A Wager of Love: M/M Historical Romance (12 page)

“I doubt that,” Mr. Everett assured him. Percival was once again fixated upon Mr. Everett’s pale blue eyes, and continued his backward and sideways lean in his chair, trying to maintain as much decorum in his manner as he could remember how to manage. “We have found Linston Grange to be impeccably maintained—certainly your hand is in that.”

Percival could not possibly accept such credit. “Of a surety, Mr. Everett, it is Mrs. Eddlesworth, the housekeeper, who must be credited with the flawless condition of the Grange.”

“And have you often visited the Grange to ensure the quality of that condition?” Mr. Everett pressed him.

Percival licked his lips nervously, drawn to the elegant line of Mr. Everett’s mouth. He belatedly realised that this was an even more dangerous entrancement, and returned his attention to Mr. Everett’s eyes. “As is my duty, Mr. Everett, to watch over the estates, but I have always found Mrs. Eddlesworth’s management to require no correction.”

“I think you do yourself too little credit,” Mr. Everett insisted.

“Indeed, Mr. Everett—” Percival began, and then discovered in the most dramatic possible fashion that he had leaned rather
too
far, and fell out of his chair.

This caused a minor uproar in the room.

Miss Bolton rose to her feet with an alarmed cry, while Mr. Bolton knelt promptly at Percival’s side to ensure that he was unhurt and Mr. Everett likewise rose to hover over Percival with genuine concern.

“Mr. Valentine!” Miss Bolton exclaimed. “Are you quite well?”

Mr. Bolton seemed to be suffering from a sudden onset of a sort of dry cough, but he nonetheless assisted Mr. Everett in getting Percival to his feet so that they might install him on the much more secure seating of the couch.

“Quite well, I assure you.” Blushing copiously, Percival allowed their assistance. Mr. Everett’s hand lingered for a moment upon Percival’s arm before it drew away, and Percival’s arm tingled where he had touched. “I fear that I can sometimes be distractible, and thus clumsy.”

The tea was brought in at this time. Miss Bolton took charge of the serving of it and provided Percival with a cup of tea, well-sugared. He sipped at it gratefully.

Mr. Everett had drawn over his chair and Percival’s, so that their little group might chat more intimately around the couch. Miss Bolton took the seat beside Percival on the couch, watching him with stern kindliness.

“I do hope that we shall all be dear friends,” Miss Bolton expressed. “The three of us would be glad of your company, and to be sure no one knows the area better than you. I hope you will allow us to impose upon you for a tour of the estates once we have settled.”

“It would be my most sincere pleasure,” Percival said, already thinking happily of all the sights he must make certain to show them, and hoping that they would enjoy introductions to the dear people of Linston Village. He knew that he must remember that these were his tenants, and required only the pleasure of the estates, while all the responsibility remained his own. There would be no need for them to mingle with the common village folk, if they did not so desire. Percival thought this a very regrettable state of respectability, for he was certain that his own life would be poorer without the acquaintance of Mrs. Hartley, Mr. Green, or the Rackhams.

“Perhaps tomorrow, then,” Miss Bolton decided. “If the weather is good. And if it is not, perhaps you would be willing to help me with a little project of mine.”

“Oh, certainly!” Percival exclaimed. He did not know the project, but he was already very pleased with the company of elegant, responsible Miss Bolton, mirthful Mr. Bolton, and the magnetic and intense Mr. Everett.

“I would very much like to throw a party,” Miss Bolton explained, “so that we might offer our hospitality and make the acquaintance of all the families in the district.”

“How pleasant!” Percival said. “A party at Linston Grange. There hasn’t been one since I was a child.”

It was his earliest memory of Linston Grange, arriving one night while the Grange had been glittering with light and with the gowns of the ladies. He had been relegated above stairs with the only other child who had been brought to the party, a boy his own age who at once seized possession of Percy’s hand and had dragged him along through the upper corridors and along the balconies so that they could spy upon the glamor of the party below.

The boy had been named William, and Percival remembered nothing more but the way his lips curved when he laughed, and the way they felt against his own to steal a kiss.

“—and so I was hoping for your aid in the planning of the party and the guest list,” Miss Bolton was saying, as Percival emerged from his reverie.

“It would be my pleasure,” Percival assured her, smiling happily at the prospect. “The Ellises from Larimer are very charming, and we shall certainly want to invite the Earl of Aveton and his sons…”

Miss Bolton fetched paper so that she might take notes as they compiled their list, while Mr. Bolton and Mr. Everett listened politely to the proceedings and asked sociable questions about their new neighbours. By the time Percival left that afternoon, he thought that it was quite the most pleasant day he had spent in quite some time, and was delighted to have his invitation to return the next day.