An Unusual Courtship (14 page)

“Yes.”

Lord Barham did not elaborate further.

Percival bristled. “What in the world can you mean by that!”

“I let myself love her,” Lord Barham tried to explain. “And as soon as I did, she turned entirely from being charming and became cruel and demanding. She had laid a net for me, because she knew I had a fortune—even though she didn’t know about the title. Once she had me affianced, she treated me like a pet, and I could not honourably rescind my offer. I keep dreading that you will do the same.”

“
We
are not going to be engaged,” Percival pointed out, still feeling entirely prickly.

Lord Barham laughed softly, glancing up. “No, I suppose we’re not, are we? That isn’t much done.”

“I require no contract or engagement of you. Our relationship, such as it is or might be, is purely sociable and at-will. It might be broken off as easily as any friendship.”

“That’s true,” Lord Barham said, rising to his feet and descending the steps. “I am deeply sorry, Percival. I panicked. And each time I thought of coming back here and facing you, I panicked again. I couldn’t bear to be away from you, and I missed you achingly for every day that I was gone, but once I’d returned I couldn’t manage to look at you without feeling a rush of terror that you should break my heart the way Josephine did.”

He stopped in front of Percival, hat in hand, and then turned to set his hat upon a low stone wall so that he could instead take Percival’s hands into his own. “I have behaved abominably, and I will understand if you cannot forgive me. I did not see—I did not think of what misery I had put you through until just now when you accused me of being cruel and I realised what my cowardice had inflicted upon you. I’m an utter fool, Percy, and I hurt you.”

“Yes,” Percival confirmed, but he continued letting William hold his hands. “You did.”

“Are we still friends?” William asked.

Percival licked his lips and then nodded. “Yes. We never ceased being friends.”

“And will you…” William hesitated, taking a breath. “I’m so sorry, Percival—even now I can hardly order my thoughts out of the misguided dread that you will break my heart and toy cruelly with it.”

“I won’t,” Percival said, and scowled.

“Then will you let me court you?” William asked, giving Percival’s hands a warm squeeze.

“Yes,” Percival decided. “If you’ll promise… well, if you’ll try very hard not to panic and dart off without a word again. I hope you might trust me that I am not a cruel person, and I would never toy with you in such a way.”

“I know,” William said, and kissed him.

T
he forest was
cool and quiet around them, and the ancient stones of the monastery provided them all the privacy they needed as they kissed. Percival hugged his arms tight around William, keeping him close and kissing him again and again until they were both dizzy and smiling with pleasure.

When at last the kiss broke, Percival gazed at him in silence, studying William’s kind blue eyes and the sweet, happy smile on his lips. Heart pounding against his ribs, Percival couldn’t manage any words at all, and could barely manage any thought but longing for his William.

Gently, William nudged him toward the steps so that they both could sit. Percival leaned back against the wall that flanked one side of the ruined stairs, and let his long legs dangle over the far side, while William sat a step beneath him and leaned back against Percival’s thigh. They sat in silence, both of them recovering from their emotions and the strain of being apart and hurt for so long.

Percival’s hand toyed gently with William’s hair until William caught that hand and kissed it, keeping possession of it and holding it against his heart.

“I love you,” William said, looking up over his shoulder.

Percival blushed and smiled, leaning forward to wrap an arm around William’s shoulders and pressing his face into William’s hair. “I…” he said, uncertain for a moment because he had never put a word to his feelings but ‘distraction’.

He knew now that this was so much more than mere distraction. He longed for William, had thought of William constantly since the day they met. When William gazed upon him, Percival felt like more than just a provincial country oaf. William made him feel like his babbling about crop yields and cottage construction was valuable and fascinating.

“I love you,” Percival whispered against his ear, tightening his arms around William’s shoulders and hiding his face shyly in his lover’s hair.

William laughed happily and turned, pressing himself up so that he could take a kiss from Percival’s lips.

Blushing and grinning so much that he thought he would never stop, Percival cupped his hand around William’s jaw, returning each sweet, chaste, lingering kiss until he couldn’t resist any longer and slipped his tongue into William’s mouth, pouring all his need and affection into the kiss until they were both nearly vertical upon the steps and panting with desire.

William’s cheeks were also painted with a blush, and Percival ran a fingertip along the crest of his lover’s cheekbone, admiring it.

“We should return to the Grange and inform the others that we’ve made up,” William suggested, but he made no effort to untangle himself from Percival.

“Have we made up?” Percival asked. “I’m still terrified that if I let you up you’ll dart off again.”

William glanced away guiltily, arms hugging tighter around Percival’s waist. “I shan’t, Percival. I—as I told you, I live in dread that I will be hurt again, but … you are so different from her.
This
is so different. And I cannot deny any longer that I have lost my heart to you. It is in your possession completely. I am devoted to you. Even if you do one day break my heart—though I do not believe that you ever could—I would rather risk devastation than live without you. I love you, Percival.”

Lifting his head, William smiled shyly at him, and Percival hugged him close in return.

“I love you,” Percival said, heart bubbling with affection and need. “I love you.”

They clung to each other for some time more, slowly relaxing into trust for their new promises.

Percival drifted his fingertips lazily along William’s arm. “Are you hungry? We have that picnic, or at least some assorted parts from it.”

William smiled and nodded. “I’ll fetch it.”

Watching him fondly as he rose, Percival stayed where he was. The stones were cool and smooth against his back, and the sun shone down motley through the green leaves, casting patterns of sun and shadow upon William’s fine form and well-fashioned coat.

“Ah, how convenient is this!” William exclaimed, as he drew forth the neatly-wrapped packages that had been tucked into his saddlebags. He brought them over and laid them on the steps. “It seems we have two napkins, two sets of silver, and even two cups. What a
remarkable
coincidence.” Smirking wryly, he glanced up at Percival. “I suspect some manner of contrivance.”

Starting to laugh, Percival pressed the back of his hand to his lips and tried to contain his giggles. “There may have been some contrivance.”

“And I suppose that we’ll return to the Grange to find Hermione miraculously cured and perfectly lively once again?”

“That does seem the most likely possibility,” Percival agreed, holding the cups as William poured the wine.

“I am befriended of a pack of manipulative schemers,” William lamented.

“That seems very fortunate for you.”

William laughed, and leaned up to kiss him again. “It is. It seems to have won me the heart of the man I love.”

They dined in a leisurely manner, feeding each other morsels of fruit and cheese between kisses and blushing, lingering glances. Percival found that William stayed constantly in physical contact with him, resting his arm upon Percival’s thigh and brushing his thumb along the fabric of his breeches.

“Lord William Frederick Barham,” Percival murmured, once they’d devastated most of their picnic and were sitting together in sleepy satiation. “Fourth Marquess of Linston.”

William gave a little hum of confirmation.

Re-evaluating everything he knew, Percival leafed his fingers through William’s hair. “Are you the boy I met as a child?”

“What?” William lifted his head and gave him a puzzled look.

“You must have spent some time at the manor as a child. I remember it being occupied by Lord Barham, your father. I was very young, and I hardly remember it, except for one party at the Grange where I was pulled all about by an adventurous young boy named William.”

William sat up and stared at him. “Good lord! You’re the little ginger-haired boy!”

“So it
was
you!”

“It was me,” William confirmed, laughing. He reached up to comb his fingers through Percival’s hair. “Your hair is darker than it was then. I remember it being just the edge between blond and a shocking orange. It has darkened very prettily into a sandy red.”

“I am glad my hair made such an impression upon you,” Percival said, laughing. “I cannot believe you called it shocking.”

“It was very bright. You were like a little torch at the party.”

“You kissed me,” Percival said.

William looked very briefly startled, and then smiled impishly. “I do believe that I did. It seems to be rather a habit of mine.”

Percival laughed, and leaned down to kiss him once again.

T
he day was half gone
by the time that they finally parted long enough to pack up their picnic and mount upon their horses. They rode side by side back toward the Grange, keeping their horses at a walk because neither of them wanted to part each other’s company or to end the sweet intimacy of their afternoon any sooner than necessary.

“I shall feel rather guilty if Hermione is indeed feeling ill,” William commented.

Percival laughed in surprise and blushed. “Oh, to be sure, if she is feeling poorly, I am sure that Mr. Humphrey has found his way to her side and is nursing her most attentively. Oh, no! Mr. Humphrey!”

Alarmed at this sudden outburst, William drew his horse up and appeared concerned. “What is it? What is the matter with Mr. Humphrey!”

“Oh, oh! No, forgive me, Mr.—William. I have just realised several things at once. We have discovered what the trouble is with Mr. Humphrey’s lack of proposals, and it has just now become clear to me why Mr. Bolton suggested that I should bring the matter to
your
attention when I said I should write to Lord Barham.”

“Ah,” William said, relaxing again and nudging his horse to resume walking. “I am sorry about that, I know it was a bit silly that you kept having to send to London when I was perfectly well right here. I did my best to pre-empt your letters to my solicitor, when I could.”

“So that is how he sent back so quickly with the approval for the construction! And with the increased budget!”

“Yes. I do apologise for the deception, Percival.”

“I don’t mind. Not now that I know you are my Lord Barham.”

“I am very specifically
your
Lord Barham, but preferably more often your loyal and loving William. Now what’s this about Mr. Humphrey?”

“The parish rectory bestows him with only a two-room cottage,” Percival began.

He laid out the entire matter in detail for William’s approval the way he had done for Horatio, explaining how the previous rector had not needed a larger residence, but now that Mr. Humphrey was of age and disposition to be married, a proper residence was required.

“Heatheridge House,” William repeated, when Percival had finished explaining the circumstances. “I am not familiar with it. You think it will be suitable?”

“It needs some repairs, but there is money that can be applied to that, and both Mr. Humphrey and Miss Bolton are very fond of that sort of project. I think it would suit them exceedingly well.”

“Then they shall have it,” William approved, holding his head up like the generous and noble lord of the land that he was.

“They shall be ever so happy to hear of this,” Percival said, reaching over to clasp William’s hand. William squeezed it, and gave him a besotted smile.

When they returned to the Grange, they found that Miss Bolton had indeed made a remarkable recovery, and was feeling well enough to sit up and play cards with Mr. Humphrey, while Mr. Bolton sat nearby with a book and chaperoned.

“Mr. Humphrey,” William said, as they entered the room. “The very man I wanted to see.”

“Mr. Everett!” Mr. Humphrey said, rising to his feet. “I am sure you do me too much honour. What may I do for you?”

“If it please you, Mr. Humphrey,” William said, “first may I explain that Everett is my mother’s maiden name, which I have used for some years.”

Grinning hugely, Mr. Bolton tossed aside his book and got to his feet. “Oh, pray let me make the formal introductions. I take it that Mr. Valentine knows already?”

“He does,” William said, nodding his permission.

“Mr. Humphrey,” Mr. Bolton said, bowing elegantly. “May I introduce to you Lord William Barham, Fourth Marquess of Linston. My Lord Barham, Mr. Humphrey, the very respectable rector of Linston parish.”

William also made a good-natured bow to the astonished Mr. Humphrey. “A pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Mr. Humphrey. I apologise for any deception.”

“Why, how is this?” Mr. Humphrey asked, amazed by the revelation.

“A long and personal story, if you will excuse it,” said William. “Suffice it to say that I
am
Lord Barham, and it has today been brought to my attention that the kind generosity of your predecessor has left you in a difficult position. It is my strong opinion that the rector of Linston parish ought to be housed as fits a gentleman and a man of the church, and as such I immediately bestow upon you Heatheridge House, to be held in perpetuity as a part of the rectory of Linston parish.”

Mr. Humphrey gave a cry of amazement. “Mr. Ev—My good Lord Barham! Heatheridge House! Is this truly—oh! How good of you!”

“Isn’t that the pretty little two-storey house that we rode by some weeks ago, Mr. Valentine?” Miss Bolton asked.

“It is,” Percival confirmed. “It will need some repairs, but I’ve set aside the funds for that and scheduled it in with the other renovations being enacted in Linston.”

Miss Bolton blushed and beamed. “What a lovely place it was. I do think it would be a splendid sort of place to raise a family.”

“Oh, Miss Bolton!” exclaimed Mr. Humphrey.

Mr. Bolton strode forward and clasped the elbows of his male friends. “Mr. Valentine, Lord Barham, won’t you come with me? I’ve been meaning to show you some item of interest in the gallery. I think that perhaps Mr. Valentine might be able to elaborate upon its history.”

The three of them left quickly. When Percival glanced back, he saw Miss Bolton and Mr. Humphrey gazing at each other with rapt faces, already oblivious to their departing friends.

It was scarcely ten minutes later that Mr. Humphrey and Miss Bolton burst in upon them in the gallery, beaming excitedly and clasping hands.

“Horatio!” Miss Bolton said, “Fred—er,
William
, is it now? And Mr. Valentine. Mr. Humphrey has proposed!”

“Congratulations!” William exclaimed.

“Ah, what a surprise!” Mr. Bolton teased. “I don’t suppose we ever would have expected such an occurrence.”

“I hope you approve, Mr. Bolton,” Mr. Humphrey said.

“Of course I approve. I am entirely confident that my sister is in good hands, and I think she shall have everything that her heart desires: her Mr. Humphrey, her pretty country house, and the teaching position at Linston school. Are you happy, Hermione?”

“Blissfully, Horatio,” she said, and kissed her brother’s cheek.

“Then I think we ought to celebrate,” Mr. Bolton said. “And you, William, are you and Mr. Valentine on civil terms once again?”

“More than civil,” William confirmed, taking Percival’s hands. “We are the dearest of friends once again, and expect to remain so.”

“Then I shall call for a bottle of champagne wine from the cellar, and we shall drink to it.” Mr. Bolton declared, and went to ring for a servant.

“My Lord Barham,” Mr. Humphrey asked. “Am I to understand that you might continue your residence here at Linston Grange?”

“I shall indeed,” William said. “You must forgive me for my little deception—the Boltons have never been my tenants. They have always been my guests; and my allies, in regards to some embarrassment I suffered in London and sought to escape. We came only for the summer, but I now intend to stay on a permanent basis. I will be the Marquess of Linston in duty as well as name, and I shall trust eternally to Mr. Valentine’s impeccable judgement in the management of the estates.”