CHAPTER THREE #3
“Am I so engaged that I must forgo the ball? Do not be so humble!”
Percival moved on from Victoria and set his sights on Graham. His smile turned too wide, teeth flashing in a predatory way. He began to stalk towards him, one brow raised arrogantly. As he went, he smiled charmingly at women, shook hands with gentlemen, and praised everybody’s attire and dancing.
“My lord, I believe we met at the winter assembly! I do mean to have those contracts with you…” Percival said, interacting with more people.
“Countess Eastward, that headwear is positively becoming of you! I do hope to see more in this manner at your summer ball. I am most excited.”
And it continued, on and on, until he finally reached Graham, as if the man had purposefully stalled his journey just to make Graham more on edge. Nothing ruffled him quite like pointed interruptions—especially from Percival.
“Cousin,” Percival greeted when they were finally face-to-face. His voice was smooth, all silk until it revealed the true, sly man beneath. Graham had a thought to usher Amelia out of his cousin’s space.
“Percival.”
“I am ever so surprised, yet delighted, do not get me wrong, that you are out in society. Heavens, I did not think such a day would be seen!” He said it so mockingly that Graham felt himself stiffen.
He was about to retort but his attention landed on the Hawthorne family—more so Amelia.
“And, I must say, if it was to dance with such a delicate flower like this lady here, I understand why. You must be the Hawthorne’s eldest daughter, for I believe the other two are too young to debut yet. ”
“Indeed,” Lord Hawthorne said, shaking Percival’s hand. “Lord Percival, it is good to see you.”
“And you, Lord Hawthorne.”
Graham’s jaw clenched at the attention he had given Amelia. The insincerity in his voice made Graham feel as though he had been doused in oil. Slippery and repugnant, he felt wretched for being in his cousin’s presence.
The softness Amelia had inspired in him was gone, and he was tense, scowling at Percival.
“This is Miss Hawthorne,” he introduced to Percival in a clipped voice, hating that etiquette forced him to introduce the company. “Indeed the eldest daughter. This is her mother, Lady Hawthorne.”
“As beautiful as ever, my lady.” Percival nodded to her.
“Miss Hawthorne, Lady Hawthorne, this is Lord Percival, my cousin.”
“And heir to the Blackthorn dukedom,” Percival countered with a loud laugh.
“There needs not to be one where our generation is concerned,” Graham reminded him. “For I am the duke at present.”
“A childless duke.” Another loud, obnoxious laugh.
“A duke nevertheless.”
“And when there is no child at all?”
“Is this the true place to discuss such matters, cousin?” Graham challenged. “It is rather disrespectful, is it not?”
Percival’s arrogance flickered for a moment as he glanced at the Hawthorne family before clearing his throat. “Regardless, cousin, it is a pleasant surprise to see you. I did rather think you would hole up in that room of yours forever, playing at pretending the world does not exist.”
His words were dry and disdainful, and Graham did not get a chance to answer, for an announcement came over the ballroom.
“Dinner is served in the grand dining hall,” the butler called out. “Pray make your way.”
Percival gave one last look of arrogant confidence, before sauntering off. Up the staircase, he joined with another group of young lords, vacating the ballroom.
Graham turned back to Miss Hawthorne, his smile a wince. For a man who craved his isolation, he found himself inexplicably drawn to her.
“May I escort you to the dining hall, Miss Hawthorne?”
Again, surprise washed over her. She blinked. “Y-yes, you may, Your Grace.”
He offered his arm, once again catching the look that passed between Lord and Lady Hawthorne. Silent questions traded between them, questions he couldn’t figure out and knew it was not polite to ask about.
They walked up the staircase among the mass of guests, and walked the short hallway distance to the dining room. Much to his annoyance, as soon as he entered and sat down next to the Hawthorne family, Percival took a seat opposite him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daphne with some other young ladies of her status, and his mother sat with the Dowager Countess of Eastward.
“Must you?” Graham bit out as Percival set up his napkin on his lap.
“Oh, dear cousin, I must. For you cannot expect me to pass up the opportunity to converse with my cousin upon his first social outing in years.”
“Indeed not,” one of Percival’s friends said, sitting next to him. “It is indeed fine to see you here tonight, Your Grace.”
“I suddenly find myself wishing it was not that way. How strange.” Graham raised a brow at his cousin, letting him think of the exact reason for his words. Percival only frowned as others filtered into their seats around him.
“Shall we begin?” Percival asked, and Graham had a terrible notion that he did not only mean the meal but this battle of words they seemed to be caught in.