An Unusual Courtship (11 page)

W
hen Percival woke
the next morning, Mr. Everett had gone.

This was extremely puzzling to Percival after the extremely pleasant and intimate evening they had spent together. He supposed that Mr. Everett might have a habit of a morning walk before breakfast, or that Mr. Everett had been called away on urgent business—although, if this were the case, Percival did not see why or how his servants might have managed to wake Mr. Everett without waking their master.

Certainly, he thought, there could be no reason for worrying. Mr. Everett was extremely honourable and kind, and there would of course be a sensible reason for his sudden disappearance.

Rising and donning his smallclothes and shirt, Percival rang for his servant to help him into coat and boots. His valet knew nothing of the matter, but Percival’s butler was able to inform him that Mr. Everett had left the manor house briefly after sunrise.

“Did he seem to be, I don’t know, upset or alarmed at some urgent matter?”

“No, sir. Not that I noticed. No urgent matter was brought to the house, to be sure.”

The rainstorm, at least, had passed. And taken Mr. Everett with it, evidently, rather like a spectre or a dream who faded at morning sunlight.

Percival set out without breakfast for Linston Grange. Mr. Everett would, without doubt, have an explanation for his disappearance, and he would, also without doubt, want to make that explanation to Percival as soon as possible so as to assuage any possible alarm.

The mystery only deepened as Percival arrived at the Grange. He presented himself to Mr. Elkins, the butler, and asked to see Mr. Everett.

“I am sorry, Mr. Valentine,” the butler informed him, “but Mr. Everett left first thing this morning.”

“Left!” Percival exclaimed. “Why, where has he gone?”

“I am not certain, sir. I believe Miss Bolton may know more.”

“Then, please, may I see her at once?”

“Of course, Mr. Valentine,” said Mr. Elkins, and showed him in at once to Miss Bolton in the drawing room.

Smiling at the sight of Percival, Miss Bolton got to her feet. “Mr. Valentine! I am glad to see you, and this better weather we are having today. Have you breakfasted?”

“I—I have not,” Percival said, reminded that his usual routine had been thrown into disarray by Mr. Everett’s disappearance. “Miss Bolton,
where
is Mr. Everett?”

“Mr. Everett? Why, he left this morning! Barely stopped for breakfast! Said he had some urgent business in London.”

“Urgent business in London!” Percival repeated, aghast. “And he left no word?”

“None more than that! My dear Mr. Valentine, what has happened? Why are you so alarmed?”

“I…” Percival opened his mouth to reply, and then all at once realised that he had no polite explanation for his confusion and concern.

Colouring deeply, he dropped his eyes and cleared his throat, striving to invent a suitable excuse.

“Here, Mr. Valentine,” Miss Bolton said. “Will you sit? I will ring for breakfast—will you have chocolate or coffee? Or brandy! It seems as though you have taken some shock.”

“I suppose I have!” Percival exclaimed, and sat in stunned silence.

Miss Bolton rang for breakfast to be brought up, ordering chocolate and coffee both to be brought with the food. Then she poured Percival a glass of brandy from a side table and put it into his hands. “Now, then. Tell me what has happened.”

“Miss Bolton,” Percival said, struggling to begin. He supposed that the bare truth would serve well enough. “Mr. Everett came to the manor last night. He was soaked through, but he… he had promised that he would see me, and was determined that he should make good on it, storm or no storm! I insisted that he should stay the night and be got out of his wet clothes.” Blushing deeply at the memory of what had happened next, Percival drank the brandy at a gulp. “He vanished in the morning without a word to me or my staff.”

“How very unusual!” she exclaimed. “That is not like him at all. Why, he said not a word to me other than his urgent business in London, but I do not see how urgent it could have been if he said nothing to you of it last night. And surely if he had received a message since then, your butler or mine should know of it!”

Upset and perplexed, Percival blinked into his empty glass. Mr. Everett, gone! Without any excuse or explanation, and no apology whatever to Percival for so rudely taking his leave.

“How—how rude and ungallant of him!” Percival exclaimed.

“I am rather inclined to agree with you!” Miss Bolton said, visibly shocked by this turn of events. “I assure you, Mr. Valentine, I have never known him to behave in such a manner before. Surely there must be some explanation in this of which we are ignorant. Something of significance weighty enough to make him behave so! I cannot make any sense of it.”

Percival felt himself at risk of becoming emotional, and strove urgently to suppress such foolish outpourings.

Miss Bolton refilled his glass. Percival drank it.

“I dread that I can!” Percival exclaimed, possibly unwisely.

Miss Bolton’s eyes widened. She leaned in closer and clasped Percival’s hand to reassure him. “Pray tell me, Mr. Valentine. You may be sure that I will keep any confidences you make of me.”

“Miss Bolton,” Percival said carefully. “Miss Bolton, would it shock you to learn that… that Mr. Everett had kissed me?”

Miss Bolton tensed very briefly, and then gave Percival’s hand a sympathetic squeeze. “No. It wouldn’t.”

That did surprise Percival, who had thought that Miss Bolton might have suspected some warm friendship between them, but not … not
that
.

“Oh.” Percival blinked, and then inhaled sharply. “Oh! I don’t suppose—he has done this before!”

“No, no! Not—no. Or if he has, and I would be
very
surprised of it, he has been careful to keep it from the knowledge of his friends.” Miss Bolton patted Percival’s hand. “Mr. Valentine, I do know that his feelings toward you are
very
warm. I believe him to be fully enamoured of you. He spoke of it quite frankly with us.”

“Did he!” Percival exclaimed, surprised that anyone should speak frankly of such a thing. Immediately after the initial surprise, he was seized by a powerful curiosity. “Why, what did he say?”

“He did multiple times make remarks exclaiming how very highly he esteemed you and that he wanted very much to make something of it, but he feared that you might not be receptive to such advances, even though we all thought for certain that you
would
be after we met you that first time and you fell out of your chair for staring at him.”

“What!” Percival cried, not well-pleased to learn that his particular distraction had been so obvious.

“Oh, forgive me. I only mean—you see, Mr. Everett has spoken to us frankly before about his … inclinations, and that has set us on the watch for any time that such inclinations might be reciprocated.”

“What inclinations?” Percival asked, very surprised by all of this, especially from the well-bred Miss Bolton.

“From what Mr. Everett has told us, well, he said that he finds himself drawn to both men and women in the same sort of manner. It is not common that either should catch his eye, but I do believe it has been slightly more often that we’ve spotted some interest in him toward a young buck. But all of the gentlemen who have caught his eye in the past—well, they’ve been perfectly forward about their interest in women, and not at all inclined to fall out of their chairs for staring at him.”

Percival thought it rather unkind of her to dwell upon the incident like that. “But this does not tell us where he has gone!”

“No,” Miss Bolton agreed. “It does not.”

Mr. Bolton stumbled through the door at that point, half yawning and half scowling. “Hermione, what in the world, I was directed up
here
for breakfast. Oh, hello, Mr. Valentine.”

“Horatio, something has happened!” Miss Bolton announced.

That woke Mr. Bolton in a hurry. Blinking in confused interest, he stole a chair from the card-table and came over to join the conversation, which was further delayed by the arrival of breakfast.

None of them intended to continue the discussion in front of the servants, so they re-arranged themselves around the table. Percival found himself very hungry, and helped himself gladly.

“Now,” said Mr. Bolton, as soon as the three of them were alone. “What has happened?”

“Mr. Everett,” Miss Bolton explained, “has gone. He was with Mr. Valentine last night, and then departed in the morning without a word! He said to
me
, since I was awake when he swept through, that he was off to London on urgent business. I didn’t give it a thought until Mr. Valentine turned up in alarm to search for him.”

“What!” Mr. Bolton burst out. “Why, that’s not at all like Mr. Everett.”

“Certainly not!” his sister agreed. “And furthermore—”

“Here, now,” Mr. Bolton said, “when you say that he was
with
Mr. Valentine last night…”

Both of the siblings turned to gaze at Percival, who reddened.

“Well.” Mr. Bolton grinned. “I’d say we ought to congratulate our Achilles and Patroclus, if it weren’t for Achilles’ sudden departure.”

“Shh, Horatio, don’t tease him. Poor Mr. Valentine is upset, and with good reason. Mr. Everett has behaved shockingly.”

“He has indeed!” Mr. Bolton declaimed. “But I’ll wager there’s a reason for it. Fred wouldn’t behave so harshly without impetus. You oughtn’t worry, Mr. Valentine. Our Mr. Everett is entirely devoted to you.”

“Devoted!” Percival repeated, blushing in startled surprise that they thought so.

“Yes, indeed!” Miss Bolton said. “More than I’ve seen him over anyone else in all our acquaintance with him. He was quite sick with longing for you when you were away, and when we feared that you had cut the three of us, well…”

She suddenly went silent and looked uncomfortable.

“Pray tell me, Miss Bolton,” Percival pleaded.

The siblings exchanged a reluctant look.

“I suspected that you’d heard about Miss Martin,” Miss Bolton explained, “which turned out to be true. Mr. Everett lived for several days in dread that you had heard some rumour of his predilections—such rumours were rare, and the betrothal stopped most of them, but… well, he feared you were disgusted with him for being in love with you.”

“In love with me!” Percival repeated in shock.

Miss Bolton filled Percival’s cup again with chocolate.

He picked it up and sipped at it until some of his senses returned.

Mr. Everett in love with him! His head spun with hope and with hurt confusion. “If he is in love with me, then why has he left?”

“I don’t know,” Miss Bolton said. Her brother likewise shook his head. “I’m sure we’ll make sense of it. Mr. Everett is very deeply fond of you, of that I am sure. It was no doubt urgent business that called him away. Nothing more.”

T
he summer filled
out into long, hot days, and the fields of Linston flourished. The Boltons kept Percival company on a daily basis, playing at cards and backgammon when the weather was poor, and riding out hunting or picnicking when the weather was fine. Mr. Humphrey often joined them on their excursions, and his thoughtful moderation was a pleasant addition to the liveliness of the group.

When he wasn’t immediately distracted by their company or the business of the estates, Percival spent his time gazing off in the direction of London and waiting for the return of Mr. Everett’s carriage.

The trip to London would be a week in either direction, and likely at least a week in London. It was miserable weather for visiting London, and the city would be half empty. Anyone who could afford to leave London in the heat of the summer would do so, and Mr. Everett was headed in the wrong direction.

Percival replayed the memories again and again of their kisses and their shared night. Remembering was both sweet and nerve-wracking, as he continued to dread that Mr. Everett had left on account of himself.

Surely any honourable business would have allowed for a word to Percival’s butler, or to the butler at the Grange—or to Miss Bolton, who he had passed in his swift departure! Any of them might have borne a reassurance to Percival. The silence Mr. Everett had left instead felt cruel and hollow.

“Mr. Valentine!” Miss Bolton called, and Percival looked up to find that his friends had begun a game of badminton and were summoning him to join.

“Mr. Valentine!” she cried again, and waved to him.

Percival smiled, and went down to play.

His limbs felt weary, and his smiles were forced, but he did his best to conceal the aching misery that Mr. Everett had left behind.

The Bolton siblings said nothing more to him about it. Everything that could be expressed had already been said, and they simply did their best to keep him occupied and distracted. Percival was grateful for their patience and friendship. They never commented on his empty smiles and his long silences, nor did they ever draw attention to the way that he played distractedly at cards and backgammon and lost constantly.

Trying to keep himself busy, he went to visit Mrs. Hartley to check on her roof, even though the repairs had been effected weeks ago and he had heard nothing more about it in the interim.

The day was windy, tugging at his hat so that he was forced to walk with one hand on the brim of it. He walked with his eyes down the length of the road until it disappeared around a curve. If Mr. Everett came from London, he might go straight to the Grange without Percival ever catching a sight of him along the road, but that didn’t matter. If Mr. Everett came to the Manor, he would come along the Linston Village road. One day, he would return. One day, he
must
return.

Percival could see the construction carrying on in two—sometimes it was three—places at once around the village. New homes were finished and old ones were renovated every week. Percival watched their progress with pride and pleasure, and wished that Mr. Everett were here to see it. Mr. Everett had always shown such attentive interest whenever Percival spoke of the business of the village and estates.