How many mornings would Hamill send a footman up to inquire why he was still abed and that he’d better get up as they had something to get to. Boxing, swordplay, carriage driving. There had even been one morning when they had run through Hyde Park. Barefoot on the grass. Just running around.
Hamill was of the opinion that simply running would increase stamina. Privately, Percival thought one ought to only run around the grass barefoot if one was being chased by a murderer.
But run he had done.
Now, he’d entirely changed his costume for Lady Bloomington’s masque. He had planned on wearing a simple domino, as he always did. Instead, he’d had Makepeace search high and low for a costume Shakespeare would have worn in his day.
Lady Cordelia admired Shakespeare, and so he would go as Shakespeare.
He strode through Lady Bloomington’s doors feeling that he looked slightly ridiculous and shrugging off the feeling. Why should he care, as long as Lady Cordelia understood the compliment of it?
He’d already spent a morning running around barefoot in the park. Ridiculous was nothing to him.
He spotted Darden quick enough. He already knew that Darden and some of the other YBC members were going as the seven deadly sins. Darden was gluttony, was looking very round, and held something in his hand that resembled a felted turkey leg.
He hurried over. “Darden,” he said.
“Harveston!” Darden said. “I’d offer you a piece of this large turkey leg, but as I am gluttonous, I must keep it for myself.”
“Very well done costume. By the by, what costume does Lady Cordelia wear this night?”
“Ah, well she was to go as Desdemona, but then we thought maybe Lady Rawley would come as that lady in celebration of her recent performance. So now, Cordelia has come as a ghostly figure. She’s dressed all in white and the headdress is shaped rather like a nun’s would be. Perhaps a mother superior—it’s very distinct. Oh, and there is a veil too.”
Percival nodded. “Enjoy your turkey leg,” he said, and set off in search of his ghostly figure.
He located Lady Cordelia in a moment. She was, for some reason, standing by the bishop, who had come in his regular bishop’s attire.
He approached and bowed. “Bishop,” he said.
The bishop eyed him in what felt like a suspicious manner. He could not account for it at all.
He turned to Lady Cordelia. “My lady, may I put myself down on your card?”
Lady Cordelia glanced at the bishop, who nodded solemnly. It was very odd, almost as if she had sought approval from him. Was he a great friend of the family?
No matter, he had given his approval for whatever it was worth. Percival took the card and felt a great amount of relief that the last dance had not yet been taken.
There was no proper supper at Lady Bloomington’s masque, as she would be sending round trays of food all evening, but there always were a number of sideboards set up for the end of the night and people were expected to linger. That would give him the time to say everything he wished to say.
The bishop still stared at him. He did not at all understand why but he got the distinct feeling he should be off, having accomplished what he wished to.
He bowed and moved away.
One of Lady Bloomington’s footmen handed him a glass of champagne. He gladly took it and felt exceedingly satisfied with how the evening progressed so far.
He supposed he ought to go round and add his name to other lady’s cards, but he was not very inclined to it. Perhaps he would skip it altogether and simply be on hand to escort any lady sitting out once the ball began. Hostesses always appreciated that sort of chivalric rescue and as for himself, he did not really care who he danced with but for Lady Cordelia.
Percival spotted Hamill across the room, talking with a group of other sporting men. They were probably discussing some upcoming horse race and how the betting would shape up. He supposed it would not hurt to know more about it than he did.
He set off to join them in a very good frame of mind.
*
Cordelia really couldnot understand what was happening. Her card was fast filling, and yet Lord Harveston had not yet approached.
In fact, he’d spent some minutes speaking with the bishop and his daughter, Miss Bretherton, and then made his way to Lord Hamill and some other gentlemen. There he’d been for the past quarter hour!
What was so interesting about Miss Bretherton? She had, according to Rosalind, who found it a very good laugh, come as Mary Magdalene.
