by Regina Darcy
What a fickle and treacherous woman she had turned out to be.
Half drunk, and with the fire inside of his heart burning, he’d stumbled in the general direction of the Pugulist club, an establishment he had subscribed to as a wealthy patron where several fist fights were held a year. In truth, he had no idea what he’d intended to do that night, as the cold had seeped in through his clothes, making his teeth clatter and bang against each other. He’d pounded on the door, knowing full well that the gentleman responsible for his misery would be there. For a few minutes, he’d stood there, a thick cloud of smoke surrounding him, and the overpowering stench of cigars and sweat. In the middle of the room had been two men wearing protective gloves and circling each other, throwing out punches when the time was right. The men who were watching had cheered and booed on the side-lines, but Percival had ignored them altogether. All at once, he had spotted the rake himself, his head tossed back, flicking ashes off the collars of his shirt.
Percival had barely given himself a chance to think before he found himself across the room, tapping the man in question on his shoulder. Lord Astor had been dismissive and condescending, far more focused on the game and his bet than on the man who had been growing increasingly angrier with each passing second.
Eventually, Percival had no choice but to force the man to his feet, to demand his answers until his voice was hoarse and his eyes burned. Lord Astor had given him a long look, threw his head back and began to laugh, a low taunting sound.
A fog of senseless rage descended over Percival. He remembered grabbing the gentleman by the scruff of his neck and going at him several times until his knuckles were bruised, and they were both on the floor, with Percival on top of him.
No one had made a move to help Lord Astor, and Percival had snarled and flicked angry looks at anyone who tried to come close. In that moment, he had believed he was taking back control. It wasn’t until Lord Astor began to sputter that Percival stopped. It was in that moment he realised exactly how much he had lost control.
The sight of Lord Astor’s bruised face had been enough to make him scramble backwards, face twisted in horror and lungs burning with shame. Then, he had forced himself to his feet, slipped on his hat and coat, and left without a backwards glance.
Since then, he hadn’t set foot in the club, and had stuck to his vow to never again lose his temper in such a barbaric manner. On that fateful night he had turned into an abysmal creature. Never again.
From that point on, he had sworn never to give into strong emotions, especially when it pertained to love.
NINE
Miss BEATRICE Winters to Miss ANN Winters
Somerset, ENGLAND.
Dear Ann,
I wish you were here, dear sister. I am finally well enough to write to you, and yet I do not feel well at all. The more time that goes by, the less I am sure of what I am hearing, and what my heart tells me. I am certain Caro has informed you of my predicament, but now the problem lies in finding out the truth.
An acquaintance of Mr Percival’s, an old friend actually, has given me a most disturbing account of events that transpired long ago. A chain of events that led to the illness and distress of a young lady, but I cannot believe this of him. He is not at all what his acquaintance makes him out to be, yet he remains aloof, and I remain as confused as ever.
Caro has informed me of the nature of your predicament with the Marquess of Penderstone. I hope you will convey my eternal gratitude to the gentleman, and do remember to keep your chin up. Your engagement is not as you would’ve had it, but I am certain that he will grow to love and respect you, in much the same way we do, with time. You must be patient, dear Ann, and all will be well.
As for myself, I daresay that I need more time to better make a decision. In the meantime, I shall try to discover the truth once and for all. Give Theodora and Sotheby our love.
Your loving sister,
B. Winters.
“I thought you wanted to attend the Granger ball,” Caroline commented, eyeing her sister over the rim of her punch. She took several sips, made a face then set it down on the nearest table. Having arrived at the grand estate an hour earlier, Beatrice now found her spirits dampened, the idea of going through another ball not as refreshing as she had hoped. “You do not look at all as if you wish to be here, Bea.”
Across from the two sisters, people twirled, women with their fine muslin gowns, with varying colours, and men looking incredibly fashionable in their breeches and cravats. In the corner, the musicians were lined up and playing music, a bright and cheery tune that had Beatrice tapping her feet.
“I confess I did want to be here,” Beatrice admitted, turning her attention to Caroline. “But I find I am no longer sure as to why.”
“You said yourself that if you cannot bring yourself to accept Mr Percival that you would rather not dwell on it. That is why Papa brought us here, so you may find other prospects.”
Oh, yes she knew quite well what she had said and what had possessed her to make such a decision at the time. Initially, it had seemed like a grand idea, and one her father had reluctantly agreed to, in spite of his fondness for Mr Percival. Yet, there could not have been any objection. After all, she had chosen a time that had been a good few weeks away, ample time to discover her true feelings for her betrothed.
Or, so she believed.
In truth, she was far more troubled and confused than she let on, and seeing Mr Percival, followed shortly by Lord Barrington, had not eased her mind.
“You are thinking of Mr Percival,” Caroline noted, bright eyes peering at her. “Have you thought any more about the issue?”
“Yes.” Beatrice let out a deep sigh, wriggled her toes then brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I confess, I do not know what to do, Caro. My feelings for Percival are genuine, and are not going away, but I cannot reconcile the image I have of him in my head with that of Lord Barrington’s description of him.”
Caroline frowned. “You believe him?”
“I do not know,” Beatrice admitted. “I know Lord Barrington is not the most reliable source, but they were once friends, Caro. Even Mr Percival himself has confirmed that, so it does give me pause. What else could he be hiding?”
Right now, she could scarcely bear the thought of Mr Percival in such an unfavourable light, and in the role of a rake, no less. Surely, he was not capable of such a thing, not the kind, honest, and honourable man she knew.
Caroline reached for Beatrice’s gloved hand and squeezed. “I am sure he did not mean to hide it from you, dearest. Certainly not something of this nature. They were friends a long time ago, and this has no bearing on your current situation, does it?”
“No, it does not. I care not if they were friends, but I do care if the rumour is true. I cannot bear the thought of him like that, Caro. I can’t, and he is not at all that sort of man, but if he is then---I must know.”
Did he love someone with that much passion? Passion he has never showered on me?
Caroline patted Beatrice’s shoulder. “I can tell, but I can also tell you love him, Bea. It is as plain as day, so you need to find someone who was there, and who knows the exact nature of what had transpired.”
Beatrice swallowed past the lump in her throat and looked away.
Caroline was right. For better or worse, she needed to learn the truth about Percival and make her peace with whatever she found. It would certainly not be easy should the rumours prove to be true, but she would make do.
“Miss Beatrice,” a deep voice interrupted.
Startled, Beatrice glanced up, and found herself looking into a pair of dark brown eyes. “How do you do, Miss Winters? My name is Alexander Channing, the Earl of Graves. I am a friend of Mr Percival’s.”
Graves.
“You’re,” Beatrice began then paused. “Are you by any chance related to Lady Sarah?”
“I believe there is much to discuss, Miss Beatrice,” Lord Graves said.
He straightened his back and offered her his hand. “Could I prevail upon you to join me for a dance?”
Beatrice looked over to Caroline who offered her a slight shrug. “I’d be delighted, Lord Graves.”
Lord Graves offered Caroline a tight smile then swept Beatrice onto the dance floor, among the bodies that were gleaming with sweat, and the stench of perfume. She wrinkled her nose and kept her gaze over his shoulder, the music swirling and rising in the background until she could barely hear herself think.
“Percival tells me you wish to learn the truth,” Lord Graves began, his dark eyes serious. Bright light reflected off of his dark hair as he assessed her. “The truth of the matter is that the young lady in question is my sister.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Lord Graves, I apologise if I have offended you. I did not know she was your sister.”
“There is no need to apologise, my good lady,” Lord Graves assured her, his lips curling into a half smile. “It has been many years since the incident, and although Sarah has long since moved past it, it is I who has difficulty seeing his face in public.”
“Mr Percival’s?” Beatrice asked.
“Mr Percival?” Lord Graves repeated. “No, of course not. Mr Percival is a most honourable man, and would never dare behave in such an ungentlemanly way towards a lady. He was nothing but attentive and kind towards Sarah during the entire ordeal, and we credit him with helping us.”
Beatrice’s lips pursed.
“I’m afraid I do not understand.”
“It was Lord Barrington who wronged my sister, Miss Beatrice,” Lord Graves revealed, a hard edge to his tone. “He is a scoundrel, and a rake, and even now, I wish to make him pay for what he has done, but I have made a solemn vow to my sister that I would not waste any more time on him.”
Behind her, she heard a smattering of giggles, followed by Lord Barrington’s familiar voice. She caught a glance of him over Lord Graves’s shoulder, a flash as he grinned at the ladies in his company, an odd glint in his eye, and she shuddered.
“What, pray tell, did he do to offend your sister so?” Beatrice whispered, afraid of the truth that would doubtless affect her decision. Lord Graves took a deep breath and slowed his pace, a rush of people moving past them in a blur of colour.
“He convinced Sarah that he wished to marry her,” Lord Graves told her in a clipped tone. “Lord Barrington went at the same boarding-school as us, but when his mother passed away, he became a different sort of man. There were many times when Mr Percival and I tried to help him, but to no avail. Three years ago, he emerged and declared himself to my sister, claiming that he had always been in love with her.”
Beatrice gasped. “He did?”
Lord Graves nodded. “Sarah was delighted. Lord Barrington is quite an eligible match, you see. Young, handsome, and charming. She believed in her good fortune, and he did a good job convincing her that she had managed to capture his heart, and his affections.”
Lord Graves trailed off, sadness creeping into his eyes. “Alas, Lord Barrington’s intentions were not to wed my sister, but rather to get her inheritance, a sizable sum thanks to the generosity of our father. Once he was aware that she would be disowned should she wed him, a ploy on our part to reveal his true intentions, he disappeared, and with him, my sister’s happiness.”
Tears sprung to Beatrice’s eyes, a well of emotion breaking open with her. She sniffed, and pushed past the lump rising in the back of her throat. “I am sorry for your sister, Lord Graves. I pray she is better now.”
“She is,” Lord Graves confirmed. “Miss Beatrice, I wish you to know that Percival is a fine man, the very best in fact. Should you wish to end your engagement, he would not hold it against you, but you must be on your guard around Barrington. He is not what he seems.”
Beatrice stared.
“Yes, it would appear I have been deceived.”
The dance came to a close, and Lord Graves drew to a halt. He took her gloved hand in his, and escorted her back to Caroline who stood in the far corner, close to the balcony, a breeze of cold air wafting in.
“I pray I have not upset you, Miss Beatrice,” Lord Graves expressed. “I only wished to make matters clear to you, so you may make your decision in good faith.”
“Not at all, Lord Graves,” Beatrice assured him. “I thank you for bringing the matter to my attention.”
With that, he gave them both a deep bow and disappeared into the crowd. Beatrice watched him go, a myriad of questions dancing around in her mind, but none of them could be answered by him.
She was ashamed.
Instead of seeing through Lord Barrington’s deception, she had allowed herself to entertain the notion of Mr Percival’s guilt. Why, she had even treated him poorly by bringing it up without any proper evidence.
You should have known better, Beatrice. Percival has always been an honest and noble man. One who has difficult expressing himself, but it does make him the same as Lord Barrington. In fact, he is ten times the man the villainous Lord Barrington.
Bitter regret filled her abdomen, and she found herself unable to enjoy the rest of the ball. With a knot building in the pit of her stomach, and bile rising in the back of her throat, she pulled her Papa away and insisted that she needed to go home. He’d taken one look at her face, the colour drained and her hands shaking, and had whisked her away. As soon as they were in the carriage, he bundled her up and spoke to her in soft soothing voices.
Percival, my love, I pray it is not too late.
TEN
“Mr Percival is downstairs,” Caroline announced, slightly breathless and her face flushed. “Bea, what on Earth are you doing?”
“I cannot face him,” Beatrice said, lifting the blankets up to her chin. “After the way I have treated him, what can I possibly say?”
Caroline frowned, shut the door behind her, and perched on the edge of the bed. “I’d recommend you start with an apology, dear sister. I am certain that Mr Percival, like you, wishes to put all of this behind him.”
Beatrice looked to her sister, studying her features openly as she did. “How do you know?”
“What happened to Lady Sarah was a tragedy. She has been treated most unjustly, but it has been many years since then, and I have heard she has moved on with a fine fellow, with a title no less, so I doubt she spares the despicable Lord Barrington any more thought.”
Beatrice frowned. “I imagine it would be quite difficult to forget an ordeal such as the one she had been through.”
Indeed, Beatrice couldn’t, and she hadn’t met the young lady, nor had any idea as to her true nature. Yet, the vile nature of the deed had kept her up most of the night, tossing and turning as she chased after sleep and it continued to elude her. When her lady’s maid came in during the morning, Beatrice insisted on breakfast in bed then sent her way.
She had not been expecting Mr Percival.
“Of course,” Caroline acknowledged. “But I am sure that the young lady, along with everyone else involved, wishes to move past it. As should you.”
“It does not excuse my behaviour towards Mr Percival,” Beatrice told her, miserably. “And I do not know how to make amends.”
“I suggest you get dressed, and come downstairs,” Caroline offered. She got up, tugged on the blanket then yanked it off in one fluid movement, leaving Beatrice in nothing but her pale shift. Beatrice wrapped her arms around herself and sat up. “Come now, dearest. You cannot wallow in misery forever.”
“I had not intended to wallow forever.”
Caroline raised an eyebrow and drew her arms up to her chest.
“Only until I moved past the shame,” Beatrice added. “Surely you cannot fault me for that.”
“Beatrice, you and I both know that the only to do so is to speak with Mr Percival,” Caroline reminded her, not unkindly. “Come. I shall ring for Lizzie and have her help you into a dress at once. In the meantime, I will go downstairs and help Papa entertain Mr Percival, though I doubt he shall
need my assistance in that endeavour.”
Seconds later, Lizzie rushed into the room, helped Beatrice bathe, and had done up the laces on her dress. Meanwhile, Beatrice pondered what she would say and how she would act, her stomach twisting into anxious knots and a sense of unease sliding along the back of her skin.
Before long, she was making her way down the stairs, heart thudding painfully against her chest until she laid eyes on Mr Percival. All the air left her body in one swoop until she reminded herself to take a deep breath.
“Mr Percival,” Beatrice greeted, taking his outstretched hand. He placed a light kiss atop it then drew back, a handsome sight in his light breeches and coat. “How good of you to call upon me.”
“I heard you were unwell last night,” Mr Percival began, eyes searching her face. “I wished to call upon you myself, and make sure you were not too indisposed.”
“He has even brought you some food from the market,” the viscount interjected, peeking out from behind him. “Was that not a nice thing, Bea?”
“It was extremely generous of him to bestow upon me such an honour,” Beatrice agreed. “Would you care to take a turn about the ground, Mr Percival? I heard the weather is quite fine today.”
Mr Percival smiled, his expression softening as he did. “I should be delighted. Please excuse me, Lord Lockley. Miss Caroline.”
She slid her hand into his elbow, hoping he couldn’t hear the thundering of her heart as she led him outside and into the brusque afternoon air. Once outside, she lapsed into silence, struggling to find the words she had so carefully construed on her way down.
“I understand that Lord Graves spoke with you at the ball,” Mr Percival began, his gaze fixed ahead, his step hardly faltering. “I hope he was able to assist you in uncovering the truth.”
Beatrice paused. “Lord Graves was indeed most helpful. You must be sure to thank him once more for me. I cannot imagine it easy for him to speak of such a harrowing experience.”