Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
P ercy was not sulking. He was…retiring to his office. Unhappily.
Which was not the same thing at all.
The problem was, Percy thought sourly as he glared down at his mostly untouched drink, that he'd been so bloody busy of late, hadn't had the chance to get himself to London, where he sometimes enjoyed a very casual rendezvous with a widow somewhat older than he was who was committed to spending the years following her late husband's demise having as much fun as she possibly could. Generously, she occasionally allowed Percy to join in on this fun.
But for the past several months, Percy had been mired neck-deep in work, finally managing to gather all the scattered threads of business his father had cast about with no rhyme or reason, and before that Lucy had been ill. Had it been a full year since Percy had made the trip to London? That simply wasn't healthy for a man, Percy rationalized. It was the kind of thing that led to one thinking carnal thoughts about gently bred virgins, who could not be more out of reach for carnal delights if they lived on the moon.
Percy lounged in his office armchair broodily, admittedly hiding a bit until the ranks of the party could fill out properly, so as to provide a buffer between himself and his thoughts regarding Lady Marina. He was indulging in this activity, musing grumpily about putting up a proposal before Parliament to make it illegal for mothers to insist upon hosting parties—he'd have the support of the unmarried members, at the very least, and probably half the married ones, especially if the bill also prohibited wives from mandating socialization—when a servant's polite but firm rap on the door jolted him out of his pretend politicking.
A footman entered and announced the arrival of His Grace, the Duke of Culton.
This brought a genuine smile to Percy's face. Joseph. Splendid.
"Show him in," Percy told the footman, who gave a quick bow and hastened to comply.
Joseph entered with a polite but distant look that faded into a smile the moment the footman closed the door behind him. Percy rose to greet him, and the two men clasped hands in an affectionate shake for a moment before Percy waved him over to the sitting area.
"Thank God you're here, man," Percy said. "Can I offer you a drink?"
Joseph cut a glance at the full daylight outside the windows and the corner of his mouth ticked down for a moment, which made Percy grin at its predictability. Joseph was a strict adherent to rules, seeming to find them comforting in a way that Percy, who considered Society's determination of what was proper and what was not absurd at best and stifling at worst, could never understand.
"I think it's a bit early for me," Joseph said, leaning back in the chair in what, for him, passed as a lounge.
Percy nodded and returned to his seat, abandoning his half-drunk glass as well.
"Not enjoying the party, then?" Joseph asked in reference to Percy's relieved greeting. "Been driven into hiding already?" There was a teasing note to Joseph's tone that Percy returned with a rude gesture, which made his friend's smile widen.
"I think my mother might be a witch," Percy moaned. "There's no other explanation for how she talked me into this. She must have cast a spell over me or some other such nefarious method."
"Or," offered Joseph, stretching out his long legs in front of him, "perhaps she just reminded you that you love your sister?"
"Or that," Percy allowed.
Percy was tall, but Joseph was taller, and rangy in a way that only emphasized his height. Percy felt a rush of affection for his friend as he watched him crane his neck from side to side; a long journey in a cramped carriage wouldn't have been comfortable for Joseph.
Percy found himself overwhelmingly glad that his friend had come—it had been too long since they'd seen one another, what with the hectic schedules that came with managing sprawling estates, particularly ones that had been driven into the ground by wastrel fathers.
Joseph had been the first of the four of them to inherit his title, coming into his dukedom barely a year after they had made that promise to look out for and support one another. Percy had always considered that head start something of an advantage—it was less time for Joseph's father to make a muck of things—but now, looking at the weariness in his friend's bearing, he wondered if that weren't the case after all.
And, perhaps, burdened by his own worries, he hadn't been as good a friend as he ought to have been. Joseph had always followed the rules of Society to the letter, but as a younger man he'd also had a gentleness to him that had softened that strict propriety. He looked…somehow stiffer, now, like a tree that refused to bend in the wind, destined to break.
"Has everything been well with you?" Percy asked, putting aside his own troubles for the moment.
Before the words were even out of his mouth, though, Joseph was waving them away. "You know how it is," he said, though Percy didn't know, actually—wasn't that why he had asked? But Joseph had that stern set to his jaw that said that Percy wasn't going to get anything out of him at the moment, though he did make a mental note to return to the topic at a later date. "Anyway, tell me why you're hiding like a frightened child. Who is attending this party that's got you quaking in your boots?"
Percy frowned. His friends could get away with the kinds of criticism and jabs that Percy wouldn't allow from anyone else—and, unfortunately, they knew it.
"I'm not scared ," he shot back derisively.
As soon as he reacted, he knew it was a mistake. Joseph's face split into a grin, the weariness temporarily banished. "Feeling shy, then?" he teased. "Scared the girls won't think you're pretty? Worried nobody will ask you to dance?"
Percy reached over and grabbed a book from his desk and chucked it at Joseph, who caught it handily.
"The Earl of Packley is here," Percy ventured. He was prepared to say more but was surprised when Joseph looked immediately understanding.
"Ah," he said knowingly. "Well, fair enough. I mean, I know it isn't polite to say so, but the man is rather…well, annoying, isn't he?"
His friend, Percy thought, had a point.
"No—well, yes, he is, actually, but that's not the problem." Joseph arched an eyebrow in a silent question. "He's brought his cousin along, as a companion for Lucy."
"So?" Joseph queried.
"She's pretty," Percy mumbled, suddenly wishing he hadn't left his glass over on the sideboard. He needed a prop to mask his embarrassment.
Because, Christ, it was embarrassing, wasn't it? He had seen a pretty girl and was now hiding away like some sort of randy youth who had only just noticed the appealing roundness of women's curves for the first time.
As Joseph laughed at him—openly and with vigor, the bastard—Percy gave himself a stern mental shake. No more of this pathetic behavior. He would return to his own party, no matter that he didn't want to be hosting it, and act like a normal adult man, not a foolish child. Easy.
Percy felt satisfied with this resolution and thus rather put out that Joseph was still laughing.
"Shut up," he said, which of course only made Joseph laugh all the harder.
And then—obviously, because his friends had the most inopportune for timing—there came a knock at the door only seconds before it burst open, admitting a grinning Richard and a dismayed footman, whose hand was still poised from knocking.
"The Duke of Beaumont to see you, Your Grace," the footman said dejectedly.
Percy gave the young man a reassuring nod before rising to greet Richard, who welcomed him with a bracing clap on the shoulders. Joseph did not rise—a shocking laugh of propriety from him—because he was still laughing .
"What's got him twisted?" asked Richard without preamble, turning to Percy's sideboard to pour himself a drink. Percy indicated that Richard should pour Percy one, as well, because it was either that or strangle Joseph, and Percy assumed that he'd regret it if he murdered one of his closest friends, even if that friend was being insufferable.
"Percy's afraid of a pretty girl," Joseph said delightedly.
"That's not precisely—" Percy began but got cut off.
"Brilliant," said Richard. "Tell me everything."
"That's really as far as we've gotten," Joseph said, leaning towards Richard confidingly, both of them completely ignoring Percy. "But apparently she's cousin to the Earl of Packley and here to befriend Lucy—" all three of Percy's close friends knew his sister well, and all treated her as if she were their sister, as well, which Lucy, naturally, despised but in the loving way that one despised the affection of one's elder brothers, which only reinforced this treatment "—and Percy got one look at her and had to go into hiding."
"That is not what I said at all," Percy said, feeling that peculiar mix of irritation and fondness that could only come from being tormented by one's dearest friends.
Richard got the look in his eye that he always got before performing some particular bit of devilry. He'd looked that way before he'd mouthed off to the mathematics instructor at Eton who relished humiliating the boys who struggled with their sums. He'd looked that way before he'd convinced a very drunk Seth to attempt a serenade outside a pretty opera singer's window one night during their university years. Percy braced himself.
"Maybe," said Richard with evident glee, still speaking directly to Joseph, "he's in love."
The two of them roared with amusement as Percy let the irritation wash over him. Richard had brought him a glass of scotch; Percy knocked it back in a single gulp. Love was a stupid, dangerous emotion, and his friends knew that Percy had every intention of steering clear of it. Still, their ongoing amusement at his expense rankled.
"Remind me to get new friends," he muttered, which only made his two friends laugh all the harder.