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Heat sneaked up the back of Percival’s neck, especially when she didn’t release his hand. “Thank you.” When he glanced at his wife, her grin kept him off balance. “Conversely, you didn’t tell me your sister was a vision dropped from heaven.” He patted the younger woman’s hand as he straightened. Finally, her hold relaxed, and he slipped his fingers from hers. “Or anything about her at all, really.”
“That’s my fault. I asked her not to tell anyone about me.”
“Why?” Truly, Lavinia’s sister had the voice of an angel to match her looks.
She waved a hand. “Won’t you join us for tea? The rain has made it a bit chilly, and I know I always appreciate warm tea in my throat.”
“I’d like that.” With a few efficient movements, he removed his top hat and greatcoat. When no one came forward to take the garments from him, he dumped them on a nearby chair before finally settling on a crushed velvet sofa next to Lavinia. “Will you tell me about yourself?”
“Of course.” Her gaze fell to his daughter. “Lady Deborah, I’m certain the conversation will prove quite dull for you. There is a parrot in a cage in the next room. Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself to him?”
Deborah’s eyes rounded. “A parrot?”
“Yes. His name is Frederick. He was a gift.”
The girl implored Percival with her eyes. “May I, Papa?”
“If you’d like but be mindful of the bird’s beak. I don’t want it hurting you.”
“I’ll be careful, Papa.” Once Deborah cleared the room, Angela smiled at her sister.
“She is a darling girl. I’m so happy you’ve finally gotten your wish to be a mother.”
A pretty blush stained his wife’s cheeks. “There are times when my happiness makes me fearful it will all soon dissolve, and I’ll be left with nothing except my old life again.”
“Surely not.” Her sister shook her head. “I doubt that. Laughton wouldn’t allow it.”
“Perhaps.” Lavinia poured out a cup of tea then gave it to him. When their fingers brushed during the handoff, low-grade heat licked up his arm. “None of this would be possible without him—you,” she said to him in a soft voice. “Even this townhouse which keeps the other part of my family safe.”
The trace of tears in her eyes tugged at his heart. The realization that he held so many lives in his hands, had connected the threads of broken people simply by marrying this woman by accident humbled him, brought him low, and a wad of emotion formed in his throat. With haste, he took a few gulps of tea to dislodge it, for becoming a weak sort of watering pot in front of these women simply wouldn’t do.
“I have felt rather… content in recent days,” he managed to say from his tight throat as he clutched his teacup. “That’s why I sought you out this afternoon.” Had he shared too much already? Would she think he was coming to care for her?
Was he?
Percival refused to contemplate that possibly at the moment. Instead, he took refuge in refreshing the tea in his cup.
“It seems as if that has come as a shock to you, Laughton.” The soft, breathy sound of Angela’s voice recalled him to the situation. When he glanced at her, a gentle smile curved her cherub’s lips. “I’m glad for you and my sister, for I feel you are well-matched.”
“Perhaps.” He looked between the two sisters. Though the younger one was beautiful enough to cause grown men to cry, he couldn’t help but admire Lavinia in her raspberry-colored gown with the emerald ring he’d given her winking on her finger. She is my wife. For better or for worse, and if he were honest with himself, the worse days he’d lived through without the benefit of drink were still better than the days he’d spent lost before her arrival. When he was in her company, the restlessness, the feelings of failure, didn’t seem as intense. “Thank you.”
Would she know that he meant for everything?
“You’re welcome.” The hand that held her own teacup trembled. “We aren’t faring too badly just now.”
“Indeed.” Finally, he recalled himself enough to peer at her sister. “I wasn’t aware you needed a Bath chair.” Might as well touch on the heart of the matter.
“I am not permanently attached to it if you must know.” She flicked a glance at her sister, and when Lavinia nodded, she continued. “It is only when my muscles grow too weak to hold my weight or allow me to carry things that I use it.” Her shrug was eloquence personified. “Today happens to be a bad day, as is always the case when the weather turns wet and chilly.”
Percival frowned. “What is the name of your condition?”
“The few doctors and surgeons I have seen are baffled on what to call it, for not only does it affect my muscles at times, it also plays havoc with my nerves, which leads to further weakness.” She sighed and stared into the depths of her teacup. “Various therapies have been performed upon me since I first became aware of the disease two years ago—employing the use of nightshade as well as arsenic and mercury—but all met without success.”
A wave of sadness crept over him. He didn’t know this woman at all, but there were shades of Lavinia in her expression, the way she smiled, and his wife would surely suffer the loss of her sibling once the day came. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there, uh, hope you will improve?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Your Lordship.” A soft grin curved her lips. “So I make the best of the time I’m allotted. On the good days when I’m feeling strong and relatively pain free, I throw the whole of my energies into the charity I run.”
“Oh?” There was one surprise on top of another today. From the other room, Deborah’s peals of laughter drifted to his ears, mingled with a screech and a bit of garbled talking from the parrot. “Then you and Lavinia both shared that compassion.” Knowing his countess took others beneath her wing squeezed at his heart.
