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Chapter Eleven
May 14, 1819
Percival’s pulse pounded hard and fast in his temples. In the closed carriage on the way to the Marquess of Eaton’s rout, he yearned for a drink more strongly than he had in many years. What the devil had he been thinking when he’d agreed to go out into society this soon after his shocking marriage?
To hide his shaking hands—and he hoped to God it was dark enough in the carriage that Lavinia couldn’t see the sweat on his brow—he clasped them in his lap. This is going to be a disaster. What if the Duke of Bradford was there? Would that confrontation end in a duel being called regardless of if they were illegal? Panic climbed his throat, threatening to choke him. Or worse yet, what if he saw Lady Eleanor? What the deuce did one say to the woman one left nearly at the altar in favor of marrying one’s mistress?
Needing a distraction, he glanced at his wife, who sat on the opposite bench. She stared out the window with a faint blush on her pale cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted in anticipation. Damn, but she was certainly attractive tonight. Ruddy highlights glimmered in her hair, enhanced by each gaslight the carriage passed on the street. Combs decorated with tiny jet beads glittered in those tresses. Her gown of royal purple satin suited her coloring and brought a sparkle to her eyes.
How had he never noticed how stately she was or how composed she held herself, as if she were royalty? Percival cleared his throat. “You are quite beautiful tonight, Lavinia.” Hard on the heels of those thoughts, he realized this was her first society event, er rather the first one she’d attend as a member of the ton instead of the demimonde. Excitement and concern twisted down his spine on her behalf.
“Oh!” She glanced at him with confusion, even more so when he moved over to her bench and settled beside her. “You used to tell me that all the time.”
Until he’d taken her for granted and saw her only as an object, something he’d paid for, a fancy piece he owned so that no other man could have her. The heat of embarrassment crept up the back of his neck. “Well, now I mean it and not in an effort to make you more willing to end the evening with sexual favors.” He met her gaze. “I am honestly recognizing it.”
“Thank you.” A genuine smile curved her highly kissable lips. It brought out tiny flecks of gold in her brown irises. “I hope I will pass muster.” She plucked at her skirts then readjusted the black satin wrap about her shoulders.
“If you don’t, everyone there is a nodcock of the first order.” He took one of her hands, brought it to his lips, and kissed the back. “I… I’m proud to have you on my arm tonight.” Another truth. Since he’d married Lavinia, despite the general melee surrounding that event, her influence had been felt in a myriad of little ways throughout his house. To say nothing of the effect she had on him. Because of her influence, he hadn’t had a drink in five days. It was astounding, and something he’d never thought possible.
His daughter seemed properly enamored of her as well, for she’d begged to be allowed to stay up later than her assigned bedtime in order to see Lavinia in her gown. Upon which, Deborah had promptly declared her a princess and demanded that he buy her a tiara.
“I appreciate that.” She dropped her gaze to the knot of his cravat as he turned more fully toward her. “I hope you still feel that way after tonight, for I am rather apprehensive, and I know all too well how members of the beau monde will receive me.” Her voice wavered on the last words, and the sound sliced straight through his chest.
“Look at me.” Percival put a gloved finger beneath her chin and gently lifted it until their eyes locked. Hers roiled with questions and worry. “You are my countess. That is all I need to know, but I shall do my level best to make your acceptance into society easier, because that is what you want more than anything.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Her eyes widened the longer she looked at him. “I’ve not told that to anyone outside of my sister.”
“I can see it in your eyes, in the way you hold yourself.” He moved his hand to cup her cheek, and when she remained quiet, he placed a fleeting kiss on her forehead. The scent of jasmine teased his nose. “It’s a nest of vipers, but if you wish entry, I will assist.”
Tears welled in her eyes, made them luminous in the dim light. “If you continue in that vein, I might grow overly fond of you.”
Warmth spread through his chest. As he’d told her when they’d come together as a proper man and wife, he whispered, “Would that be such a terrible thing?” Did he want her to fall in love with him and for him to return those feelings? Admittedly, he had adored having a wife, and now that he’d married a second one, the absence of those emotions fueled an unnamed longing deep within him. “Hmm?”
“It would not.” She trembled, whether from a chill or his proximity he couldn’t say, but that reaction transferred to him.
“There are much worse things in the world than falling in love with one’s spouse,” he whispered seconds before he claimed her lips in a tender kiss designed to inspire comfort and support. The fact he’d rather enjoyed sharing such things with her shocked him.
“Yes, I suppose there are.” With a sigh, Lavinia laid a gloved palm on his chest. She peered into his face for God only knew but he suddenly hoped she found it. “I sometimes think you don’t deserve me, especially when you’re acting like a gentleman just now. I fear that once you delve too deeply into my history, you’ll see me for the fraud I am. That,” her voice caught, “that I truly don’t belong in your world.”
It was first time he’d seen her so vulnerable regarding their new life together. It tugged at his heart, for she was usually so confident and strong, the one giving him advice. In this moment, she truly needed him, and it lifted his outlook exponentially. “Never let anyone tell you where you belong, Lavinia. Not even yourself.” The longer he peered into her eyes, the more he wanted to lose himself in the dark pools. “I married you, and I wouldn’t change that.”
Her chin trembled. “Even if it was by mistake?”
“Accident or fate or calculated risk, it matters not. You are mine, and I will defend your place at my side until I no longer have breath.” Another wave of shock smacked into him when he realized it was true and he felt that statement deep down in his soul.
“Oh, Percival.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “Perhaps there is hope after all for us.”
“Indeed.” More than ever, he wanted to nurture that hope and let it grow to the point of blossoming. In his mind’s eye, he saw two dark haired children, one sitting on either side of Lavinia in their drawing room while Deborah sat at her feet with a book, as she smiled at him in that secret way she had when she wanted him or knew a secret she was about to reveal to him. “Never give up on hope.”
Damnation but he wanted the contents of that imagining.
In short, he wished she would come to love him, that he would do the same, even if they were both broken and highly unsuited for each other for all practical purposes.
“I urge you to remember it too.” For long moments, she again looked at him, assessed him, and finally Lavinia offered him a genuine smile. “I appreciate the support, for I fear my nerves might get the best of me this evening.”
“Never. You are always poised.” But her honesty provoked a grin of his own. “You’ve always been the epitome of confidence.”
Her laugh was too quick, too shallow. “Perhaps I’m good at pretending. I can make people believe anything if I couch it in the right way.”
