Bound by Honor

Chapter 7

Meanwhile, he pushed the door open and indicated the room to her.

“Allow me to wish you a very good night, then.” With a bow, he removed

the arm on which her hand was resting.

What? Letitia dropped her hand when her fingers curled around empty air.

“You…wish to forego your marital rights tonight?” she asked, certain her

hearing was at fault.

“A marriage of convenience does not require consummation, ma’am,” Sir

Percival informed her without one blink of an eye. “Tonight or any other

night. You may sleep peacefully. I shall not interrupt your rest.”

He bowed, turned and walked farther down the hall to another door,

leaving Letitia with her mouth open, gaping at his departing back.

Just before he turned to see her standing there like a pillar of salt, she

hastily walked into her room and leaned with her back against the door

once she shut it. Could he read her mind? Well, at least they were in

agreement about the nature of their relationship. Maybe Josepha was

correct. Maybe he wasn’t made of exactly the same stuff as her father. His

unexpected acquiescence to her unspoken plea was a great relief. But not

the fashion in which he did it, the politeness of his words bordering on

mockery, the thinly veiled condescension in his countenance.

Josepha walked into the room, carrying the new nightgown generously

decorated with lace and tiny ribbons. Her eyes danced with merriment.

“Get ready before that handsome devil comes in here and finds you still in

your dress. Although,” she grinned, “he might not object to undressing you

himself.”

“He is not going to do either, Josie.” The words came out on a tremulous

note while Letitia swallowed unexpected tears. Walter’s merry laughter

rang in her head again. “He is not coming here tonight or ever.”

“Why not?” Josepha’s tone lost its teasing edge. “What did he tell you?”

“That a marriage of convenience does not require consummation.”

“His lordship really said that?” Josepha blinked with disbelief.

“He really did.”

“And what did I tell you?” Josepha’s disbelief melted into another smile.

“He is a good man. I never heard of a husband who would do such a thing

on the wedding night. Or at any other time when he wished to claim his

rights.”

“A paragon of goodness, Josie,” Letitia muttered sarcastically.

Josepha had it all wrong. Sir Percival Hanbury had married not her but the

Earl of Stanville’s money.

“Bring me my old nightgown, please. I am tired, and I want to sleep.”

As soon as Josepha left, Letitia tiptoed to the door separating her room

from her husband’s. The door seemed heavy and solid, yet she could hear

muffled conversation on the other side. Apparently, Sir Percival was talking

to his valet.

Then she heard another door open and close. The conversation stopped,

but someone was still walking around the room. And then he left too.

She moved to the door to the hallway in time to hear light footsteps

running down the stairs and the front door being open and shut.

He left.

He left ?

She flew to the windows, but they looked out on the gardens. Her heart

drumming, Letitia turned away from them. Her gaze slid around the

room—the neatly turned bed, the flower arrangement in the cavity of a cold

fireplace. The emptiness of her new life.

She let out a shaky breath. Josepha tried to see something good in

everyone. But how wrong she was this time. Sir Percival just showed the

entire household how little he cared about his new baronetess.

Outwardly, he was not old, ugly, fat or ill-mannered, as she had fully

expected. Quite the opposite. Had she met him in London at some entertainment, she would have been immediately drawn to him, to the

handsome features and thoughtful expression of his gaze. He did not

make the impression of a man who could be bribed into marriage.

But he apparently could be. He had been .

Josepha came back with one of the old nightgowns, helped her change

and brushed out her hair. All that time, Josie kept uncharacteristically

silent. Judging by this subdued demeanor, the entire household already

knew that Sir Percival Hanbury had jilted his bride on their wedding night.

“Good night, Josie.” Letitia yawned. “I’m so tired. You must rest too. My

clothes can wait.”

On impulse, they embraced each other.

“Good night,” Josepha muttered, gently rocking from side to side, the way

she used to whenever little Lettie needed consolation over a sick doll or a

scraped knee. “Everything will turn out fine, you’ll see.”

Letitia patted Josepha’s back reassuringly.

“I have you, and that’s what counts,” she said softly and swallowed the

lump filling her throat.

After Josepha left the room, Letitia lay down on the bed and turned to face

the windows and the soft breeze of cooler night air. There was little chance

she would fall asleep anytime soon.

Sir Percival ought to have had enough decency to stay in the house. He

didn’t have to share her bed. She didn’t want to share it either. But now it

struck her that he had never intended to consummate their marriage and

had planned all along to spend the night elsewhere.

And, of course, it wasn’t difficult to guess where that elsewhere was. Her

husband had a mistress.

Dressed in riding clothes, Percy left the house in the direction of the

stables. As always at this late hour, he quietly saddled his horse himself.

The night was bright and the sky cloudless, but he would have no trouble

finding his way to Wycombe Oaks, even in complete darkness.

He had gone that way countless times over the years. Although it was no

longer necessary to sneak about unnoticed like a thief peeking in through

the lowest windows, no one had to know how much he yearned to touch

the walls that were once home to his family. He needed to do it alone,

before officially entering the house on the morrow in the presence of its

staff, few as they were at the moment. For the first time in nearly a quarter

of a century, he again had the right to be there.

His father-in-law, who so easily relinquished the property, together with

his daughter, would be surprised to find out how much Percy knew about

the estate.

It had been common knowledge in the neighborhood that unlike the

previous owners who had called Wycombe Oaks their home since the

days of Edward IV, Stanville exploited the land, taking from it as much as

he could and giving nothing in return. The outbuildings were in a

dilapidated condition, having seen no investment in over two decades.

There were no stables to speak of, except those that housed a few

necessary workhorses. The roof of the carriage house suffered from

numerous leaks that had ruined the vehicles left behind after Stanville

removed the best ones to his other estates.