Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
P ercy was going to murder Richard.
He was going to murder him and toss his sorry corpse in a bog. Then, in a thousand years, when some future version of humanity came across the preserved body, they would say,
"Ah, this fellow shouldn't have trifled with his best mate's emotions, and certainly deserved it." And then, with any luck, they'd chuck Richard back in the bog, where he belonged.
The only problem with this plan was locating a bog.
Percy gritted his teeth against the memory of Richard's smug, stupid face as he'd danced with Marina, the challenging look he'd given Percy over her shoulder, as if to say Don't you wish this were you, holding her in your arms?
Percy did. Christ above, how he did.
Over these last few days, coming to London, Percy hadn't been sure which emotion was stronger: the longing he felt to see Marina again, or the dread he felt over the same event. He still didn't know. Looking at her, so beautiful she had stolen his breath, had felt like stepping into a bath that was just on the edge of being too hot. Potentially wonderful but just as likely to scald.
Conversely, when she'd looked away, spun off gracefully in some other man's arms, it had felt like a bucket of cold water to the face.
Percy should leave. Not just the ball—he should leave London. He'd find some way to make it up to his sister. But he couldn't be here, couldn't watch Marina settle into a courtship with someone else. Couldn't trust himself to be near her while she wed another.
"Hullo, Percy."
Percy jolted. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Lucy appearing at his elbow. He blinked himself back to the present and forced a smile to his face.
"Hello, sweetheart. Are you having fun?"
"Oh, yes, the party is grand," Lucy said, though her tone was dismissive, as though Percy were being obstinately obtuse to comment on something so trivial as her debut in Society. "Dance with me, will you?"
Percy frowned. "I was told that I was not to dance with you."
Lucy patted his elbow. "Yes, yes, well. I'm prepared to make the sacrifice, as it seems you need the help far more than I do."
"What?" Percy said, even as his sister gripped him by the elbow and pulled him towards the dance floor. She was deceptively strong for a woman of her size.
The music began, they started dancing, and almost immediately Percy realized this had been a trap.
"Brother," Lucy said before they'd taken as many as two steps. "You realize that I love you very much, don't you?"
Percy frowned. The words were nice, but there was an air about his sister he didn't trust. "I love you too, Lucy."
"Yes, yes," she said again. "This is not about me. This is about you. And, while I love you very much— because I love you very much—I feel that I must tell you this." She looked him square in the face, her mouth firm. "You're being an idiot."
Percy missed a step.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked.
"You're being a complete idiot," Lucy said, as if the reason Percy had been surprised was that she hadn't been insulting enough. "I tried to let you figure it out on your own. Mama told me I should." Percy knew those two had been in some kind of cahoots. "I gave you as many hints as I could. But you're so cabbage headed that you completely failed to notice them, so now I am left with no choice."
"Are these insults going somewhere?" Percy asked dryly.
"Yes," said Lucy, narrowing her eyes at the interruption. "I am telling you that if you let whatever stupid idea you have in your stupid head cause you to lose Marina, you will regret it for the rest of your life."
Percy stumbled even harder.
"Lucy, I—" he began to protest.
"Oh, come off it," his sister interrupted. "It was obvious as anything. The two of you made all kinds of moon eyes at each other for the entire house party, and every time I brought up your name, she looked as though I'd invoked Christ himself." That was…blasphemous, but flattering, Percy supposed.
"Then," Lucy continued, "the party ended with the two of you doing your best impressions of star-crossed lovers or whatever else poetical nonsense—" Such reverence for classic literature, a distant part of Percy thought wryly. "—and you've spent the last few days being an absolute bear."
"I haven't," protested Percy.
"You have," said Lucy. "Absolutely dreadful. And now —" Lucy said this with the air of someone who was finally getting to her point. "—Marina is here with Andrew. Andrew, " she repeated, as if Percy could have missed it. " Our cousin Andrew," she emphasized for a third time.
"There's nothing wrong with Andrew," Percy mumbled.
Lucy closed her eyes briefly, as if unable to look his idiocy in the face. She kept dancing fluidly, however. Impressive, that—Percy thought he ought to send her dancing instructor a bonus.
"There is everything wrong with Andrew," she insisted. "For one, he is obsessed with you, furious that you have a higher title than he does, rabidly jealous that people like you better. Probably half the reason he wants Marina is to take her away from you, which is not a good basis for a courtship. For another," she continued, "he is awful. He is mean and controlling and I wouldn't wish life with him on my worst enemy, let alone my friend."
A spike of concern shot through Percy. "Has he done something to you?" he demanded.
Lucy gave a reassuring little head shake. "Nothing terrible. Just little sniping comments about how the only thing women are good for is obedience, and how we all need a firmer hand, from the queen on down." Percy wanted to retort that these kind of comments did not qualify as nothing terrible in his book, but felt that was perhaps best kept for another time.
"Not to mention," Lucy went on, "he's dreadful to his servants. They're all terrified of him. Which does not speak well to how he might treat a wife."
"How do you even know that?"
"Servants gossip, and my maid likes me," Lucy retorted. "But that's beyond the point. The point ," she said with emphasis, "is that you need to get over yourself and make up with Marina before it's too late."
"I can't," Percy said, feeling the weight of it. "She needs to marry."
Lucy looked at him like he'd grown two heads. "So marry her," she said, as if it were that simple. "You obviously love her."
Hearing his sister say it—that he loved Marina, that this was obvious—made it somehow instantly clear to Percy. Of course he loved her; that was the thought he'd been shying away from this whole time. Not that he missed her. That was self-evident enough. But the fact that he loved her—that was the truth he could not bear without collapsing in on himself.
"I'm not looking for a bride," he heard himself say.
Lucy paused, then tilted her head to the side. She regarded him for a moment, perhaps to ensure she had his full attention. "Why not?"
The question felt like a knife to the heart. Why not? Why couldn't he marry Marina? He wasn't promised. He wasn't unable to provide for her. He wasn't unsuitable in any way, frankly.
You're afraid , a voice inside him whispered.
And, as if Lucy could hear that voice too, she continued speaking, her voice kinder than he likely deserved. "You're not Father, Percy," she said softly. "I know you worry that you'll end up like him. But you won't."
Percy had spent so long doing everything in his power to ensure that he did not turn out anything like his father that he hadn't realized how deeply he did, in fact, worry that he'd end up repeating the same mistakes. Hearing Lucy deny it felt like it healed a wound Percy hadn't known was there.
She kept speaking. "I know you worry that you'll give too much of yourself away, that if you don't focus everything you are on protecting Mama and me that we'll end up without again. It's noble, Percy. It's sweet, even. But if you go too far the other way—if you don't give anything of yourself away at all—you're going to end up losing the best thing that ever happened to you."
The dance was slowing, their steps faltering to a stop. Lucy didn't let him go; Percy wasn't sure he'd remain standing if she did. "You won't risk the family that you have if you let the family grow to include one more person. Or two or three," she added, a quiet smile softening the intensity of her words. "I would very much like to be an aunt."
"I—" It was all Percy could get out. His voice sounded hoarse. He felt as if something was crumbling around him, something that was letting the light in. Walls, he realized. They were walls that he'd built up, that he had believed he needed. Walls that were keeping out the woman that he loved. Dimly, he registered his sister leading him off the dance floor and to the edge of the room.
Yes, he loved Marina. It felt better and better each time he thought it. He loved her. He loved her scowls, he loved her smart mouth. He loved the honest, open way she approached the world, even when such trust was not returned to her.
He hadn't returned that trust, he realized with a pang. She had come to him and instead of explaining himself, he had shut her out, and told himself it was for her own good. But he would explain. He would apologize. He would beg her forgiveness until he was blue in the face, if that was what it took. He would prove to her that he deserved her trust, and then he would spend the rest of his life earning it, as many times as she would let him.
"Lucy," he said. He felt breathless, like he'd been running. "You're brilliant. Thank you. Thank you . But I have to—"
"Go!" exclaimed Lucy with a laugh. "Find her."
Just as Percy turned to do so, however, Richard approached them, a grim look on his face. Percy smiled at him. Richard could live after all. What did one dance matter when Percy was in love? With some luck, he could dance with Marina every day, could shower her with flowers and jewels and love. Could enjoy breakfast with her every morning and make love to her every night.
Percy's ebullience stuttered when his smile had no effect on Richard's expression. "What?" he asked, suddenly wary.
"It's Dunn," Richard replied. "He's snuck off to the gardens with your girl."
Despite his concern, the words twanged through Percy. She was his girl—or would be, as soon as he could manage it.
"For a walk?" Lucy asked, voice doubtful.
Richard shrugged. "I would think so, except—" He made a rough sort of growling noise. "I know he's your kinsman, Haddington," he said, using Percy's title as a nod to their public setting. "But I don't trust him. I'm sorry to say it, but I don't."
"Don't apologize," Percy said. "I think I've been too trusting of Andrew."
This was another thing he would have to think about, in addition to the many things Lucy had laid out for him tonight. Why had he trusted Andrew despite all the things that, now that he heard both Lucy and Richard express their unease, seemed like warning signs? It was another way that Percy had been too rigid, clearly. He'd thought that since Andrew was family, he was someone to respect, even if he didn't like him. As if his father hadn't proven to Percy well enough that one could not always rely upon one's relations.
But that was an issue for a later time. For now, he had to find Marina.
"Thank you," he said instead to Richard, who looked surprised but pleased at this response. "And for whatever scheme you all have been cooking up—" He looked at his friend and his sister, who did not look ashamed in the least. "—thank you for that, too."
"Thank us in your speech at the wedding," said Lucy. "Now go!"
Percy went.
The night was mild, and the week's earlier rain had given way to one of those magical spring nights where the world is full of new growth and possibility. As a nod to this idyll, Lady Weston had illuminated her veranda with torches, placed frequently enough to satisfy even the most rigid of chaperones, but far enough apart to keep the mood romantic. There were perhaps a half dozen small parties scattered about the space, standing in couples and trios, chattering quietly and enjoying the reprieve from the close heat of the ballroom.
None of these companies included Marina and Andrew.
A distinct feeling of unease beginning to creep up on him, Percy took the steps down off the veranda into the garden proper. This, too, was illuminated, though more sparingly, torches placed more to denote a boundary of the party than to invite gathering around the small, flickering lights. Still, there were several stone benches out here that might appeal to a courting couple—much as it pained him to think of Marina and Andrew that way—trying to have a private word.
These, too, were empty.
Percy's unease had become full worry now. Maybe they had gone back inside? he thought. It was possible, he supposed. If they had come around one side of the veranda while he was at the other end, they might have missed one another. A prickle of intuition told him that this wasn't right, however. Still, Percy, at a loss for what else to do, had almost resolved to return inside to look for Marina there when he heard a small, feminine cry, and the words, "No! Stop!"
That was Marina .
Percy, suddenly consumed with the kind of fear he'd never felt before, charged down the garden path towards the sound. He rounded a cluster of shrubberies and skidded to a halt as he found Marina, trying to yank herself away from Andrew. His cousin had a grip on her arm and was using the other hand to paw at her bodice.
Percy was moving before he had even fully registered what he was seeing. A split second before he reached them, he saw Marina notice him. Her eyes widened, and Andrew, following her gaze, began to turn—
Placing his jaw directly in the path of Percy's fist.