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Chapter Thirteen
May 15, 1819
Percival came into the drawing room, expecting to find his wife and child waiting for him to join them for tea as had been their habit of late, but the room was suspiciously absent with no sign of that repast. Disappointment coiled in his chest. He missed that small ritual they’d started, for it had given him a sense of belonging that he hadn’t had for a long time.
Curious, he wandered the corridors until he found the butler. “Stanton, where is Lady Laughton?”
The butler frowned. “I believe she went visiting with Lady Deborah.”
“To where?” From the way their social calendar stood, hardly anyone had accepted her openly. There had been no new invitations proffered to him since the wedding.
“If I recall correctly, she has gone to visit her sister.”
“Where?” He couldn’t recall a conversation where she’d mentioned the sister’s address.
“I wouldn’t know, Your Lordship.”
“Thank you, Stanton.” Well, that was a puzzle indeed. Where could they have gone? Then he knew. Of course, it would make sense that her sister occupied the townhouse he’d rented to keep Lavinia. As of yet, he hadn’t given it up, and how could he now, in good conscience, when it housed a tenant? It didn’t relieve that growing need to see his family, but if he dropped in, perhaps it would distract him from wanting a drink.
An hour later, his closed carriage stopped at the curb in front of the modest townhouse in a quiet neighborhood. Rain drummed steadily upon the roof of the vehicle, and for long moments, he stared at the building’s façade. Should he invade what was probably a private moment? Finally, he shoved his misgivings to the back of his mind.
The rain beat upon his top hat and the shoulders of his greatcoat as he gained the short walkway that led to the nondescript, green-painted door. Seconds later, a woman of indeterminate years answered his knock.
“Miss Thompson is not at home to visitors.”
Percival chuckled. “I am not a visitor, madam. I am the Earl of Laughton.”
Apparently, the title didn’t impress the woman for she stared blankly back at him. “As I said, Miss Thompson isn’t receiving just now.”
When she moved to close the door, he stuck out a gloved hand, preventing further progress. “What I mean to say is that I’m here to join my wife, Lavinia. If she’s here, please announce me if you must, but I won’t go away until I’ve seen her.”
Why was there such high security regarding the younger sister? For that matter, why didn’t he recognize this individual? He’d visited Lavinia’s townhouse at least a few times each week over the course of the last year.
“Very well.” The woman—possibly a housekeeper? —stepped aside. “Miss Thompson is in the drawing room. If you will follow me?”
“My good woman, this house is as familiar to me as my own. I know the way.” So saying, he touched the brim of his top hat and then promptly navigated the corridor, went up the stairs, and strode with determination along the next until he arrived at the drawing room done in pleasing colors of blue. Belatedly, he remembered it was Lavinia’s favorite. “If I’m interrupting, please tell me and I shall go away again.”
Both ladies gasped, but Deborah launched to her feet from where she played with a few wooden toys on the floor nearby.
“Papa!” She flew across the space and flung herself into his arms. “How did you know where I was?”
It was both amusing and endearing that she thought he’d sought her out specifically. “A father just knows.” As he hefted her up, he sought out Lavinia’s gaze. “I hope you don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” She rose to her feet as elegantly as a duchess. “Is there something amiss?” Concern clouded her eyes.
“No, no. Nothing like that.” When she drifted close, the scent of jasmine teased his nose. “I merely found myself missing my family, and you in particular.” He lowered his voice, but his throat was tight with emotion. “I wanted to be near you.” The admission was difficult for him, for in uttering it, he was open and vulnerable. Any number of things could hurt him, break the little family he currently enjoyed when he’d only just put it together.
Her pleased smile set him at sixes and sevens. The sensation of falling assailed him, which was odd, for he hadn’t experienced that for long years, not since… Not since he’d first fallen in love with Vivian. “Of course it’s all right. I missed you too.” She put a hand on his arm and led him further into the room. “Angela, this is Lord Laughton.”
Now he understood why the woman who’d answered the door was so protective. Lavinia’s sister was a vision, a veritable angel and probably not more than one and twenty. Dressed in a white frock with ruffles and lace that fairly proclaimed her innocence, her blonde hair was piled upon her head in a classical Greek style. Silver bands in the tresses held them in place. But what caught his attention was the Bath chair she currently occupied.
Belatedly he remembered Lavinia mentioning a devastating medical diagnosis. Slowly, he set Deborah onto her feet. Then he approached the woman with what he hoped was a disarming grin. “I’m Lavinia’s husband.”
Her blue eyes danced with delight. “So I surmised, Lord Laughton.” She extended a slim hand. “I am Angela Thompson, Lavinia’s sister.”
“Charmed.” He bent and drew her hand to his lips.
Angela smirked and looked past him to her sister. “You didn’t do him justice when you described him. He’s quite handsome.”
