An Unusual Courtship (5 page)

“Do you have any objection, Mr. Valentine?” Mr. Everett asked. “I have already imposed significantly on your good nature today.”

This would result in Percival being alone again with Mr. Everett, a circumstance which he had only just escaped. He wondered that Mr. Everett did not take the easy excuse of going with Miss Bolton and ending the tour for the day, which would allow him to escape from Percival’s clumsy provincial manners.

Hoping that his blush was not entirely evident, Percival cleared his throat again and nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”

“How good you are, Mr. Valentine,” Miss Bolton repeated, beaming approvingly upon him. “I wish the two of you the most pleasant afternoon.”

“And may I express my hopes for your good health!” Percival replied.

“Simply a matter of too much sun,” Miss Bolton insisted. Mr. Humphrey offered to go with the siblings back to the Grange, and Miss Bolton accepted. Percival wondered whether he should have insisted more strongly that he might escort Miss Bolton home again, but the matter was already decided, and the Boltons set off.

Mr. Everett offered his arm. “Mr. Valentine.”

Flustered by this circumstance, Percival looked up into his handsome face with the pale blue eyes, and quickly looked away again. He accepted the arm, clearing his throat again nervously.

They made better speed through the village when it was only the two of them. Percival made conversation on general topics about the maintenance of the village and its residents. Several more villagers slowed them to make their acquaintance, but it was less mobbish than it had been with the full trio of visitors. It helped, Percival was sure, that the Boltons were
the tenants
, while Mr. Everett was simply their guest and acquaintance, who might be at Linston for a mere matter of days or weeks, whereas the tenants would be staying for at least the length of the summer’s heat, and perhaps indefinitely.

When they paused to speak to Mr. Rackham about Mrs. Hartley’s roof, which had been divested of its leafy intruder but still required repairs, Percival disengaged from Mr. Everett’s arm and did not reclaim it. Walking arm in arm with Mr. Everett was all well when they were in the group, but on their own it seemed to imply a more intimate acquaintance than just the three-day friendship, particularly when Mr. Everett was merely his tenants’ guest.

At last they cleared the edge of the village and were alone on the road toward the Manor. It was not far, and soon they turned off the road onto the Manor lane.

“How did it come about,” Mr. Everett asked, “that Linston has both a manor
and
the stately Grange? It seems to me that is extremely unusual.”

“I suppose it is,” Percival agreed. “The Manor is older, and was once the seat of the Linston estate. It was my thrice-great grandfather, the tenth Baron Lindsay, who expanded the estates and built the Grange in order to have a more elegant, modern residence. This is why it is called the Grange, since it was built upon the old abbey grange—you recall that I mentioned the ruins of a monastery? The monastery had the possession of most of the lands to the east and north of Linston Village, and so the new residence was built upon the old grange lands. They were both the same estate for several generations, but, as I’ve mentioned, my great-grandfather gave the Manor to his daughter, my grandmother, which she held in her own right, so that when the title of Baron Lindsay went extinct and the estate reverted to the property of the crown, my grandmother kept ownership of the Manor.”

“This may perhaps be very forward of me, but if I may ask—does it injure your pride to be obliged to manage the estates in another man’s name, when you are yourself of such an ancient and noble bloodline?”

“Oh, not at all!” Percival exclaimed. “I do confess, there are times when I permit myself some phantasy upon what it would be like to be Baron Lindsay of Linston Grange, but, to be sure, I feel no resentment on the topic. It should be noted that I am in no way Lord Barham’s vassal. The Manor is
not
a part of the Marquisate of Linston, and—unlike the majority of the lands and village—I am not my Lord Barham’s tenant. My management of the estates is not a duty of either birth or position, but rather a
courtesy
rendered in the recognition of a friendship between our houses. The first Marquess of Barham, in my grandmother’s time, allowed my grandmother—Alexandra Valentine, née Lindsay—and her husband the management of the estates out of respect for the house of Lindsay. I manage my own family’s estate, which is the Manor and some smaller portions of the village and surrounding land, and I receive some percentage of the proceeds from managing the Grange and the lands under the Marquisate, which is an allowance of a non-binding agreement which I or my heirs may dissolve at any time. Or, I suppose, might Lord Barham, but it would be
very
discourteous of him to do so. And since it does not please Lord Barham to make use of the Grange, or has not for these past twenty years, we are all best suited with this arrangement.”

“I understand much better now.” Mr. Everett smiled in his direction, as they passed through the open gates toward the manor.

It was a much smaller estate than the Grange, but very pleasant. Sheep grazed upon the lawn, keeping it trimmed quite close so that it spread out across the meadow like an emerald carpet. The Manor itself stood atop a little hill backed by thick forest. Built of the pale, yellow stone that was local to the region, the Manor crumbled modestly at the edges like a beautiful old dowager trying to hide her age.

Percival loved it all the more for its age and wear. His Manor was eccentrically lovely, although his affection for it was certainly helped along by the fact that he was never personally required to repair the roof.

“How charming it is,” said Mr. Everett. “Is it of Gothic construction?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Percival. “It was built by the fourth Baron Lindsay. There was a manor house on the site before it, which dated to the eleventh century, but I know nothing more about it and there were no drawings made of the former house. I am quite fond of my Gothic old pile.” He hesitated at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Manor. “Do you wish to see the gardens now, or shall we go in and take refreshment?”

“I would very much like to see the gardens, unless you require refreshment.” Mr. Everett’s smile warmed his eyes, making the blue of them seem warm and summery.

“We shall see the gardens, and then take refreshment,” proposed Percival. He led the way around the side of the house to where the Italian-style garden was laid out in an attractive maze of symmetrical pathways around a central, rectangular pool.

As they walked along the side of the lily-filled pool, Mr. Everett inquired about the various botanical elements of the garden.

“I’m afraid I am not at all certain of the varietal of that rose,” Percival admitted. “If you please, I can fetch my gardener. Mr. Jeremy is very knowledgeable, and I am inclined to give him free reign in the gardens. I feel that I am not at all a green thumb, and were I ever myself required to make decisions regarding the garden, I fear we should end up with a group of sticks in a pot.”

Mr. Everett laughed. “I suspect that you do not give yourself enough credit. The gardens are lovely, as is everything around Linston. You are most remarkably competent.”

“Why, Mr. Everett,” Percival said, “I do believe you are an unrepentant flatterer.”

“Entirely unrepentant,” Mr. Everett agreed.

Percival turned toward him, intending to indicate that they should take the right-hand turn down the upcoming path, at the same time that Mr. Everett turned leftward, perhaps to make another inquiry, and the two of them collided.

Breath hitching in surprise, a flush of warmth went through Percival’s body. Mr. Everett reached out and clasped Percival’s shoulder, perhaps to steady him, and then quickly let go.

“Forgive me, I…” Mr. Everett began.

“Perhaps we shall—” Percival cleared his throat once again, and awkwardly indicated the right hand path.

“Yes, to be sure.” Mr. Everett indicated that he should lead the way, and after a brief shuffle as they both strove to politely not touch or collide, they resumed their stroll through the garden.

Percival felt pressed by the need to say something, anything, which might properly address the situation and set them on the right course. He felt that he ought to some way address their conversation by the ruins, or his probably-evident distraction in Mr. Everett’s presence, or inquire as to Mr. Everett’s opinions on the matter of two gentlemen kissing: particularly as regards to the two of them.

The gardens were lovely in the late afternoon as the trees cast long shadows across the gravel paths. Percival heard a bird singing, distant and alone, from the direction of the forest.

“The Boltons are very charming,” said Percival. “I am very pleased to have made their acquaintance. And yours,” he added quickly, lest Mr. Everett should think that he was not included. “Mr. Bolton is still very amusing, and Miss Bolton is… is, well, she’s quite lovely, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Mr. Everett affirmed. He seemed as nearly as unsure of himself as Percival, and made a gesture in Percival’s direction which was quickly aborted as he changed his mind. “They are.”

“Are you,” Percival attempted to ask, clearing his throat nervously mid-question, “that is, is she… I mean to say, as you have the acquaintance of such a very charming and elegant young lady, that you might be…”

“Oh!” Mr. Everett said, surprised. “No. No, indeed. Miss Bolton and I are dear friends, but certainly nothing more.”

“Oh, oh, I see.” Percival felt a rush of relief. He folded his hands in front of himself, fidgeted with his gloves, folded his arms across his chest, and at last returned his hands to his sides.

“Did you intend to…?” Mr. Everett gestured vaguely. His earlier grace and charm seemed to have deserted him and rendered him nearly as awkward as Percival. “Ah, hm, to court the lady?”

“I thought that perhaps I might,” Percival admitted. “She is, after all, very lovely, although I do not know her circumstances, and I fear that she may be above the reach of a mere provincial gentleman such as myself.”

“To be sure,” Mr. Everett said, “you are a gentleman of very good bloodline, and certainly a competent manager of these estates. If the lady pleases you, you should approach her.” He spoke more stiffly than was his usual habit, holding his spine very straight and looking away across the gardens.

Percival felt as though he had done something wrong, and supposed that it might be something in the Boltons circumstances or background of which he was ignorant. He felt very foolish, and wanted very much to have Mr. Everett cheerful and at his ease once again.

“Then I suppose that I shall,” Percival said. He felt dizzy, and there was an ache in his belly.

“I encourage you to do just that,” said Mr. Everett. His voice was very proper and polite, but had none of the intensity or charm that Percival found so distracting.

They completed their loop around the garden, and stood in silent uncertainty by the side of the house.

“Will you come in and take tea, Mr. Everett?” Percival suggested.

“I fear instead that I ought to return to Linston Grange,” said Mr. Everett. “I am certain that they will be expecting me for dinner.”

The excuse was nearly transparent, but Percival did not question it. “Yes. Of course.” He gazed down at the gravel path as his heart pounded against his ribs.

“I hope we shall see more of you soon, Mr. Valentine.”

Mr. Everett made him a bow, and departed.

O
ver the next week
, the group went nowhere unless they were all four together. Every time a suggestion was made that the party should in some way split, it was rebutted. Percival found it entirely impossible to speak to Miss Bolton alone, even briefly. He decided to wait upon the letters he had sent to London with regards to the Boltons, for it would be embarrassing to propose the idea of courtship only to discover that Miss Bolton would be an inappropriate match for him.

The group focused their energies on the preparations for the party on days of poor weather and tours of the Linston area when the weather was good, and the days passed quickly and pleasantly.

Mr. Everett’s presence and gazes had become less distracting, and he was less likely to be found within reach of Percival or gazing upon Percival than he had been the first three days of their acquaintance. This felt like something of a loss, but Percival was glad to not be distracted by him and glad that he might focus on the more sensible possibility of courting Miss Bolton. A sort of heavy sorrow hung in his chest, and he worried betimes that he had given some offence to Mr. Everett, but did not let himself dwell upon the question.

The replies from Lord Barham’s solicitor and Percival’s cousin arrived on the same day. Both of them revealed that the Boltons were considered perfectly respectable: of no particular birth or title, but comfortably well-off. Their parents remained in London and were well-regarded. The senior Mr. Bolton had his income from investments in merchant trade, and Mrs. Bolton was charming and decorous. It was cousin Agatha’s opinion that Miss Bolton ought to be glad to be courted by someone of such ancient and noble bloodline, even if Percival
was
most irredeemably countrified.

A wet drizzle ruled out any possibility of excursion for the group, but once his morning correspondence was resolved, Percival set out to join his friends at the Grange.

They received him in the drawing room, where Miss Bolton immediately engaged Percival in discussion of their party plans. Mr. Bolton appeared restless, sitting by the window and bouncing his leg with excess energy. Mr. Everett, for his part, seemed satisfied to read his book while in the company of his three friends. Only Miss Bolton seemed adequately pleased with the weather, which allowed her to finalise party plans with Percival.

“I think I shall go for a ride,” Mr. Bolton announced, and sprang to his feet.

“Horatio,” his sister scolded. “It is dismal out. You will catch your death of it.”

“Pfaugh, it is merely damp. I shan’t be long.” Mr. Bolton would hear no discouragement, and took his leave of the group.

Percival saw as Mr. Everett watched him go, and how Mr. Everett’s gaze flicked toward where Percival and Miss Bolton were engaged in discussion of room assignments for such guests as could be expected to stay the night. The glance did not last long, and Mr. Everett returned his attention to his book.

Resolving himself that this was his chance, Percival began to consider how he might approach the matter.

“Miss Bolton,” he said, colouring and then clearing his throat. “I thought—I thought perhaps I might…”

“Yes, Mr. Valentine?” Hermione prompted, blinking at him with innocent bewilderment.

Mr. Everett snapped his book shut.

Percival twitched in surprise, and looked over as Mr. Everett got to his feet.

“I think I shall order some refreshment from the kitchen,” he declared, casting his book down upon the couch where he had sat. “Miss Bolton, will you have tea or coffee?”

“Tea, thank you,” Hermione said, looking between the two of them now. She looked as though she wished to say something further, but did not.

Mr. Everett went out.

Percival fidgeted in his seat. Miss Bolton looked likewise uncomfortable, and Percival wondered if she was concerned to be left in his presence without chaperone. Her servants were certainly within hearing distance if she called out or rang for them, and Mr. Everett would return imminently. Percival was aware that very conservative opinions might object to an unmarried young woman in a room alone with a young man to whom she was not related, and the most conservative opinions might express that her brother should certainly not have left her alone in the company of her male friends. Though he was not certain about how conservative Miss Bolton might be—she seemed, rather, to be quite headstrong in most matters—Percival expected that no sensible person would cast any aspersion upon Miss Bolton for receiving guests in her own drawing-room.

“Miss Bolton,” Percival attempted to resume his suit.

“Mr. Valentine,” Miss Bolton said, her voice rising more than was her usual habit. “Did you tell me that the Ilspeths should be provided a room or may we pack them away home at the end of the evening?”

“Oh, I think they can manage to return home, it would be more important to find rooms for people who have further to travel,” Percival replied. “But Miss Bolton—“

“That will be well, then,” Miss Bolton said. Her voice sounded strained and her cheeks were coloured.

Percival began to worry that perhaps his suit might
not
be welcome. “Miss Bolton,” he tried again, making it quick so that they should both have the matter over. “I wish to know whether you might be willing to consider my—consider the matter—whether I ought indeed—if you would be amiable to the idea of… of
courtship
.”

“Mr. Valentine,” Miss Bolton said, folding her hands in her lap. “It is ever so sweet of you, but I must most firmly express that my feelings toward you are
entirely
brotherly, and I will not consider the matter of marriage.”

“Oh!” said Percival. He cleared his throat and likewise folded his hands in his lap. “I—I quite understand. But we are—we are friends?”

“We are the
dearest of friends, I assure you,” Miss Bolton said, smiling gently upon him.

“I am glad of that,” Percival said. “For I do most dearly value your friendship.”

“As do I value yours,” Miss Bolton assured him. “Now, we only have three rooms left that are not yet spoken for, but a requirement for five. How do you suppose—“

Mr. Everett returned to the room. He looked them over briefly, and then sat and took up his book without comment.

Percival wondered how they must look, with both of them flying their colours quite clearly on their faces and yet returned to friendly smiles.

“I think,” he said to Miss Bolton, “that Mrs. Wittersea’s request may be declined, and we may say that the rooms are already spoken for. We will need to apologise most profusely, and she will be displeased, but her need is simply not as great, no matter what her opinion on the matter might be.”

He glanced over toward Mr. Everett, but Mr. Everett did not look up from his reading. Even when the tea was brought, Mr. Everett sipped at his on the couch and did not deign to join the others at the table.

Percival worried about what might have put Mr. Everett in such ill humour, and feared that despite Mr. Everett’s assurances that he was only friends with Miss Bolton and his encouragement that Percival ought to put his suit forward, Mr. Everett might have some reason to object to the union. The matter was all quite settled now, but Percival had no idea how he might express that to Mr. Everett when it seemed that Mr. Everett was entirely opposed to conversation.

Mr. Bolton returned not long after. He was in much better humour after his ride, and the room lightened considerably with Mr. Bolton’s irreverent mirth. Percival was glad for it, although his gaze lingered upon Mr. Everett, who never once returned the glance.

O
n the night
of the party, Percival was ecstatic.

He had received a letter that morning from Lord Barham’s solicitor that he might go ahead with his full requested plans to renovate and expand the village at
double
the requested budget. With such funding, new houses could be built, existing ones expanded, and the entire village could be improved with respect to the health and comfort of its residents. Percival’s mind was abuzz with all the things he might implement, and he spent most of the day planning and prioritising those implementations, until it became necessary to dress for the party.

He had planned to arrive early at the party, on account that he was, in a way, one of the hosts, and he thought he might be able offer some assistance to Miss Bolton in the preparation and oversight of everything that was necessary for the party, but he found that he had been so distracted by his excitement and plans that he arrived only shortly before the party was scheduled to begin.

Everything was in a flurry when he arrived at the Grange. Very few of the guests had arrived yet, excepting those who intended to stay the night. After consulting with the butler in the front hall to confirm that everything was proceeding satisfactorily, Percival encountered Mr. Everett in the parlour.

He looked enchanting in evening wear, as handsome and elegant as a prince in a picture book. Percival had little concept of any of the latest fashions in London, and thus had no idea of how closely Mr. Everett clove to such fashions, but it was his opinion that Mr. Everett was a swell of the first stare, particularly when so elegantly dressed.

“Mr. Everett!” Percival exclaimed, as he made his way to Mr. Everett’s side. “How very well you look, and how pleased I am to see you. I must tell you—I must
thank
you—you see, I have had word from Lord Barham’s solicitor—thanks, no doubt, to your good word of encouragement—that not only has Lord Barham approved the renovation and expansion planned for the village, he has
doubled
the available capital for the venture.”

Mr. Everett smiled upon him at the news, with the same warmth and fondness he had shown from the start. Percival very much hoped that the week of cold civility that he had endured was now at an end and they might be friends again. “I am very glad to hear that. How excellent that will be for Linston! And a source of great pleasure for you, as I can see.”

“Oh, indeed,” Percival confirmed, and began to happily regale Mr. Everett with his plans and ideas. “I am planning to set out at once for London. There are things to be arranged, you see, I shall need to contract a proper architect, and a stonemason—
do
you think the village ought to be done in stone? There is a local quarry, but perhaps it would be cheaper in a traditional wattle and daub…”

This discussion only lasted until they were distracted by the arrival of more guests in the front hall, which reminded Percival that he had intended to serve as an additional host. They went at once to greet the guests, after which the under-butler showed the guests off to their rooms just as more guests spilled in through the door.

In the next pause between guests, Mr. Everett commented that he wished to go inquire if Miss Bolton needed any assistance with her portion of the preparations and the guests that she was beginning to entertain in the ballroom. His hand touched Percival’s shoulder briefly and lightly as he took his leave.

The warmth of his touch lingered in Percival’s memory, and he worried that perhaps Mr. Everett had taken his leave due to his new habit of avoiding Percival. It was not a particularly pleasant thought, and Percival strove to put it from his mind.

Mr. Bolton passed through not long after, taking over Percival’s duties at greeting guests and sending him to relieve Miss Bolton from what seemed to Mr Bolton as excessive worry over the flower-arranging.

A flurry of last-minute tasks between the Boltons and a portion of hospitality toward their guests kept Percival quite busy for the next hour, and he encountered Mr. Everett only in passing.

The next spell of respite came when the music had just begun, while the early guests were supping at the white soup and claret wine, and Percival found himself upon the ballroom’s upper landing in the company of Mr. Everett and Mr. Bolton.

“Mr. Valentine,” said Mr. Bolton, as he sipped at his own glass of claret wine and gazed out over the company, “I am sure that I must return to my guests, but I do hope that you will save me a dance at some point in the evening?”

Percival choked on his wine in surprise, and coughed. When he had recovered himself, much reddened from embarrassment, he nodded. “To be sure, if you wish it. I did not realise—why, certainly I had always supposed that it was only a country custom that gentlemen should dance with other gentlemen, and only if there were not enough ladies present for the dances. I always thought that in London parties one should always have precisely the correct proportion of gender for dances.”

Mr. Bolton looked charmed and amused by this supposition. “That is not at all the case, although it does indeed depend upon one’s Town hostess. Indeed, depending upon the household and the party, sometimes gentlemen may dance with each other purely for pleasure, if they are good friends.”

“Oh!” Percival said, and set to wondering whether or not Mr. Everett might in any way be persuaded to share a dance with him. “Well, if that is the fashion in London, then we must certainly represent it here. I would be ever so pleased to have a dance with you, Mr. Bolton.”

“You are too kind,” Mr. Bolton said, with cheerful pleasure. He made a bow to them both, and excused himself back to his guests.

Percival swirled his wine in the cup and contemplated how he might approach the topic with Mr. Everett before they might be interrupted or separated. He supposed that a straightforward foray would be the wisest course.

“Mr. Everett,” Percival said.

Mr. Everett looked over, blue eyes alert and interested, and Percival found himself obliged to pause and clear his throat in his usual nervous habit before he could manage to continue.

“Perhaps,” said Percival, “perhaps you might be willing, also, to have a dance with me at some time in the evening?”

He had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Everett redden with surprise in response to this query, which seemed to set Mr. Everett somewhat off-balance. “I will, certainly,” Mr. Everett replied, “if… if, I suppose, you are not too much occupied by the attentions of the young women present, and if we find ourselves at our leisure at a convenient time.”