An Unusual Courtship (8 page)

“You have not seen Mr. Everett in his cups,” Miss Bolton said. “But perhaps you might be willing to judge that particular matter for yourself. I shall hold a card-party tomorrow evening, if you will consent to it, and my brother and I shall contrive to get Mr. Everett completely foxed. You may see for yourself how he behaves, and decide accordingly whose version of events you shall believe.”

Percival was very certain of whose version of events he
wished
to believe, and there seemed little enough risk in Miss Bolton’s proposal. If Mr. Everett became belligerent when in contact with alcohol, the situation could be easily and discreetly handled between Mr. Bolton, Percival, and the servants. And then Percival could be sure of Miss Martin and Miss Bolton’s claims.

“I agree to your proposal,” Percival said. “It would be my pleasure, and I confess that you were right. I suppose I did allow myself to listen to malicious gossip. If I am assured by Mr. Everett’s behaviour while intoxicated, I intend to apologise most fervently to the three of you.”

“I’m certain that won’t be necessary,” Miss Bolton said, taking Percival’s hand with a smile. “We are friends again, are we not? All is forgiven.”

Percival smiled, feeling much reassured.

P
ercival showed
up promptly the next day, alight with pleasure at being able to return to his friends. He was sure that he had been much the fool, and that he looked forward to everything being resolved and back to normal.

The butler showed him into the drawing room, where Mr. Bolton and Mr. Everett had already begun dicing and drinking. Both of them rose to greet Percival with great cheer once he arrived.

“Mr. Valentine!” Mr. Bolton said, clasping his hand and clapping Mr. Valentine upon the shoulder. “Here you are! How we have missed you and longed for you! Is it not so, Mr. Everett?”

“Indeed it is,” Mr. Everett said, warmth and joy in his eyes as he clasped Percival’s hand, and then brought it to his lips to kiss. “I had begun to fear that I had given some offence. Pray tell me it is not so.”

“It is not so,” Percival assured him, blushing at the gallant manner in which Mr. Everett kissed his hand. It put him in mind of the conversation they had shared before Percival had left for London, and seemed to hint that Mr. Everett might wish to
court
him as one should court a lady. “I am very glad to be back from London and restored to your good company.”

“Come,” said Mr. Bolton. “Sit with us. Drink with us! Hermione has gotten us a case of very good burgundy wine.”

Mr. Bolton wobbled slightly as he steered Percival over to the table, leading Percival to suspect that Miss Bolton had indeed supplied them with a case of
strong
burgundy wine.

“Will Miss Bolton not be joining us?” Percival asked, being much fain of having her reassuring and mediating presence amongst them.

“She will! She has only gone to the kitchen to see to some light refreshments being brought up to us. Have you dined already? We might certainly have the kitchen send up a meal, if you have not, or we might go down and—”

“Peace, my friend!” Percival exclaimed, laughing. “I have dined.”

“And now we shall have you wined,” Mr. Bolton said, pouring Percival a glass and holding it out.

Percival took it, and sampled it. “Oh! It is rather good.”

“Miss Bolton has excellent taste in wines,” Mr. Everett said. His eyes lingered on Percival in a fond and affectionate manner that made Percival feel warm in his heart and his cheeks.

“Here, now, Fred, whose turn is it?” Mr. Bolton asked.

Mr. Everett looked at the dice, and then at Mr. Bolton. Both of them seemed perplexed.

“Oh, dash it!” Mr. Bolton resolved. “Hermione shall be back straightaway, and Mr. Valentine is here. Let us begin at Whist.”

“
Is
your name Fred?” Percival asked of Mr. Everett. He had half-formed a fancy that Mr. Everett might be the same William he had met at the Grange when he was a child—owing to how Mr. Everett’s acquaintance with Lord Barham was claimed as an inherited one, and therefore one he might have had as a child. It was an idle supposition, and seemed now to have no substance to it.

“It is,” Mr. Everett confirmed.

“Mr. Frederick Everett,” Mr. Bolton elaborated, with a grand gesture of his hand.

Miss Bolton arrived then, and greeted Percival with happy exclamations before settling down to cards. A light repast of cold meats and cheese was shortly thereafter laid out for them on a side table, and they nibbled at the food as they played.

Percival noted that both Mr. Bolton and Miss Bolton were
very
attentive to see to it that Mr. Everett’s glass was kept full, which Mr. Everett did not appear to notice. The entire party drank liberally enough that the general competence of their card-playing spiralled downward until only Miss Bolton seemed to be paying attention and kept having to remind the rest of them that they
were
still playing.

“Horatio, it is still your turn,” Miss Bolton repeated.

“Here now!” Mr. Bolton objected. “It just
was
my turn.”

“Certainly, three turns ago,” his sister said.

Mr. Bolton scowled about this and contemplated his cards for a moment before becoming distracted by Mr. Everett, who had his elbow upon the table and his chin propped in his hand, and was gazing openly at Percival with a lopsided smile, while Percival blushed deeply and tried to make sense, once again, of the cards in his hand.

“
Mr.
Everett,” said Mr. Bolton. “You oughtn’t have your elbow on the table.”

“Hm?” said Mr. Everett, breaking his stare at Percival and looking over at him. “That is nonsense. How am I to hold my head up if I don’t put my elbow upon the table?”

“I believe that is what your neck is for,” said Miss Bolton. “Horatio, for the third time, it is your turn.”

“It is not!” Mr. Bolton objected. “I have only just gone!”

“You have not. You became distracted by Mr. Everett’s elbow.”

“I have so! And Mr. Everett,
really
, one cannot just… just…
put one’s elbows upon things.”

In reply to this, Mr. Everett leaned over to rest his elbow upon Mr. Bolton’s shoulder.

Completely perplexed, Mr. Bolton frowned at the elbow, opened his mouth, shut it again, and frowned more deeply. “Sir, I question the etiquette of your wayward elbows.”

Miss Bolton took her brother’s cards away from him, played the hand for him, and put them back into his hand. He did not appear to notice.

“Here, now, Hermione,” said Mr. Everett, “you are cheating.”

“Oh, my sweet maiden aunt,” Miss Bolton exclaimed, with a deep sigh of frustration, and cast down her cards. “It is no use. Horatio is too foxed to play and you and Mr. Valentine are not far behind.”

“I am perfectly capable of playing,” Percival insisted. He was not sure at what point his own elbow had found its way onto the table and his chin into his hand.

“It is very sweet of you to make the continued effort, Mr. Valentine, but I must resolve that you are
not
.” Miss Bolton took his cards away from him, then Mr. Everett’s from him, and began to put the pack away.

“Lo, Hermione!” Mr. Everett exclaimed. “Do not say that the evening is ended!”

“I say no such thing,” Miss Bolton said. “I say only that the card-playing is ended, and also that Mr. Valentine is most certainly
not
permitted to return home. I have given word to Mrs. Eddlesworth to make up the blue bedroom for him.”

“Oh, I’m certain that is unnecessary, Miss Bolton!” Percival attempted to object.

“Surely instead he may share with me,” Mr. Everett proposed, which caused Percival to shut his mouth and begin blushing.

“I’ll say nothing as to
that
!” Miss Bolton said, but she was smiling.

“But you have not told us as to your trip to London,” Mr. Bolton said, reaching for his cup of wine and finding it empty. He frowned into it. “Was it a productive journey?”

Mr. Everett reached for the bottle in order to refill it for him, only to find the bottle empty.

“It was!” Percival said, reminded of his pleasure at the prospect of the renovations to Linston, now that his spat with Mr. Everett was resolved. “Indeed, I have engaged the architect who recently designed the new village at Coxton for Lord Willowby, in addition to a skilled master mason, his apprentices, and a trio of journeymen who work with him.”

Percival became distracted for some time in describing the details and plans for Linston, particularly the designs and features of which he was most proud, while Mr. Everett gazed upon him with rapturous admiration.

“How clever you are, Mr. Valentine!” Mr. Everett expressed. “You are so very—so very skilled at this sort of thing. I fear I should not at all have the head for it. How you remember such things as the location and route of the spring, in order to plan carefully around it! I should never have thought of such a thing, and it would have ended in disaster. But you! You are so very admirable, Mr. Valentine. You really are. And really
very
handsome, did you know that? You are certainly ever so handsome.”

Blushing deeply at this effusive outpouring from the highly intoxicated Mr. Everett, Percival squirmed and stammered. “Am—am I? Surely, Mr. Everett, you do me too much honour—”

“Not at all!” Mr. Everett insisted. “Your ginger hair—I know it is not the fashion, but I find it so devilishly becoming, particularly on you, and the way that it waves—artlessly so! A perfect Cherubin style, although it is not at all contrived—”

“A Cherubin style?” Percival repeated. “Surely, I do not know it.”

“Oh, it is all the crack in London!” Mr. Everett exclaimed. “It is the style of having the hair all over cropped, yet not too short,
fashionably
unruly—it looks best on curly or wavy hair, as yours. Longer than the Caesar, you see.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, I see,” said Percival, who didn’t see at all, and only knew enough of the modern fashions that a man’s hair
should
be cut, since the fashion of wearing a long tail in the back was now
embarrassingly
eighteenth-century, and he was simply glad that it was no longer in style to wear a heavy, scratchy wig. “Yours is also very—really thoroughly becoming to you, Mr. Everett. Why, it simply makes—”

Percival reached out, fingers twitching with the urge to brush aside a curl from Mr. Everett’s forehead, but no sooner than he had done so did he remember that the Bolton siblings were still present. Feeling foolish, Percival took solace in emptying the rest of his own wine glass.

“That is so kind of you to say,” said Mr. Everett, with great affection. “You are very kind! Indeed, Mr. Valentine, I like you
ever
so much.”

Amidst a storm of blushes, it occurred to Percival that Miss Bolton’s point was indeed thoroughly proven: Mr. Everett was in no way inclined to ill temperament or wrath when he was in his cups. Rather it seemed that he became effusive and affectionate.

“I like you very much as well,” Percival replied to him, torn between the desire to bask in Mr. Everett’s besotted flattery and the desire to hide from so much extensive praise, especially when in the presence of witnesses.

Mr. Everett seized fondly upon Percival’s hand and squeezed it. “I am glad! I do indeed like you—and Linston! How charming it all is! The country—why, it’s all really much pleasanter than I would have expected, and to be here in such pleasant company—”

“Oh, mercy, Mr. Everett,” Percival begged of him. “You do me too much flattery, I declare!”

“I do like you,” Mr. Everett repeated, and sighed.

Miss Bolton giggled. “Percival, I think perhaps you may agree with me that it is time to put our beloved Mr. Everett in his bed?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Bolton,” Percival said, grateful for the suggestion.

“Will you come with me?” Mr. Everett asked.

“I will, if you will rise.” Percival tugged at him.

Pacified by this promise, Mr. Everett got to his feet and immediately leaned heavily onto Percival.

“Oof!” Percival said, and laughed, getting his arm under Mr. Everett’s shoulders to support him.

“I’ve got him!” Mr. Bolton said, and ducked under Mr. Everett’s other arm. A moment later, the three of them tilted wildly to the left from Mr. Bolton’s weight.

“Ah!” said Mr. Bolton apologetically, and detached. “Perhaps, indeed, I shouldn’t help.”

Miss Bolton had succumbed to another fit of giggles, but she helped to supervise the gentlemen as the group of them tottered up the stairs and separated to their various bedrooms. Percival went in with Mr. Everett, as he’d promised.

The bedroom was dark, with only the moonlight coming in from the window. They’d given no warning to the servants of their intention to relocate upstairs at that time, so no candle was lit.

Percival did not think he minded, and felt little inclined to summon any servant, especially when Mr. Everett was being so vocally affectionate.

“Here, Mr. Everett,” he said, getting his hands inside of Mr. Everett’s skin-fitted jacket so that he could slide it off of his broad shoulders. It landed over a chair, since Percival himself had only so much sense of mind remaining, and then Percival found himself pressed suddenly back against the nearest wall, and kissed.

The kiss was messy, sweet, and heated. The surprise of it took his breath away, and Percival found his hands settling on Mr. Everett’s hips, pulling him a little bit closer and helping to keep him steady.

Utterly heedless of propriety, Mr. Everett’s tongue breached Percival’s lips, laying claim to his mouth briefly and then parting from him.

Mr. Everett did not go far, hovering in his grip so closely that their noses almost touched.

“I think, Mr. Everett,” said Percival, “that we ought to put you to bed.”

“You have promised to accompany me,” Mr. Everett reminded him.

“I have. And I will.” Percival hugged his arms around Mr. Everett’s waist, enjoying the warmth of him. “As long as nothing happens but
sleep
. I fear we are both hell hocus with drink, and not at all possessed of our right senses.”

“I am perfectly possessed of the sense that I am most warmly fond of you,” Mr. Everett said.

Percival laughed, happy and flattered, and gave him a gentle shove. “
Bed
, Mr. Everett. We may discuss our mutual fondness and what’s to be done of it in the morning.”

“Bed! Ah! Too cruel by far!” Mr. Everett complained, also laughing, but he did stumble toward the bed.

Percival helped him from his boots, and Mr. Everett did endeavour to help him from his coat, but only succeeded instead in pressing him down into the bed and kissing him again. It was a thoroughly distracting kiss, so that Percival became quite lost in it and only at length remembered that he should not want to sleep in coat and boots, and persuaded Mr. Everett to resume the attempt.

When they were both at last divested of their outer layers of clothes to a point that might be comfortable for sleeping, Mr. Everett tumbled back upon the mattress, one arm still around Percival’s waist, and fell asleep.

Smiling at his friend, Percival laid down beside him, content to enjoy the warmth of Mr. Everett’s body as he slept. His lips still tingled from the kiss, and it was not long at all before sleep stole him away.