Chapter Five
May 9, 1819
Percival cursed under his breath as he read yet another article in yet another paper that had mentioned his accidental marriage and quite gleefully proceeded to tear him and Lavinia’s reputations to shreds.
“What the devil is wrong with people?” But he knew. Of course he did. The Duke of Bradford was out for his blood, so he’d probably paid every paper in London a hefty sum to run salacious stories. All the better to see Percival blacklisted with the ton. There was no choice but to ride out this wave, but he didn’t want to.
In a fit of rage, he tore up that newspaper and threw the pieces in the direction of the study’s fireplace. “Bah! As if the ton will believe those lies.” And such blatant disrespect. Some of what had been included had nothing to do with his recent nuptials. It was just mean-spirited gossip designed to rile him.
“Are they truly lies if they have a certain ring of truth?”
His head jerked up at the sound of Lord Randolph’s voice. “What are you doing here?” He had no desire to see or speak to his best friend. Not now. Not while he was in the middle of a crisis that had no chance of blowing over. Unless the damned Regent did something heinously scandalous, the news of the day was of Percival’s martial endeavors.
“I thought you might like a friendly face.”
“What do you know of it?” If there was an aggravated snarl in his voice, he didn’t care. There was reason for it, and ever since that ceremony, he’d been in a wretched mood. Mostly because Lavinia wasn’t as upset as he was.
Lord Randolph snorted. “I know you’ve steadily declined since your wife died. I know you’re in danger of drowning yourself in the bottom of a bottle. I know you’re intent on destroying yourself without care for the daughter you’ll leave behind.” He shrugged. “I also know that continuing in any of these veins is societal suicide.”
“Fuck off, Randolph.” All of those things were true. Over the years, he’d steadily declined due to grief and loneliness. But was that his fault? Shouldn’t a man grieve over the loss of a beloved spouse? Percival collapsed into the nearest leather wing backed chair, for the rage of earlier had been spent. “You might be able to shrug this off, but Bradford’s assessment of the situation still stings. Why he couldn’t be the bigger man about this is beyond me.”
“Uh, because you embarrassed him publicly by choosing to wed a ladybird instead of his daughter? Because you put a stain on Lady Eleanor’s reputation? Because your damned arrogance will be your downfall? Pick a reason.”
“Bah.” He slumped in the chair while his friend occupied the matching one. A sigh escaped before he could recall it. “What has become of my life?” Though he was wed to her, he hadn’t seen Lavinia—her name was lovely—for a few days. After she’d tended to his headache the day following their wedding, she’d kept to herself. Had she washed her hands of him too? Oddly enough, he missed her presence, her matter-of-fact way of looking at the world.
Randolph laughed. “What’s happened? You’ve properly mucked everything up.” His grin stuck in Percival’s craw while the amusement dancing in his eyes renewed the feelings of anger and self-disappointment.
“Thank you. I hadn’t noticed.” Heavy sarcasm rode on the words.”
“Don’t come the crab with me, Laughton. You married your mistress. You antagonized the Duke of Bradford in a willful display of drunken idiocy and conceit. You’ve probably disrespected Lavinia already even if you won’t admit such to me. Is there anything else you’d like to accomplish this week?”
Percival narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this.” Perhaps he had at that. The way he’d consummated their marriage hadn’t brought finesse or even a modicum of concern. Yes, he’d been deep into his cups, but there was no excuse for his actions.
Damn. I’ll need to apologize.
“Well, yes. Perhaps your arrogant arse will finally have a comeuppance and will put you back on the right path.” He held up a hand when Percy would have protested. “It’s one thing to let grief have at you, but it’s quite another to be grief-stricken and with an attitude that you’re better than us all. I’m certain your first wife wouldn’t like what you’ve made of yourself.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” he agreed in a soft voice as his heart squeezed with pain. “Vivian was everything kind and gentle.”
His best friend nodded. “I’m equally certain your new wife has the same viewpoints on your behavior and the way you’re deporting yourself.”
Back to the problem of Lavinia. She’d told him enough times the way he acted was beyond the pale, but he hadn’t put much stock in those words. After all, she’d been merely a mistress, a member of the demi-monde. Now, he’d married her. His behavior reflected on her. He huffed with annoyance and frustration. “I think you have the right of it.”
“Good. At least we agree.” Then Randolph’s expression sobered. “However, since it seems you’ve fallen hard to ground level without direction, where’s the harm in trying to make your life and circumstances work for you?”
The man was insane. “You mean, publicly acknowledge my marriage and wife.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“And stop trying to fight it while at home?”
“Or anywhere else. Why not? The deed is done. No one can deny that. It’s legal, signed, and binding.” Randolph held his gaze. “Haven’t you already established a good relationship with Lavinia before now? She certainly had your best interests at heart when she attempted multiple times to dissuade you from making an arse of yourself by marrying her.” One of his golden eyebrows lifted. “You’d bragged days ago about how you rub along well together.”
Why couldn’t he remember that conversation? “Outside of bed sport?”
“One would hope.” A light of speculation entered his eyes. “Don’t you? Surely you haven’t used her only for carnal relief in the year you’ve been together. If so, no wonder she was out of sorts with you on your wedding day.”
Heat gathered on his nape. “Not as one would like to think. Though there have been a few evenings and mornings we had decent conversations. Memorable, at least to me. And she knows how to dress to stand out when we attend society events.” Yet there had been other days when he was in his cups and prattling on about his dead wife, and Lavinia had listened patiently. Oh, dear God. Poor Nia. She’d been a rock about all of it this whole time. It was a wonder she hadn’t walked out on him.