An Unusual Courtship by Katherine Marlowe

Author:Katherine Marlowe [Marlowe, Katherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Honeywine Publishing
Published: 2015-11-03T23:00:00+00:00

7

The Card-Party

Percival showed up promptly the next day, alight with pleasure at being able to return to his friends. He was sure that he had been much the fool, and that he looked forward to everything being resolved and back to normal.

The butler showed him into the drawing room, where Mr. Bolton and Mr. Everett had already begun dicing and drinking. Both of them rose to greet Percival with great cheer once he arrived.

“Mr. Valentine!” Mr. Bolton said, clasping his hand and clapping Mr. Valentine upon the shoulder. “Here you are! How we have missed you and longed for you! Is it not so, Mr. Everett?”

“Indeed it is,” Mr. Everett said, warmth and joy in his eyes as he clasped Percival’s hand, and then brought it to his lips to kiss. “I had begun to fear that I had given some offence. Pray tell me it is not so.”

“It is not so,” Percival assured him, blushing at the gallant manner in which Mr. Everett kissed his hand. It put him in mind of the conversation they had shared before Percival had left for London, and seemed to hint that Mr. Everett might wish to court him as one should court a lady. “I am very glad to be back from London and restored to your good company.”

“Come,” said Mr. Bolton. “Sit with us. Drink with us! Hermione has gotten us a case of very good burgundy wine.”

Mr. Bolton wobbled slightly as he steered Percival over to the table, leading Percival to suspect that Miss Bolton had indeed supplied them with a case of strong burgundy wine.

“Will Miss Bolton not be joining us?” Percival asked, being much fain of having her reassuring and mediating presence amongst them.

“She will! She has only gone to the kitchen to see to some light refreshments being brought up to us. Have you dined already? We might certainly have the kitchen send up a meal, if you have not, or we might go down and—”

“Peace, my friend!” Percival exclaimed, laughing. “I have dined.”

“And now we shall have you wined,” Mr. Bolton said, pouring Percival a glass and holding it out.

Percival took it, and sampled it. “Oh! It is rather good.”

“Miss Bolton has excellent taste in wines,” Mr. Everett said. His eyes lingered on Percival in a fond and affectionate manner that made Percival feel warm in his heart and his cheeks.

“Here, now, Fred, whose turn is it?” Mr. Bolton asked.

Mr. Everett looked at the dice, and then at Mr. Bolton. Both of them seemed perplexed.

“Oh, dash it!” Mr. Bolton resolved. “Hermione shall be back straightaway, and Mr. Valentine is here. Let us begin at Whist.”

“Is your name Fred?” Percival asked of Mr. Everett. He had half-formed a fancy that Mr. Everett might be the same William he had met at the Grange when he was a child—owing to how Mr. Everett’s acquaintance with Lord Barham was claimed as an inherited one, and therefore one he might have had as a child. It was an idle supposition, and seemed now to have no substance to it.

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