open window at a rather curious collection of hats. Their maid stood besides them laden in several packages from their jont about the shops.
“Miss Caroline, Miss Beatrice,” Percival greeted, offering them a bow before he righted himself. “How lovely it is to see you both in such fine spirits.”
His gaze was solely focused on Beatrice Winters.
After last night, he had doubted he would have a chance to be with her alone. He had caught sight of her dancing with Barrington, and although it had angered him to see that scoundrel with his betrothed, he had kept his composure until the dance had ended.
When he had finally found his way to her, he had quickly discovered that he was incapable of putting comprehensible words together. Their conversation had been short and limited, a few words politely muttered between them and nothing more.
He had left the ball almost immediately, playing and replaying his conversation with her over and over again in his head. He could have said more, could have done more, and he had begun to doubt that he would get another chance.
Yet here she was.
“We were looking at hats, Mr Percival,” Miss Caroline told him. Miss Beatrice shot her sister a long look, tilted her head back and studied his open expression.
“I am certain whatever you choose will look lovely,” Mr Percival declared, giving them both a bright smile. “Miss Beatrice, I wondered if I might have the pleasure of your company. You see, I meant to take a turn about the Danvershire park.”
“Mr Percival, I would love to accept, but my sister—”
“Has other matters to attend to,” Miss Caroline interrupted, quickly. “Do not worry about me, dear sister. I will have the carriage take me back home. The maid can accompany you. I am certain you would much prefer the company of Mr Percival. Good day to you, sir.”
Afterwards, she leaned in, gave Miss Beatrice a quick hug along with a whispered warning. In the next instant, she hurried off, leaving the two of them alone.
“It is fine weather we are having,” Beatrice remarked, falling into step beside him. She walked next to him, a vision in her pale gown, and a bonnet concealing locks of dark hair. Percival kept his strides even and measured as they moved past the throng of people and in the direction of the park.
“Quite,” Percival agreed. “I find walks to be quite invigorating. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Beatrice?”
“I do.”
Her fingers brushed against his, and he was struck with the sudden urge to reach for her, to feel the soft skin against his mouth, but he resisted. Instead, he allowed his fingers to curl up and inward, digging his nails against the inside of his palm.
Steady, Percival. Steady. She is finally warming to your advances. You must not scare her off by being too forward or eager. Even if she is your betrothed. Nice and steady there, old chap.
“You look quite well today, Miss Beatrice,” Percival commented.
Miss Beatrice blushed. “You are too kind, sir.”
“Are you in better spirits today?” Percival inquired as they entered the park, drawing on the attention of several other members of society.
Davenshire Park could not compete with Hyde Park but it was the local equivalent. Many people were astride their horses while others lounged in their carriages, all with the sole purpose of being seen, and of engaging in gossip.
Percival had no use for such things, but he did not wish to deprive Beatrice of anything. He knew it was important to engage in such activities, and to be seen in public.
“Better spirits? Why, yes of course,” Miss Beatrice assured him. “I apologise if I was out sorts at the ball, my lord. It was simply difficult for me to engage in conversation with so many people. Many of whom seem to know me quite well.”
Percival glanced over at her, at the furrow between her brows, and the tight press of her lips then looked forward once more. A warm breeze wafted between them, carrying the scent of grass, and honeysuckle.
“I do apologise, Miss Beatrice,” Percival offered. “I had not realised how uncomfortable it would make you. I only hoped that being at such a party would help.”
“Help?” Miss Beatrice echoed.
“We met at a similar event,” Percival told her. “At my friend Alexander Grave’s house. I confess I did not think you liked me at first, especially after I spilled my drink all over the front of your dress.”
Miss Beatrice giggled. “You did?”
“I did,” Percival confirmed. “And I did apologise profusely, but you did not seem to mind. In fact, you insisted that the only way I could make it up you was if I danced with you.”
Miss Beatrice sighed. “And what, pray tell, happened next?”
“You discovered me to be an awful dancer,” Percival revealed, catching the quick laugh that fell from her lips, amusement dancing across her features. “Yet, you did not seem to mind. I confess I was utterly perplexed by you, Miss Winters.”
“Were you?” Miss Beatrice tilted her head to look at him, coming to a stop in front of a bench. “Yet you continued to seek out my company.”
“I did,” Percival replied, giving a slight shrug. “And I like to believe you enjoyed my company as well, Miss Beatrice. I am not good with words, I am aware, but I did try to make it up in other ways.”
Beatrice studied him, the expression on her face familiar, stirring a longing in him that he had to push back down. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, gesturing for her to continue.
“We have gone on many rides here together,” Percival added, casting a quick look over at her before he turned his attention back to the walk. “You are quite fond of my horse, you know.”
“I am?”
“Oh, yes, and Thunder seems to prefer your company to mine,” Percival told her, laughter ringing in his tone. “On many occasions, he refused to listen to me until you intervened.”
Miss Beatrice chuckled. “I do so love horses.”
“I know. Chestnut was my gift to you,” Percival revealed. “I remember how well you liked her, and I could not bear the thought of parting the two of you, so I insisted.”
“She is a beautiful mare,” Miss Beatrice whispered, a hint of sadness creeping into her tone. “I do not remember any of this. What other activities did we engage in?”
“We spent many evenings with your family,” Percival continued, choosing to overlook her comments altogether. “Your sister and brother-in-law are quite the couple. Utterly charming and accommodating. As is your father. You have all been so welcoming.”
He had hoped that engaging in familiar activities together would force some memories back, but thus far, it was not working as he had hoped. All he could do was pray that, within a reasonable amount of time, she would remember him as she once had. He prayed that her eyes would light up in recognition and fill with warmth as she gazed upon him.
“You’ve met Theodora?”
“Yes, both the Duchess and Miss Ann too,” Percival responded. “You are fortunate to have such a warm and loving family, Miss Beatrice. I consider it a privilege to be associated with such fine people.”
“Thank you,” Miss Beatrice murmured. “I do believe you are right, Mr Percival. This walk is most invigorating. I do so enjoy being outside.”
“Yes, you do,” Percival acknowledged.
“Will you tell me more?”
Percival cocked his head to the side and tapped h
is chin. “You liked it when I read to you.”
Miss Beatrice frowned. “I did? How odd.”
“You once admitted to me that you liked the tone of my voice, and how soothing it was,” Percival confessed, embarrassed at the admission, and more than a little uncomfortable at having to reveal such an intimate piece of information. But, it was Beatrice, not a stranger, who stood next to him, and it was she who once imparted such a secret.
In fact, he remembered the particular occasion with perfect clarity, having indulged her father in his request to read out a particular article in the newspaper. From across the room, she’d glanced up at him, her lips curling into a smile and her eyes alight with affection.
Yes, for as long as he lived, he would hold onto that moment, and the way she teased him afterwards, declaring his voice to be the best she’d ever heard. Why, she’d even gone so far as to announce that his deep baritone was her favourite sound.
I miss you, Beatrice. Please come back to me.
“You do have a soothing voice,” Beatrice admitted, more to herself.
“Would you care to sit down, Miss Beatrice?” Percival offered, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across the back of his neck. “I fear the sun is quite potent today.”
“It is,” Miss Beatrice agreed. “I should very much like to sit.”
He led her to a wooden bench, underneath a large tree and kept a respectable amount of space between them. The maid hovered in the background. Beatrice placed her fingers in her lap and coughed, watching her surroundings as she did.
“How is the Duchess faring?” Percival inquired. “I pray she and the Duke are well.”
Miss Beatrice blinked. “They are both quite well, my lord. Miss Ann is with them at the moment, and in the midst of her London debut. She is sure to enjoy herself.”
“I pray she does,” Percival expressed. “And you? Are you enjoying yourself?”
Miss Beatrice smiled. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Have you been to many balls since your, er, incident?” Percival asked, mentally cursing himself as he did. The last thing Beatrice was in need of was another reminder of the accident that had robbed her of so much, yet he had thoughtlessly uttered those words for some reason unbeknownst to him.
In truth, he did not know why he felt the need to bring it up. After all, he knew quite well that Miss Beatrice had stayed confined to her bed for some time until she felt well enough, and on the several occasions she had gone out, he was there as per his promise.
He had been determined to win her over at Lady Westermere’s ball, but alas, his quiet nature had gotten the better of him. He felt like a fool for missing an opportunity like that. Seeing her there was like being knifed in the gut, and it brought him no pleasure to see the plethora of young men vying for her attention, with news of her predicament having spread far and wide.
Oh, there was nothing the members of the ton loved more than a scandal.
“I have not,” Miss Beatrice replied. “But I find the company quite agreeable.”
“Such as Lord Barrington’s?” Percival asked, working to keep the anger out of his tone. After all, it was not her fault the infamous Lord was nothing but a treacherous rogue, and a leech to boot.
“He is charming enough, I suppose,” Miss Beatrice acknowledged.
“I pray you will remember that Lord Barrington is not all he appears,” Percival advised. “He is not a pleasant sort of fellow.”
Miss Beatrice made a small noise in the back of her throat. “Surely, he is a harmless one?”
“No, I do not believe him to be so,” Percival pointed out. “I hope you will keep your wits about you in his presence.”
Were it up to him, he would have her nowhere near him, knowing full well that Lord Barrington would not hesitate to take advantage of her good graces. In fact, he had already proven himself to be unscrupulous and unrelenting in his pursuit of her money, his behaviour nothing short of appalling.
Nonetheless, Beatrice, bless her heart, remained oblivious to it all.
“Do not fret, sir,” Miss Beatrice assured him. “I am not in any kind of danger with Lord Barrington.”
“I am glad to hear that, Miss Winters,” Percival exclaimed, shooting her a surprised look. “Shall I escort you back home?”
He stood up, offered her his hand, and she took it, staring up into his face as she did. For a few moments they watched each other in silence, the rest of the world around them ceasing to exist as they did. It was not until they heard shrieks of laughter nearby that they were brought back to reality with a jolt.
“Papa will be waiting for me,” Miss Beatrice exclaimed. “We must make haste, Mr Percival.”
“Of course,” Percival agreed. “We will be there in no time at all.”
After seeing her safely to her house, and attempting to take his leave, he found himself in the midst of promises to come and visit the very next day. When he looked to Miss Beatrice for approval, he was thrilled to see her smile at the prospect.
He walked back home, feeling light as a feather as he hummed underneath his breath. Quite unexpectedly, his day had turned out far better than he had expected, being in her presence doing wonders to restore his good nature.
Why, he even believed that Miss Beatrice saw him differently, having had the opportunity to spend time with him alone. Away from all the crowds, and the pressure, he prayed that it was enough.
After all, it was all he had, knowledge being the only weapon in his arsenal to win her back. In all honesty, he was not at all certain there were other ways to win her; she had no need for either his name or his title.
But he had faith.
His Beatrice would find her way back to him. And he hoped it would be soon.
SEVEN
“Mr Percival, I do believe my father is quite enamoured with you,” Beatrice teased, craning her neck to look over at him. “He is never quite so happy as when he is discussing literature.”
“It was my pleasure,” Mr Percival insisted. “It is always interesting to spar with your father. He is full of wonderful ideas.”
“Indeed, he is,” Beatrice agreed, slowing her steps so he would catch up with her.
She had been beside herself as she had watched Mr Percival light up in front of her father. It had been like watching another person altogether, the sight of her betrothed brimming with passion warming her heart. Until they stepped outside, and began to take a turn about the grounds. With trees and bushes lined up on either side of them, and having walked past the fountain several times in her attempts to get him to open up, Beatrice found herself at a loss. It was as if the man who had walked her in the park had withdrawn into his shell again. It was perplexing.
“I found your opinion to be rather interesting as well, Miss Beatrice,” Mr Percival told her. “I did not know your father permitted you to read such things.”
“My father does not believe in limiting women,” Beatrice explained to him. “But of course he has no wish for any of his daughters to be so learned that they turned into radical bluestockings.”
“It is a difficult topic. Women are such delicate and sensitive creatures, limited in their experience, but it should not be so.”
“You believe women’s experience to be limited?” Beatrice raised her eyebrow. “How so?”
Mr Percival looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Oh, I did not mean to offend, Miss Beatrice. What I mean to say is, women are limited, I mean, they are forced to be. Er, rather…”
“Yes?” Beatrice prompted, her lips twitching as she watched him fumble with his words, looking increasingly out of sorts. He tugged on his cravat then raked a hand through his hair. His tousled locks added a boyish charm to his otherwise serious features.
She had never seen anything like it, the great difficulty he faced whenever she was around him, as if she stole his very ability to speak. In fact, had it not been for her family, and the eloquence he displayed in their presence, she would’ve been inclined to believe this was his no
rmal manner of speaking when his nerves got the better of him.
As it was, it was only she who could elicit such an uncharacteristic behaviour in him, and she took a strange sense of satisfaction in the knowledge. Here was a man who to the world appeared largely unaffected by events in and around him. But somehow she managed to unnerve him. Could there be a passionate man lurking behind his flawless formal comportment? The thought left her heady.
Their eyes locked and he stilled. His gaze blazed across her visage, leaving her breathless in its intensity.
She felt heat infusing her cheeks. Had it always been like this between the two of them? Flustered, she stroked an errant lock back and looked away.
They continued their walk in silence.
Over the past two weeks, she had begun to realise that she‘d been too hasty in her judgement of Mr Percival. It was becoming clearer to her why she’d agreed to his proposal to begin with.
There was something about his quiet strength. It was in the way he conducted himself with assurance and humility, the kind way he treated everyone, and his curious nature, prompting him to ask all sorts of questions.
Reacquainting herself with Mr Percival was proving to be nothing at all like she had imagined. Why, she had all but written him off, determined to put on a charade for her family and him until such time it was deemed appropriate for her to call the engagement off.
Yes, she had been convinced it was the right thing to do.
Now, she was not at all sure. She knew of no one else who would go to great pains to make sure her father was included at dinner, spoke fondly of her sisters, and paid her a great deal of attention, listening intently and hanging on her every word.
Oh, she could sense that he was not a man comfortable with sentiment, had suspected as much since she had first met him, but she had not known how much. She had to admit that he tried, in his own strange way, to prove his devotion to her.
Her opinion of him had improved quite drastically. The passionate love story she was looking for seemed almost within reach.