An Unusual Courtship (3 page)

P
ercival woke to a bright
, sunny morning with clear skies.

Smiling with high spirits, he finished his correspondence over breakfast and then made his way over to the Grange to reunite with his new friends. The butler showed him in, and Percival encountered Mr. Everett in the foyer.

“Mr. Valentine,” Mr. Everett said. He was putting on his gloves as he descended the stairs. Greeting Percival with his usual warm smile, Mr. Everett came to stand by him. He stood very close, and although Percival was nearly the tallest man in the village, Mr. Everett was larger in both height and the breadth of his shoulders. “How glad I am to see you. I do hope that you’re here for the promised tour?”

“I am,” Percival confirmed. He smiled at Mr. Everett in return, heart fluttering at Mr. Everett’s near proximity. “I hope you’ll forgive me arriving unannounced. I do not believe that we decided on a particular time.”

“My dear Mr. Valentine.” Mr. Everett paused, securing his second glove with a little tug. The gloves were very well fitted to his large hands, and very white. They were much whiter than Percival’s gloves, which had seen several years of wear and were only ever brought out at all for occasions when he expected to encounter people of Quality. Percival put his hands behind himself to hide them. He strove not to let his mind wander onto topics such as the strength of Mr. Everett’s hands, the softness of his gloves, and the way that hand and glove might feel while clasped around Percival’s hand.

Gloves secured, Mr. Everett returned his full attention to Percival. His smile was as dazzling and charming as ever. “I hope I may speak for the Boltons as well when I say that your presence is always welcome, even unannounced.”

“May I ask how you did come to know the Boltons?”

“You may. Our fathers were friends, as I believe we have mentioned—or at least we mentioned our inherited acquaintance with Lord Barham. Horatio and Hermione are like siblings to me.”

Percival ascertained that these were the Boltons’ Christian names.

Miss Bolton at this point leaned over the upper railing of the stairwell and smiled down upon them. “Mr. Valentine! I had thought I heard your voice.”

“Good morning, Miss Bolton!” Percival called.

She descended to join them. “I am glad it is you conversing with Mr. Everett and not my brother. If Horatio had outpaced me in the morning I don’t believe I should ever recover from the shock. He will join us shortly, I am certain.” Her small, pink lips quirked with amusement. “Or lately. My dear brother is ever such a dandy.”

Percival did not comment, since the three of them all seemed devilishly modish to his country eye, and he did not perceive any particular distinction between the dandyism of Mr. Bolton or that of Mr. Everett. He smiled nonetheless, in order to be in on the conspiracy of the jest.

“Will you join us for breakfast, Mr. Valentine?” Miss Bolton asked.

“I have breakfasted already, but I will join you gladly,” Percival said.

Miss Bolton took Percival’s arm, and the three of them went in to breakfast.

“I hope,” said Miss Bolton, over an amply-provisioned table of meats and breads, “since you are here so early, that we shall have our tour today?”

“That is my sincere intent,” Percival said. “I thought that we ought to start with the village proper. You may care to make the acquaintance of the locals, who are all very kindly, and we must visit the village church. There’s the chapel in the Grange, of course, but the church in the village—have you seen it?—is of the most decadent gothic construction, very ambitious for as small as it is. I would make so bold as to say that it is the grandest small church in Warwickshire, but I do confess that I am biased, for I most firmly believe that Linston is the most charming village in all of England.”

“From what I have seen,” said Miss Bolton, “it is indeed very charming, and you shall have every opportunity to provide evidence over the course of our tour. I am sure that by the end of the week you shall have us entirely swayed to your way of thinking.”

Percival beamed with pleasure, delighted at the prospect of sharing his beloved Linston with new admirers. “Oh, and if any of you are students of history—I don’t suppose any of you are students of history?”

Mr. Everett smiled over his cup of tea and nodded. “I do fancy myself so.”

“Linston has some old Saxon fortifications which may interest you,” Percival said. “And there are even the remains of a Roman fortress out in Mr. Carlton’s skirret-field, although there’s little left of the fortress but a pile of stones.”

“I would very much like to see those,” Mr. Everett said. His smile widened with pleasure. Percival returned the smile, basking in Mr. Everett’s attention until he remembered that he had been in the midst of planning the subjects of their tour.

“If I may keep you from your cook for the luncheon hour, perhaps we might take our repast at Mrs. Pearce’s inn. Mrs. Pearce does a mutton in Jamaica peppers which I am certain will delight all your senses.”

“Indeed we must!” Miss Bolton agreed. “I shall have our butler, Mr. Elkins, send ahead to inform her of our intent.”

Mr. Bolton came in at that point, yawning sleepily. He grinned to see Percival, and made an attempt to quickly hide his yawns. “Mr. Valentine! How glad we are to have you back. I see that Mr. Everett’s scowls haven’t frightened you off yet.”

Percival looked between Mr. Bolton and Mr. Everett in puzzlement. “
Does
he scowl?”

“Oh, most terribly,” Mr. Bolton averred, taking his seat and reaching for the pot of tea. “Do, Mr. Everett, give us one of your scowls.”

The look which Mr. Everett bestowed upon Mr. Bolton was not so much a scowl as it was a long-suffering, befuddled smile.

“Ah, there!” Mr. Bolton said, and played at swooning. “Gad, if looks could kill!”

Miss Bolton gave her brother a reprimanding little frown. “I hope you will forgive my brother his whimsy, Mr. Valentine.” She sighed over-dramatically. “I fear our parents were not stern enough with him.”

“That is almost certainly the case,” Mr. Bolton said, swallowing back his tea nearly at a gulp and immediately refilling the cup.

“Mr. Valentine shall take us on our tour as soon as you have breakfasted, Horatio,” Miss Bolton said. “He was just telling us of Mrs. Pearce, the innkeeper, and her skill at preparing mutton, so we have resolved to descend upon her for lunch.”

“I am so grateful,” Mr. Bolton said to his sister with his usual sense of whimsy, “that you have the sense to plan for lunch before I have even breakfasted.”

An amused smile twitched at Miss Bolton’s lips. “My dear Horatio, if I waited to plan things until after you had breakfasted, I should never get anything done.”

Percival also smiled, partly from amusement and moreso from pleasure that he had been so accepted into their company that the three of them felt comfortable making familiar jests between themselves in his presence.

“Here now, have you three breakfasted already?” Mr. Bolton said, beginning to butter a piece of toast.

Mr. Everett gave a short, breathy laugh that was no less charming for its brevity, and joined wholeheartedly in Miss Bolton’s teasing of her brother. “My dear friend, the whole world has breakfasted already.”

“That is dreadfully pre-emptive of them,” Mr. Bolton said, seizing upon a second piece of toast and piling bacon between the two. “See here, let’s be on our way. I would not want my breakfast to stand in the way of our lunch.”

“Mr. Valentine,” said Miss Bolton, smiling light-heartedly, “are you prepared to overlook my brother’s lack of social graces if he brings his breakfast with us?”

Percival pressed his hand over his heart and endeavoured to look grave. “I am prepared.”

“Then we may begin our tour,” she decided, rising to her feet.

The group returned to the foyer, donning hats and gloves.

“Mr. Valentine, advise us,” Miss Bolton prevailed upon him. “Shall we take the carriage?”

“If it please you,” he replied. “It is my habit to walk, and it is not so very far.”

“Then we shall walk.” Miss Bolton nodded her head decisively.

Mr. Bolton wrapped his breakfast in a handkerchief, and munched at it contentedly. As they set out, he offered his free arm to his sister in a cursory fashion. She took it, and made a show of pretending not to notice her brother’s poor manners.

In playful mimicry, Mr. Everett offered his arm to Percival. It seemed to Percival that this was rather forward for a three-day acquaintance, especially in the manner that Mr. Everett offered it courteously, as to a lady, rather than the jocular linking of arms which would be characteristic of a lively friendship between gentlemen. He blushed again. Accepting the offer would do little to help his distraction in Mr. Everett’s presence, but he did much want to be accepted by the trio, and he was also much tempted by the prospect of being in physical contact with Mr. Everett.

Warring within himself for a moment, Percival decided in favour and seized upon Mr. Everett’s arm, although he did endeavour that they should link arms in a manner which could surely only be interpreted as friendly. It helped that they were nearly of a height.

No sooner than this was done did Percival’s heart start beating quicker. Mr. Everett’s arm was warm through his coat, and very steady. It seemed firm with muscle, which indicated that Mr. Everett must keep himself active in some manner.

As Percival had said, it was not far to Linston Village. Mr. Bolton had finished his breakfast by the time they reached the edge of the Grange’s ample lawns and gardens, and almost as soon as they had reached the edge of the village they were ambushed by friendly, talkative villagers eager to make the acquaintance of the new tenants.

Linston Village stood upon none of the Society etiquette regarding introductions, and Percival was pleased to see that his new friends took no offence at the energetic familiarity of the villagers. It took them nearly three hours to make their way from the edge of the village to the inn, owing to how they were invited into five houses and conversed with no less than twenty-three villagers. Miss Bolton bought a bit of lace from Mrs. Green and a sachet of dried lavender from Mrs. Hartley, was promised a jar of honey by Mr. Ottis, and made an appointment for the discussion of the proper composition of rose and apple jelly with Mrs. Fowler.

They arrived at the inn in time for luncheon. Mrs. Pearce received them gladly, clucking over them as she and her daughter served their lunch. Everything was as delicious as Percival had promised, and the three Londoners discoursed with the hostess as cheerfully as if she were a lady of Quality seated alongside them. Mr. Everett wanted to know about the local farms and produce, while Miss Bolton had an interest in Mrs. Pearce’s spices and suppliers.

While Miss Bolton was occupying their hostess’ attention, Mr. Everett turned to Percival. He spoke in a moderately low tone, so as to not interrupt or draw attention from the other conversation. “If it isn’t terribly impolite for me to suggest, it seems to me that many of the houses in the village are very aged. Have you considered asking Lord Barham for capital upon which to renovate and expand the village?”

“Indeed, I have increasingly been considering that,” said Percival. “It has been in my mind since I took over management of the accounts. But it would be such a very large project, if we were to really consider the village’s needs, so I suppose that I have been putting off submitting the request. Linston Village has not changed in a very long time, and it would require quite a large portion of capital.”

“I urge you to do so,” Mr. Everett said. His warm and encouraging smile seemed to suggest that he had full confidence in Percival’s ability to oversee such a thing. “I would… I would very certainly expect that Lord Barham should agree to it.”

“Do you think so? I have been loath to bother him. He is so very often away overseas. I have often felt foolish bothering him with the petty matters of Linston Village when a man of such importance no doubt has far more important business and investments to manage in London and overseas.”

“Of a certainty, Linston is Lord Barham’s seat, and the source of his title. He would want it to do him credit. Besides, as you have said, Linston is the most charming village in all of England, and so we certainly could not allow it to fall behind in any category.”

“Oh, that is true!” Percival’s eyes widened, already reevaluating what improvements might be required in the village if he considered the matter from the standpoint of what would do most credit to the eminent Lord Barham. “You have me entirely convinced on the matter. I shall write to him at once.”

“As shall I,” Mr. Everett said, “to assure him of your excellent stewardship of his estates and to ensure his consent.”

Percival blushed happily, flattered by Mr. Everett’s confidence in him.

“Why are we writing to Lord Barham?” Mr. Bolton asked, having heard only the end of their conversation.

“Mr. Valentine and I have been discussing how best to apply funds toward improvement of Linston Village,” Mr. Everett explained.

“How very droll,” said Mr. Bolton, who had little interest in the business of managing an estate. He smiled nonetheless, and angled his fork toward a piece of mutton remaining on Mr. Everett’s plate. “Do you intend to finish that?”

“I do,” said Mr. Everett, and prepared to defend his plate. “Gad, Horatio, has your appetite no bounds?”

“Oh, some bounds,” said Mr. Bolton, “mostly to do with liverwurst.”

When the meal was finished and they set out again, Percival took the opportunity to offer his arm to Miss Bolton. He was determined that he should take the opportunity to court her.

Neither Mr. Everett nor Mr. Bolton seemed to take any offence in this, and linked arms charmingly as the four of them strolled towards the church. It was, as Percival had told them, a very grand small church, of opulent Gothic construction. The church spire stretched loftily toward the heavens, and the church was decked all about with arched windows in the Gothic style, each filled with coloured glass panes.

Mr. Everett was drawn at once to the history of the ancient graveyard, while Mr. Bolton wanted to know whether there were bats in the belfry, and Miss Bolton was fascinated by the design of the windows. Percival escorted her inside for a more thorough inspection, and the other two followed in due time.