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“I should say not. You took Miss Thompson to the opera then returned here with her and Lords Randolph and Saintfort with the intent to play cards. Whereupon your mistress retired abovestairs while you and your mates imbibed heavily, leading to—”
“Yes, yes, I’m aware.” He threw his toothbrush into the basin. Finally, he stepped out from behind the privacy screen. “In any event, I shall confront my… wife after I talk with my daughter.”
Forrester stood waiting with appropriate garments in hand. He raked his assessing gaze up and down Percival’s person. “You look like hell, begging your pardon.”
“Feel like it too. My head’s pounding.” He grinned, but the valet didn’t share the mirth. “Are things that bad, then?”
“They aren’t good.” He handed over short pants and then a fine linen shirt. “The servant’s hall is abuzz, which means the news will be all over London by dinner.”
“Shit.” He donned the shirt and then tan-colored breeches. After, he accepted Forrester’s help in sliding into a jacket of sapphire superfine. A crisp cravat quickly followed, knotted in one of the valet’s favorite styles. Cuffs and collar were fitted in a twinkling. Percival rubbed a hand along his jaw. There was no point in taking the time to shave or attend to his hair, for he would require a full bath soon, so he finger-combed the dark brown tresses into some semblance of order as best he could. “Has there been word from the duke?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but no doubt it will come soon.” Forrester gently pushed him into a nearby chair and then set to work slipping on socks and then holding up boots for Percival. “I would imagine there is much to ponder for him after what happened.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Bloody, bloody hell. He raked a hand through the hair he’d just attempted to tame. “I feel a storm brewing, Forrester.” And it was of his own making.
“That may be an understatement, Your Lordship.”
“Yes, perhaps.” With nothing left to say, Percival left his suite. The faint scent of vomit still clung to his nostrils. Minutes later, he entered the nursery rooms on the upper level.
“Papa!” The excitement-filled cry did nothing for the pounding in his head, but his daughter Deborah sped across the room and flung herself into his arms. “You came! I missed you.” From the way she hugged his neck, it was apparent the child assumed he’d been gone for ages instead of missing breakfast.
“Hello poppet.” Dear God, he’d need to introduce his precious daughter to his mistress, the woman he’d apparently married while deep in his cups. I’ll be the laughingstock of the ton. Never will I live it down. “There is no need to shout, my girl.”
The little girl pouted, and she looked all the more charming and very much like his dead wife. She had her mother’s features and blue eyes, but her curly mop of black hair was all his. As was her arrogant temperament at times. Which wasn’t good for a six-year-old. “You missed breakfast.”
“So I did.” Distracted by the imminent demise of his reputation, he added, “I felt sick.” How could he allow his name to be dragged through the mud? A barely audible sound from across the room alerted him to the presence of Deborah’s governess, Miss Hamilton.
“Why?”
Because I’m a nodcock. “It’s not important.” Percival set his daughter on her feet then he kneeled in front of her. “I must tell you something fairly important that affects us both.”
Again, a tiny snort from the governess prickled his ears. He ignored her. No doubt she’d already heard of the debacle. When he glanced her way, she avoided his gaze. Oh, yes, she’d been apprised of the wedding.
“What is it?” Deborah’s eyes rounded, and he could only wonder what was going through her head.
With a sigh, he focused on his daughter. “I was married last night.”
“To Lady Eleanor.” She nodded, for he’d been nothing but honest about it with her. The one thing she never knew about was of his mistress.
“Not exactly.” He frowned, for he’d failed her as well as himself.
She patted his cheek. “Why are you not happy, Papa?”
“It wasn’t planned. A bit of an accident, really.” That was the truth. He now had an accidental countess, and he hadn’t a bloody clue what to do about it.
Confusion lined Deborah’s expression. “Will she be my new mama?”
The blood fairly froze in his veins. His heart ached for their situation, and pounded in time to his head. “I suppose so.” Had he also failed his late wife by this drunken decision that put a mistress into his household in such a high capacity? Damnation, but was Nia worthy of mingling with the ton? Her credentials aside, she made a living on her back with different protectors and now…
Now she was his wife.
Oh, God. His stomach heaved. A few hard swallows kept the bile from spewing from his throat.
“Papa.” Deborah patted his cheek again. “Miss Hamilton taught me that if I’m cross at someone I need to be brave and talk about why I’m angry.”
“I’m not angry.” Yet he could hardly force out the words from his tight throat.
She snorted. “You have a throbbing thing here.” The little girl tapped a fingertip to a vein on his forehead. “It means you’re angry, but Miss Hamilton says talking will help when I’m grown.”
