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Clenching his teeth, Percy stood in the chill air waiting for the clergyman to finish so they could all depart for the warmth of a fire. Thanks to Sotheby’s sudden and untimely death on the night of the Torringtons’ party, his plans for today had all been cast awry. How he wished the old fellow could’ve waited a bit longer before planting himself! At least he’d been able to send Eden an apologetic note and beg leave to call on Wednesday.
Sotheby’s heir, Tristan, compulsively twisted his mourning ring round and round on his finger, trying unsuccessfully to appear somber. The widowed Lady Sotheby stood by her late husband’s grave, wind whipping the sheer black veil about her face. Every now and again, she would sniffle and raise her kerchief to dab at her eyes. Those present looked on with sympathy and shook their heads.
Percy knew better. Young Tristan was delighted to take his father’s place as lord and master. His father, though well-intentioned, had held the lad far too firmly beneath his thumb for the last several years. As for Georgina, the only tragedy was it hadn’t happened sooner. Hers had been an arranged marriage. Being seventeen and quite naïve when she’d married Sotheby, she had fallen in love with her distinguished older husband—a decent fellow, but not a man of passion. Immediately following the arrival of his heir a year later, Sotheby, his duty fulfilled, had lost all interest in her. His chief desires were, and always had been, reserved for food, drink, and hunting.
He could feel her stare. Guilt gnawed at his belly. He’d been deep in his cups the night she’d offered herself to him. Lustful, drunken fool that he was, he’d taken the bait, making a subsequent cuckold of his father’s best friend and a man who’d been good to him for many years. That he wasn’t the first to do so didn’t matter. He ought to have had better sense than to lose inhibition in her presence.
Nine months later to the day, she’d borne Lillien. The first time he saw the child, he’d known beyond doubt she was his get. The birthmark on her right leg matched the one on his. Georgina had never asked anything of him save his silence, and she’d never revealed his betrayal.
Sotheby had once more overlooked his wife’s indiscretion and claimed the babe as his own—just as he’d done thrice before when his wife had gotten herself with child by another man. A decent fellow at heart, he’d never treated any of the cuckoos differently than his own son. For that kindness more than anything, he’d earned Percy’s profound and lasting respect.
A small hand wormed its way into his palm as the first fistful of earth fell onto the casket with a faint rattling noise. Squeezing back gently, he offered little Lilly silent reassurance. Beastly practice, having young children attend funerals. He remembered having nightmares for weeks after every funeral he had attended until he was nearly fourteen.
Georgina loved her children, but he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use them to her advantage. He was yet unwed, and though they hadn’t shared a bed since the night Lilly was conceived, he knew if he let her she would make a pawn of the child and attempt to ensnare him. It was a tricky situation, and not one he relished untangling, especially now.
Eden. Her taste, her smell, her very essence was etched upon him, ingrained in his flesh. Just the thought of her elicited a highly improper rush of vigor to certain parts of his anatomy. He was to have called on her today to begin their courtship. Instead, here he was out in the cold listening to a clergyman carry on about mercy and eternity for what felt like an eternity without any.
She’d had tea with Sabrina. What secrets had they shared?
His gaze flicked back to Georgina. He doubted very much that the merry widow would mourn for the requisite period of time, but it would be a good while before she felt safe enough to make any attempt at flouting the rules. If all went well, he would be unavailable for the chase by the time she was allowed to come out of her weeds.
Beside him, Lilly let out an ominous sniffle.
Bending, Percy picked her up in his arms. The child clung to him and put her head on his shoulder. She’d barely known the man in the casket, but upset was a contagion that spread easily from adults to children. Damn Georgina for putting her through this! Little girls ought to be in the nursery, not out here with all these dreadful, black-shrouded scarecrows.
But Georgina would desire above all to appear upright and dutiful. Her child’s tears would be considered a credit to her. Everyone would whisper how awful it was for her to have to deal with her children’s grief as well as her own. She’d be glorified, cast in the role of the tragic heroine heavily burdened by the responsibility and self-sacrifice of motherhood.
Defying the assembly’s silent, indignant stares, Percy turned and strode off, bearing the child away from the morbid scene. When they’d gone far enough that the words of the ceremony were indistinguishable, he set her down and knelt beside her to look at some flowers growing amid the grass.
His child was the epitome of sweet innocence. He’d long since determined to secretly settle a sum on her to provide her with a measure of freedom when she came of age. God willing, no one would ever know of her mother’s indiscretion or his folly. If he could manage to arrange it, she would marry well and happily, never knowing the truth of her shameful heritage.
Briefly, he wondered what Eden would think of such a plan. What she would think of him?
Heaven only knew what Sabrina had told her. The two women were similar in many ways. Strong-willed. Fearless. Clever. And careful to hide a tender heart. But Eden’s temperament was markedly different. Where Sabrina kept her thoughts and emotions to herself whenever possible, Eden wore hers openly. There was little to no guesswork. One always knew where one stood with her.
It was refreshing. Too often with women, he’d peeked beneath the outer layer of pretense only to discover more layers of the same. At times, he’d caught himself wondering if the original human being had been buried and suffocated or perhaps even lost entirely. It was a great disappointment to discover the person y
ou thought you liked was, in reality, only a façade.
A tug on his hand brought him back to the present. Lillien smiled up at him guilelessly, her upset forgotten, and offered him a pretty yellow flower she’d picked. That she’d purloined it from a flowerbed decorating someone’s final resting place was of no consequence to her. Or to him. Smiling back, he tucked it into a buttonhole, admiring the bright splash of yellow against black. It would doubtless be frowned upon by Sotheby’s mourners. He didn’t care. Bollocks to them if they didn’t like it.
He looked back to where the ceremony progressed. The crowd was beginning to disperse. With great reluctance, he led Lillien back to her mother, who received her with choked thanks and a hopeful look at him from beneath her veil.
Teeth on edge, Percy bowed and took his leave. The woman really ought to have been on the stage. Her “bereaved” act was almost flawless. Almost.
On his way home, he dropped in to see Loxdon and learn whether any progress had been made in the search for Abigail. Surely Rowell should have led them to another clue by now.
“We fear the bastard’s discovered he’s being watched,” said his friend after explaining the man’s disappearance. “He gave us the slip and has been gone now for two days.”
“Bloody hell.” Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is anyone still at the house?”
“The staff haven’t gone, but you know if we try to talk to any of them he’ll learn of it and make himself scarce. We’re hoping he’s left temporarily and will come back soon.”
“I hope so, too, for Abigail’s sake. No sign of her, I suppose?”
“None. I’ll send word the moment Rowell returns.”
“If—when—he does, I think we should have a private word with him.”
