To Have and to Hold (Finders Keepers #4)

Chapter Five

Percy awoke with a very bad head. A reminder once again that he should not be indulging as freely as he had done twenty years ago. Back then, he might have emerged at least reasonably functional. As it was, by eleven, he had barely allowed the blinds to be drawn and daylight to enter the room—and even that made his head throb.

A knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” he called, fully expecting the breakfast he’d asked to be delivered to his room. Instead, Cecily poked her auburn head through, a tray in her hands.

“You asked for this to be sent,” she said, not meeting his gaze as she brought it to a table in the corner and set it carefully down. “I also took the liberty of asking them to make you some coffee. Mama always used to have some in the mornings when she indulged.”

His stomach flipped at the reminder that she, evidently, recalled his transgression the previous evening. Any equilibrium he’d hoped to find promptly disappeared.

“This is unexpected,” he said, forcing himself out of bed. His robe lay discarded on the back of a chair and he wrapped it firmly around his waist. His head pounded, and if they were to engage in any verbal sparring, he hoped she would at least save it for after they had eaten. “I hadn’t realised I’d requested you to be the one to bring me my meals.”

“I thought you might be suffering.”

He made a noise at the back of his head, biting back his wince as he sank into the chair at the spindly table. On occasion, he wrote his letters here, and her gaze flicked to the pot of ink that sat ready.

To his surprise, he enjoyed the first sip of coffee, and he thought perhaps the day might not be utterly intolerable. “Did your mother often overindulge?”

“Sometimes.” Cecily shrugged and hovered behind another chair. For the first time, he noticed a letter in her hand. “She wrote to me again last week.”

“Oh?” He took another sip and allowed himself a corner of dry toast.

“She’s asking about . . .” Cecily sucked in a breath, and her cheeks turned red. Percy frowned at the expression, realising for the first time that she had not come merely out of solicitude. To fortify himself, he took a larger bite, and considered the pound cake and muffins, wondering if he could stomach them.

“Asking about what?”

“She’s asking about children,” she said in a rush. “Our children, to be exact. And . . .”

Percy knew the answer as well as she did. There could be no chance of children from an empty bed. And although he had come dangerously close to sharing that bed with her last night, he had not succumbed, and their marriage remained unconsummated.

He nodded at the paper in her hands. “Is that the letter?”

“Yes.”

“May I see?”

Reluctantly, she handed it over, and he scanned the pages. As always, the viscountess wrote with an impertinent that infuriated him, demanding to know why there had been no issue from their marriage, and whether Cecily had the bad luck to be barren.

“How discourteous,” he said lightly, dropping the letter back onto the tray.

“Would you . . .” She glanced up at him hesitantly. “Would you help me form a reply?”

“Certainly. Phrasing or content?” A rare flash of anger passed through him. When he’d married her, one of his many reasons had been to separate her from the woman who’d always treated her with borderline cruelty. “Or better still, don’t reply at all.”

“You’d have me ignore my own mother?”

“She’s been little enough involved until she thought you might have a child she could get her claws into.” He knew his words were uncharitable, but he couldn’t quite hold them back. For years, he’d kept his opinions about her mother, even about William, to himself, but he found his self-control lacking in the face of his monstrous hangover.

This would be the last time he drank so heavily. He should have known better.

“I do not care to have my wife bullied,” he said, finally.

“I thought you had no wish for me to be your wife any longer.”

His laugh was short and a little bitter, but when he took her hand in his, long fingers enclosing around her smaller ones, she didn’t pull away. “Perhaps I’m tired of being denied,” he murmured. “And it is easier not to try. But no matter what we might wish, some things do not change.”

“Do you regret marrying me?” she blurted.

His fingers tightened, and his gaze dropped to them. “What a troublesome question. I have no easy answer for you.”

She looked almost disappointed, as though she’d been hoping for an answer in the negative—but how could he say he didn’t regret marrying her when she went out of her way to inspire that regret every day? She certainly regretted their union, and he was tired of pretending.

“People will start to talk if I continue to be without child.”

Was she suggesting what it sounded like she was suggesting? He dropped her hand. “Let them.”

“My mother will—”

“Your mother will not find herself welcome in my house if she comes to interfere.”

“You didn’t seem to mind her interference when you arranged with her to marry me.”

“And if I could have done so from your word alone, I would have, allow me to reassure you of that.” He searched her face, seeing only confusion there, and perhaps even hurt. This was not how he’d imagined this conversation going. “I never meant to hurt you, Cecily. If there had been another way—but that boy tried to ruin you. People saw you leave the ballroom together. What else could I have done?”

He saw the moment his words registered. Her eyes widened and she rose from her chair. “Perhaps you could have allowed him to marry me himself,” she said, her voice choked.

This delusion was insufferable. Percy replaced his cup on the saucer with more force than he intended. “Is that what you truly think?”

“He loved me!”

“He thought you were easy prey. And my goodness, Cecily, was he wrong?”

She blanched, and he immediately regretted his words. Still, better she knew now. Better he take what remained of her love for this man—one that had never existed outside her mind—and squashed it. And if he condemned any chance he had of winning her back, then so be it. The chance of that had never been high in the first place; that was not why he had attempted to distance himself from her.

“Let me be plain, Cecily, seeing as you have been labouring under a misapprehension over the course of our time together. William Devereaux had no intentions of marrying you. He would have ruined you as he has ruined many other young ladies, and your chances of a good marriage would have been materially diminished. If you had loved him and he intended to do the honourable thing, I would never have interfered, believe me. I’m not as cruel as you believe me to be. But he has never loved you, my songbird. And he certainly would never have married you.”

“I—” Cecily shook her head. “You can’t know that.”

He dragged his hands through his hair, head throbbing and his stomach turning. “Of course I know that. It’s hardly a secret what William Devereaux is. There’s a reason no mother worth her salt will allow him access to her daughters. He’s barred from every reputable club, and I doubt he will secure many invitations now he’s returned to London.” He waited for the shock to cross her face at that particular revelation, but as she just looked at him with wide eyes, he snorted. “No doubt you also knew that, too. Have you met him since his return? Has he renewed his addresses?”

She swallowed, all the confirmation he could have needed. Abruptly tired and in need of more coffee, he sank back into his seat. “No matter. I tried to save you once, and it made a fool of me.” He massaged his temples. “What would you like to say to your mother?”

Her gaze fell to the letter still in her hands, then up at him. Her eyes were wet, and he sighed at the knowledge he had likely broken her heart with another man’s betrayal.

“I’m sorry,” he said, more gently this time, and picked up her hand, pressing it to his lips in a chaste kiss. “I should not have lost my temper with you.”

“No, I . . .” Her voice came out scratchy and weak. “Is that truly what you believe? That he cared nothing for me?”

Though this realisation was one he’d been hoping she would come to for four years now, he took no pleasure in his answer. “No more than his other conquests. If I thought he had honest intentions, I would have allowed matters to play out as they would.” He released her hand. “Do you believe me?”

She released a shaky breath. “I don’t know. I wish . . .” Things had been different , he could almost hear her say.

“As do I,” he said heavily, and turned his attention back to his breakfast. “Thank you for the coffee, Cecily. It’s much appreciated. If you need me to help draft a letter to your mother, you may find me at any time.”

Understanding the dismissal, she rose, brushing out her skirts. After a hesitation, in which he was certain she would say something, she left him to his breakfast and the reflection that at least now, if she intended to take William as a lover, she would do so in the full knowledge of everything he was.

At first, Cecily had been determined to reject Percy’s assertion. After all, what would he know about the subject? But when she invited Arabella to join her for afternoon tea, she discovered confirmation in the worst of places: from her very best friend.

“Oh, of course he isn’t an honourable man,” Arabella said, swallowing a large mouthful of plum cake. “Dearest, do you truly think a man capable of flirting with such skill to be one who has never made a fool of a woman before?”

Cecily stared at her teacup. “Well, I did think he loved me.”

“If only we’d known each other better back then.” Arabella sighed. “Even I could have told you. Everyone knew he was a rake. Well, according to everything I’ve heard, he still is a rake. I imagine he just wanted to kiss you. Or worse, of course, but your father was a viscount, so perhaps he hadn’t intended to strip you of your virtue. Not while you were unmarried, at least.” She cut herself another slice of cake, oblivious to the way Cecily’s stomach twisted and dropped.

“Do you think he would have married me if we were discovered?” Cecily asked. “I mean—”

“You were discovered. I thought you said Percy discovered you both.”

Cecily recalled the way Percy had taken William’s lapels, pulled him up, and delivered such a devastating blow that she feared William’s nose had broken. Certainly, there had been plenty of blood. And William, instead of swearing his honour, had fled.

Percy had been the one to guide her back to the house, apologising for the violence even as he wiped his bloodied knuckles and led her to a side door so she could rejoin the party and her mother. He had assured her that she would be all right, and she had been so shaken by the entire situation that she had—

Well, she had believed him, and her na?ve heart had hoped that the form of ‘all right’ would be William declaring that he wished to marry her. Instead, Percy had been the one to come forward, and she’d been able to do nothing but accept with William gone.

For the first time, anger at William stirred in her chest. He had been the one to flee, the one to take her outside and kiss her and then say nothing about marriage. All this time, she had assumed that had they not been discovered, he would have married her, but surely it should have been the other way around. They had been discovered, and the honourable thing would have been to offer for her immediately.

“Heavens,” she said faintly. “I have been a fool.”

Arabella patted her hand sympathetically. “We are all fools at nineteen.”

“I am a fool now . He invited me to the Pantheon for a masquerade.”

“Perhaps he thought he could seduce you,” Arabella said with a shrug. “I’ll admit, I thought you would be amenable to the idea. I never assumed that you . . .”

“I wanted to marry him!”

“Yes, well.” Her friend wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t think you had such appalling judgement, dearest.”

Cecily scowled. Four years of her life pining for a man who had never harboured honest intentions towards her. Four years of being furious at Percy for ruining her chances of happiness when he had, in fact, been attempting to save her.

How mortifying.

“I thought I could love him,” she said. “That my life would have been perfect if Percy had never found us. What a fool I’ve been. And now William thinks he can win me over again with a few compliments?”

“He almost did,” Arabella pointed out.

“Unhelpful, Bella.”

“What will you do now?”

Heavens, wasn’t that a thought. She frowned, worrying on her lower lip. First, she had an apology to make, and then . . . Well, she supposed then she would decide what to do about the masquerade.

It was not until a mere few hours before the masquerade that Cecily encountered Percy again in their dressing room. He looked as though he intended to leave without speaking, and she hurried to him, putting a hand on his arm.

“Will you give me a moment of your time?”

“Cecily.” He glanced down at her, a pinch between his brows. “Do you need something?”

“I told my mother to stop asking so many questions about our intimate life,” she said, feeling the slightest glow of pride at the way a slow smile spread across his face.

“Did you indeed? Good. And if she persists, allow me to write to her instead.”

“You hardly have to ask my permission.”

“I’d prefer to have your consent.”

He always did.

Even when drunk, he had stopped before anything could have happened between them. Cecily couldn’t help wondering, in the final moments before sleep, what might have happened if he had given into his natural marital impulses. After all, he was her husband and she his wife. And she believed him when he said he had not been with Caroline.

When Arabella had spoken about love, she had always mentioned it coming from the heart. Yet after that night, whenever Cecily looked at Percy, it was her stomach that twisted and fluttered and dropped.

Disgust , she told herself.

She could no longer delude herself into believing it was true.

“I did meet William,” she blurted, seeing the surprise cross Percy’s face. His frown deepened.

“And?”

“You are certain he would not have married me?”

“As far as any man could be.”

The hurt that she’d once felt at the betrayal now just felt like a lump in the base of her stomach. Time truly had worn away the depth of her feelings, and the shallow inclination she felt towards him now was easily overwhelmed by the force of her anger.

“Then,” she said, summoning her courage, “I suppose I ought to apologise.”

“An apology?” Percy’s brows rose, but he gave the barest hint of a smile. “For what, pray?”

“I thought you married me for selfish reasons.”

He observed her gravely. “Why, my songbird, I did. Yes, in doing so I protected you from other such men, and the machinations of your mother, but I would not have done that if I were not very much in love with you.”

Her stomach flipped with such force that she almost gasped. Such simple words, and he had certainly said things like this to her before, but oddly it had never felt like this .

She tucked her shaking hands behind her back so he would not see her nervousness. “The masquerade is tonight,” she said, looking up at him. His gaze was intent on her mouth, as though he could read the words on the tip of her tongue. “Do you have plans?”

His eyes flicked from her mouth to her eyes, the frown in them more pronounced than ever, and disappointment crashed through her even before he spoke. “I do,” he said slowly, and her newfound confidence crumbled.

“Oh.” Like a coward, she retreated for her bedchamber door. “Well, then. I suppose I should begin to get ready. Goodnight, Percy. I hope you have fun.”

“I have no doubt I will,” he murmured as she fled for the relative safety of her bedchamber. To her relief, when her maid arrived several minutes later to dress her for the evening, she mentioned nothing about the redness of Cecily’s eyes.