He pressed a finger to his lips. I think I’m going to cast up my accounts. If there was anything left in his belly. His appetite had fled days ago.
“Yes!” His daughter’s wide grin revealed a gap in her lower jaw from where she’d lost her first tooth. Blonde-brown ringlets framed her face, and in her lavender dress, she was the epitome of a summer flower. “Is my new mama coming with us?”
Pain speared through his heart. Had he betrayed his first wife’s memory by not only accidentally marrying Lavinia but also neglecting Deborah? “She is,” he finally gasped out from a throat tight with emotion. Percival glanced at Miss Hamilton, offered her a small smile. Her expression reflected concern. Had he truly been that delinquent and degenerate in recent months?
Probably.
“What is her name, Papa?”
There was nothing for it. This was his life—their life—and he would need to make the best of it. “Her name is Lavinia.” He took Deborah’s hand and led her from the room, down the stairs to the next level.
“Is she pretty?”
“I rather think she is.” Had he ever paid that much attention to her face or personality after he’d lured her away from her last protector? Or worse yet, had he only seen her body during bed sport? He’d certainly availed himself of her charms frequently over the past year. Even when they attended society events or did benign activities at her townhouse, had he ever given her a thought past her physical form? Bloody hell. Hot shame filled his chest.
No. No he had not. He’d treated her as he would an elevated servant, paying her for services rendered, and perhaps indulging in an afternoon of conversation every now and again.
I have to do better.
“Papa?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you have more children?” The worry in his daughter’s voice yanked him from his musings. “Will you love a boy—an heir—more than me?”
“Oh, poppet.” His heart squeezed. Somehow, he had to raise her into a gracious, proper young lady by himself, and one who wouldn’t be as selfish an entitled as he’d been. But how? Especially when he was about to fall apart. Not knowing what else to do, Percival kneeled in front of her halfway along the corridor to the countess suite. “I have no idea about children I might have in the future, but please know you will always have my heart as my firstborn.”
And he would remember his first wife every time he looked into Deborah’s trust-filled eyes. Perhaps that was what caused his current emotional quagmire. He could never forget, even if he’d wanted to.
“That is good to know.” But she sighed and her little bottom lip stuck out in the beginnings of a frown. “Papa?”
“Yes?” Suddenly, he felt older than his thirty-eight years. It was as if he’d already lived two lifetimes. How did he think he could come up to the mark and see her through to womanhood? And then, dear God, he’d have to make certain she made an advantageous marriage, hopefully to a man who wasn’t a bounder.
His mouth watered, for he could sorely use a drink.
She searched his face with eyes all too serious as if she could peer directly into his soul. “Will my new mama like me? Anna, the nursery maid, said she’s not a lady and hasn’t the manners a countess must possess.”
Damn it all to hell.
He bit down on the urge to curse, but truly, he wished to sack the nursery maid who had the loose tongue. At some point, he would need to tell the housekeeper to have a talk with the staff about proper etiquette. The odds were already stacked against his union without the servants gossiping and in front of his daughter to boot. But Lavinia deserved their respect. There was nothing more to discuss on the matter.
“I would never do anything that would harm you.” Yet he’d married a woman he barely knew, a woman who wasn’t of the ton. A woman who’d made a living on her back. When he peered into the trusting blue eyes of his daughter, he felt like the lowest sort of scum. He had to do better for her as well. “People who gossip about others are never interested in learning about the real subject matter. Rumor is often wrong. Consider how you would feel if someone talked badly about you.” What else could he say that would relieve her doubts? “I’m quite certain Lavinia will be exactly what we both need.”
God, I surely hope so.
Immediately, Deborah brightened. She nodded. “You are a wise man, Papa. Even Miss Hamilton says gossip is not proper.”
“There you go.” Praise be the governess had commonsense. He stood and once more took possession of her hand. Such a delicate little appendage. “Shall we see if Lavinia wishes to go on the carriage ride with us?” The knots in his gut screamed out a warning, but he ignored them. He owed it to them all to make an effort at being civil. “It’s a beautiful afternoon,” he said through a tight throat.
“We should.” Her whole body vibrated with happiness, and oh how he envied the child! “Do you think she’s worried about meeting me too?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Percival’s stomach roiled. Again, the urge to seek solace in brandy to sooth his nerves flared strong, but he couldn’t indulge just now, didn’t want his daughter to see his weakness or have Lavinia judge him. Besides, he’d followed Lord Randolph about the house as he and the butler had tossed out the bottles he’d hidden. He would be hard pressed to locate spirits any time soon.
I have to be strong. But he knew the withdrawal would be a bitch.
With nothing else to do, he raised a hand and rapped upon the door.
Seconds later, a fresh-faced maid admitted them both into the elegantly appointed sitting room. “Her Ladyship is expecting you,” the girl murmured. She gestured with her head and then excused herself from the room. The door closed with a soft snick behind her.
Though his nerves were taut with uncertainty, his attention went immediately to Lavinia, who stood by one of the windows. Golden sunlight poured over her through the panes of glass and rendered her gilded and beautiful. Threads of caramel glimmered in her dark brown upswept hair. Why had he never met with her in the daylight?
“Good afternoon, Laughton.” She turned and gave him a curt nod, used his title which somehow grated now that she wasn’t his mistress, but she flashed a warm smile at his daughter. “You must be Lady Deborah.”
“I am,” his daughter breathed with awe hanging in her voice. Was she gobsmacked that this woman—a stranger to her—knew her name? Percival bit back an amused grin then sobered again when his daughter clutched tighter at his hand. Poor little mite was as nervous as he.
“What a lovely name.” Lavinia gathered her moss green skirts in one hand as she came forward. Ignoring him, she kneeled so she was at eye level with the child. “How do you do, Lady Deborah?”