Bound by Honor

Chapter 8

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.

Stanville had emptied the house thoroughly. How many of these things

graced his other homes? How many had gone to Christie’s auction rooms

to supplement his purse already bursting with income from the sugar

plantations? Oh yes, on that too Stanville had capitalized to the maximum.

All of London knew that most of his household staff were slaves he’d

brought with him after each visit there.

Percy straightened his shoulders. He would not succumb to dejection,

despite the weighty sadness of an irretrievable loss. His old home, though

terribly neglected, was nevertheless his again.

He was about to make his way upstairs when the light on the landing

became suddenly brighter.

An old but sharp voice he immediately recognized cut through the silence

of the building, “Who’s there? Don’t you dare touch anything, thief! Others

are coming.”

“Good evening, Perkins.” Percy turned toward the lantern and smiled.

There was a moment of silence, and then, “Oh heaven be praised! Is this

really you, sir? Mary and I prayed for years to see this moment. Oh, God is

merciful.”

The lantern swayed to the floor. Behind it, the old footman bowed and

sniffed.

“I am glad to be back too, Perkins.”

“Shall I bring you some refreshment, sir?” Perkins asked. “Mary already

prepared something to welcome you tomorrow.”

“No need, thank you. Let Mrs. Perkins sleep without interruption. She will

have her hands full after tomorrow. And you go to bed too. I have the key

to the hunting parlor and can let myself out.”

“Perhaps I can light more candles for you, sir?” There was an

almost-childish eagerness in the old servant’s question.

“No, thank you. One candle will do. I just need to see the house by myself,

if you please.”

“Very well, sir.” Perkins straightened to attention, though he was grinning

and the tip of his nightcap hung behind his ear like a giant, misplaced

earring. “Mary and I will be waiting tomorrow to give you the full report and

show you the house again. Will Lady Hanbury be coming with you?”

Who? Oh, he almost forgot he had acquired a wife earlier today. Naturally,

Perkins knew about their nuptials, since Stanville had stayed here for a

week.

“I do not think so, Perkins. Not tomorrow.”

Perkins bowed again and turned to go, but before disappearing in that

mysterious way servants had of vanishing into the woodwork, he suddenly

seemed to remember something.

“My best wishes for your happiness, sir,” he said and, with a smile,

evaporated around the staircase.

“Thank you, Perkins,” Percy muttered.

For a moment, he’d completely forgotten about Letitia. He didn’t want her

in his thoughts tonight. There would be plenty of time, his entire life, in fact,

to remember about Lady Letitia Hanbury’s happiness.

Alone again, he looked around.

The walls above the staircase were completely empty, and so was the

long gallery once adorned with paintings. He had not expected anything

else, yet a sharp stub of regret twisted in his heart like a knife. He could

buy any paintings, but not the family portraits. What had Stanville done

with them?

Most bedrooms remained partially furnished, some pieces under dust

covers. Stanville must have stayed in the state bedroom. Its furnishings

consisted of a splendid old bed and a few hastily added pieces to provide

his lordship with a modicum of comfort in the house he had raided of its

belongings years earlier. Somehow, Stanville had not removed the richly

carved bed, but the elaborate canopy Percy used to admire for its

embroidered battle scenes was gone.

Without realizing it, Percy slowed his step as he walked toward the

eastern end of the house. There, at the other end of the gallery, were his

parents’ rooms.

He stopped when he reached the narrow passage that separated their

apartments from the gallery, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

It all came back in an instant.

He was five again, standing in the same dark corner of the passage,

hoping no one would notice his presence. He was not supposed to be

here, but he’d slipped out of the nursery after his nanny fell asleep in her

chair while he was playing with his soldiers.

He wanted to see a brother or sister whose arrival had been expected for

months by his jubilant parents. Percy was their only child, and they were

beside themselves with joy when his mother was expecting again. He had

been expecting too. He wanted to see the baby who would share with him

the empty nursery and maybe would grow fast enough to become a

playmate. He longed for the company of another child. Although his father

had begun taking him along when riding around the estate, the sporadic

contact with other children in the village was not enough. He wanted

someone who would be there all the time.

He also missed his mother. He had not seen her since she had retired to

her bed after breakfast the day before, suddenly taken with pain. Since

then, the entire household had turned upside down. Servants were riding

out in a hurry and coming back with strangers. He was not allowed out of

the nursery, but watched carefully from its windows whenever sounds from

the driveway reached the top floor.

On the second day of confinement, the walls began to crush down on him.

Once he’d even made it downstairs before being ushered upstairs by a

very upset Mrs. Dale. Apart from the frustration with the sudden lack of

freedom, Percy sensed something was wrong. No one in the house had

ever behaved in such a panicked, hushed way. He had never seen his

father in such a frantic state—unshaven, hair unpowdered and unchanged,

crumpled clothes.