“Did it help your megrim the last time?”
“It did. Thank you.” His expression softened slightly. “I appreciated it.”
“Then I would be happy to do so again.” For the first time since they’d wed, the smile she gave him was genuine. “And thank you for including me today. That has relieved some of my worries.”
Though he grinned, the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. He offered her his crooked arm. “I am doing the best I can. Please have patience, for I cannot promise I won’t fail miserably more than a few times.”
“Every stage of life requires patience, from what I’ve seen,” she murmured but laid her hand upon his sleeve. The muscles beneath her fingertips tensed. “None of us are perfect. We’ll muddle through, for I’m not one to call surrender before all options have been exhausted.”
Though Lavinia had been out with Percival many times in the past year, she’d never been seen in his company during the fashionable hours nor in as blatant a place to be seen as Rotten Row. Women of her history and birth circumstances didn’t mingle with the toast of the beau monde, and now the overt stares of curiosity and speculation were enough to send knots of anxiety into her belly, but she held her head high.
I am a countess now. They can take notice or not, but nothing will change that status. She’d played the hand that had been dealt to her well, and there was no remorse in it.
Beside her, the earl drummed the fingers of one hand on his thigh, which called her attention to how powerful his body was when employed in bed sport or when he took in the morning air while riding his horse through Hyde Park. Today, he’d decided to take out an open carriage but had a driver instead of handling the ribbons himself.
Why? Did he not trust his faculties without drink in his system? Then she looked closer, saw the shaking in those hands, and realized that had been the truth. He’d soon be a wreck once the last vestiges of it left his system.
Poor man. But this was all to the good.
Regardless, he and she hadn’t indulged in intercourse since their disastrous and embarrassing wedding night. Would they soon? She couldn’t say, for this whole new life felt decidedly… odd, as if they were trying to force a puzzle piece into a spot it didn’t fit. If he sought her out, perhaps she’d let him kiss her, but he still harbored anger against her even if he’d admitted otherwise, and a man in the middle of getting off the drink wouldn’t be amenable to romance. She could see it in the way he held himself so tensely.
While she couldn’t fault him for those feelings, the fact he harbored them at all rankled. He was the one who’d put them both in this mess, but she wouldn’t apologize for going along with the farce. Why shouldn’t she wish to better her position?
Because they were both lost to their own thoughts, the drive thus far had been uncomfortably silent and a part of her mourned the easy companionship they’d enjoyed before marriage had destroyed it.
Interesting thought, that. Was it her or him that was the problem?
“It’s a warm day, isn’t it, Papa?” The sweet sound of Deborah’s voice dispelled some of the tension, and they both glanced at her at her spot on the opposite bench her back to the driver.
“Indeed, it is, poppet.” His expression softened. It took years from his face, made him appear less haggard and worried. “Are you enjoying the outing?”
“Oh, yes. I like all the carriages with the painted wheels and the pretty dresses the ladies are wearing.” Her smile faded as she glanced over at a conveyance passing theirs. “But the people in the carriages aren’t happy.”
“How so?” Once again, he tapped his fingers upon his thigh—a habit or a coping mechanism because he needed a drink?
“Everyone is scowling, even when I wave when they look over.” Her gaze never wavered from his, but there was confusion in her expression. “Are they angry? Sad? Miss Hamilton says sometimes people don’t know how to act, so they frown. But the people in those carriages frown and then they whisper and some point at you.” Too much truth was contained in the innocent ramblings of that small child. “Do they not like you, Papa?”
“Uh…” Percival looked at Lavinia. Her chest tugged at the dismay on his face. “I’m not certain why they frown,” he finally said. There was a trace of anger in the admission. As he focused again on his daughter, some of that ire faded away. “However, it is not my responsibility, or Lavinia’s, or even yours to make the masses happy. If misery is their aim, only they can say. Attend to your own life, poppet, and leave the rest to suffer theirs.”
Good advice, but easier said than done.
“Papa?”
“Yes?”
“Are you happy?”
His sigh was almost inaudible. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re frowning too.”
“So I am.” He rubbed at his temples. “Perhaps it’s the megrim. I shall be fine.”
Deborah nodded. The lavender dress in the sunshine brought a merry splash of color to the area. She continued to watch the horses and carriages, but she didn’t offer another comment.
It was interesting to observe their relationship. Lavinia leaned toward him on the bench they shared, and in a low voice said, “Your daughter is quite lovely and extremely perceptive.” They would need to start somewhere if they were to get on as a married couple. It might as well be with his history. None of which she’d known, for he’d not spoken of personal things during their existing relationship. Perhaps the last year had been an escape for them both.
But now the pigeons had come home to roost, as it were, and she hoped they could both weather the influx.