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Chapter Fifteen
May 18, 1819
Percival paced the length of his study as he plucked with the silver and pearl buttons on his sapphire satin waistcoat. Tonight was Lord Saintfort’s betrothal ball and he would soon escort Lavinia there and essentially plunge himself into the pool for scorn and ridicule. Even though the Marquess of Eaton had fully endorsed both of them publicly, the remainder of the ton hadn’t done the same. But tonight was different. He was desperately in love with her, and he so wished to give her the desires of her heart.
Being accepted by society was one.
But what if that never happened? Would they go through the whole of their married life without the support of their peers? It might mean the causes that were so dear to her would fail and might also cripple his efforts within the House of Lords, but in the end, they had each other. Did they really need the rest of it? A tremor of unease went down his spine. It was one thing to renounce the world he lived in, but it was quite another to realize that his daughter—and any other children he should have—needed a clean slate to ensure their future.
I’m going to fail them all.
Oh, Lavinia had been so beautiful the other night when they’d gone to Vauxhall! How had he been so damned fortunate to have won such a creature as her? They’d chatted as if they’d been old friends, and when they’d shared bits and bites of food with each other, he’d felt as content as he had during those halcyon days of his first marriage. When they’d finally come together carnally in the dark gardens, that shared experience had confirmed what he’d already known. Though he’d married her as a drunken fool, the more he was in her company, the better man he wished to be, and the more he grew to adore her.
And yet, if this night didn’t prove positive, he would never hear those most precious words of love from her, and he was eager for them, needed to know she loved him despite his shortcomings. Why wouldn’t she just tell him she cared for him too?
Fear held him captive, and it was such an insidious feeling that it quickly overwhelmed him. He wouldn’t be able to go through with it, couldn’t see the disappointment in Lavinia’s eyes, couldn’t face the inevitable questions Deborah would surely ask years from now.
Dear God, it’s too much pressure.
He stumbled to his desk, and after collapsing into his comfortable leather chair, he delved into one of the drawers. Buried beneath ledgers and papers was a half-full bottle of brandy that had somehow escaped the purge. For a few seconds, he stared at the bottle, peered at the amber liquid within, warring within himself.
You don’t need this, Laughton. You are strong enough without it. Don’t go down this path and undo your progress.
Not since that rout had he indulged, and he’d finally reached the point where the withdrawal symptoms were barely noticeable. He needed it though, to fortify his nerves, to bring him calm, to quiet his thoughts.
Didn’t he?
So much hinged on what happened at this ball that he needed something to calm his nerves. As he uncorked the bottle, he cursed himself out beneath his breath, and as he took those first few sips of the liquor and it burned his throat, he let out a shaky sigh. He shouldn’t enjoy the forbidden drink as much as he did, and he promised himself this was a one-off experience.
Please don’t let me make a fool of myself tonight.
Before he knew it, he’d consumed the contents of the bottle regardless of the fact he hadn’t eaten enough at tea hours before to soak up the alcohol. Bloody hell. That wasn’t good, but there was nothing for it now. After dropping the bottle into the drawer, he slammed it closed, planted his elbows on the desktop and then buried his head in his hands.
I need help.
Arrogance and willpower had failed him. Love and companionship had failed him. Would he always be a slave to this vice of the feelings of worthlessness without it?
The thought that he was broken pervaded Percival’s every thought as he waited for Lavinia at the foot of the stairs. Already, they were running late, and while he hoped the tardiness would mean they could bypass the reception line, he wished even harder that no one would notice and they could slip into the ballroom, regardless if the ball was in honor of one of his best friends. That half a bottle of brandy had already rendered him reckless and giddy, but he was determined not to falter again.
So she would be proud of him… so she might love him finally.
And then his wife stood at the landing above. She paused to look down at him, perhaps so he could admire her in the deep emerald silk gown, or perhaps she merely wished to see him. Whatever the reason, Percival stared as if he’d never seen her before.
“Damnation, but you’re simply… gorgeous.”
A band of golden ribbon dotted with sparkling glass beads bordered the low bodice that showed the tops of her creamy breasts to perfection. That same ribbon wrapped about her narrow waist as well as went around the hem of the gown. Her dark brown hair, piled atop her head and held in place with golden combs and two sparkling bands called his attention to her slender, elegant neck and the tiny, baby fine curls that clung to her nape. Those wisps would prove his undoing, for he adored them all too much, and he wanted nothing more in this moment than to sweep her into his arms and taste that soft skin. Elbow length gloves completed her ensemble.
“Thank you.” As she came down the stairs, matching slippers peeked out from beneath her skirting. “Words are wonderful, of course, but it means more because I can see the admiration in your eyes.”
That had always been how she’d lived, that never putting stock into a person’s words. No doubt in her former life, words had the power to betray with empty promises and she’d vastly come to prefer actions or even reading someone’s emotions. Perhaps that was why his wife was reticent of speaking her own emotions, but he’d read them enough in her eyes that he knew she cared for him.
Did he truly need to hear her say it?
Then she was before him, and she had the power to steal his breath. Though he’d cajoled her maid into telling him the color of her gown a few days ago, he was still struck dumb by the picture she made. “Well, I mean it. Never will I tire of seeing you dressed up for society.” He took one of her gloved hands. “By your side, no one will even notice me.”
A faint blush stained her cheeks. “Such gammon you speak, Laughton.”
“It’s the truth.” Damn, but he wasn’t worthy of her, had done nothing to deserve her, and had failed her when he’d downed that brandy in his study. He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her middle knuckle. “I feel certain you’ll wake up one day and discover how much of a disappointment I truly am, that time or effort has been wasted.”
