Bound by Honor

Chapter 6

“You know this marriage is nothing more than a business transaction,

Josie,” she said. “I am only an attachment to what my father gave him in

order to get rid of me. And you know why I agreed to this scheme. I owe

my husband nothing.”

“That may be so,” Josepha agreed. “But you have to live with him for the

rest of your days. Think about that. Now, let me have that dress you’ve

been wearing since the morning. And rest before I come back to help you

dress and fix your hair.”

Letitia and Percy faced each other across the shortened dinner table they

were going to share for years to come. Letitia watched her wedded

husband of a few hours whenever he was not looking at her. Josepha’s

comments were, unfortunately, on target. Sir Percival was a handsome

man, though in dark ways. Maybe this was what had captivated her

painter’s eye at the outcropping yesterday. In her imagination, she’d kept

returning to that brooding expression and the tall, strong silhouette,

wondering if she would ever meet him again. Ironically, the image of her

future husband as an old man had entrenched itself so firmly in her head

that not for a moment had she suspected she had been talking to him. And

that coat! But unlike yesterday, today he was dressed with impeccable

elegance.

He seemed preoccupied, to Letitia’s relief. Her mind was stuck, with a

considerable dose of discomfort, on the first vow she had made earlier in

the day—to obey him. And then the next one—to serve him. It did not

escape her attention that all other vows gave precedence to those two, the

ones to which her mother had adhered with the tenacity not worthy of the

cause. In her experience, these were the only vows men ever wanted to

see fulfilled, conveniently forgetting about the rest of them—and their own.

The memory of Walter’s demands that she prove her feelings for him,

followed by hard kisses bruising her lips and gropes making her squirm

with discomfort, now caused a shudder.

“Is anything wrong with your fish?”

She raised her head sharply.

Sir Percival regarded her with interest.

“I beg your pardon? Fish? No. No, it’s excellent.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “The cook would be inconsolable if she failed to

impress you tonight.”

Letitia forced herself to smile. “I’ll make sure to tell her tomorrow how

good everything was.”

He returned her smile with a quick quirk of the corner of his mouth and

returned to eating. But that small gesture relaxed for the briefest of

moments his somber thoughtfulness, giving his features unexpected

warmth, its tiny spark extinguished before it became the promise of a

flame.

Slater, the butler, stood at attention a few feet away, reminding her of a

kind, old hawk waiting to swoop down on the empty dishes. She finished

the fish, since offending the cook was not a good idea, but refused the

partridges. The vows to obey and serve the man she didn’t even know

seemed to have shrunk her stomach. But a second glass of claret, though

mixed with water, filled her with pleasant warmth.

“I trust your maid had enough time to make preparations for the night,” Sir

Percival said, maneuvering her toward the stairs once they were out of the

dining room.

“My maid knows her duties well, sir,” she replied, feeling a little shaky

inside. Obey and serve. Clearly, he had no intention of wasting time on

chatting with her in the drawing room.

“She has certainly captivated everyone’s attention,” Sir Percival remarked

while they started up the stairs.

Letitia forgot about the vows. “Are you objecting to her complexion? I warn

you, sir, tell your staff to treat her with all the respect due a companion.”

“A companion?” He seemed both surprised and amused. “Not your maid?

I assumed your father brought a number of slaves to work in his

household.”

The tone of his voice held nothing but indifference. And he had said he

would not have taken the plantations, even if her father had offered them.

But she would never take Josie’s safety for granted.

“ Miss Josepha Fourier is more than a maid. I had planned to talk to you

about it tomorrow, but since you brought up the subject, let me explain.

Firstly, she is a free woman,” Letitia said firmly. “She shall be treated with

proper respect.”

“Certainly.”

The casual dismissal made her turn sharply in his direction. “Need I

remind you, sir, that as my companion, Josepha is under your protection?”

He frowned. “You need not, ma’am. Your companion’s safety is part of my

obligations. So is not favoring some of my employees above others.”

“She is not an employee to me. I am not asking for special favors,” she

replied, still watching him. “Merely for a proper acknowledgment of her

rank and position.”

“Let me put you at ease, then. Miss Fourier will not suffer any depravation

in this household on account of her skin co—”

She should have paid attention to where she was going, instead of

focusing on Sir Percival. Her foot became tangled in the hem of her dress,

and Letitia nearly tripped over the last riser. But a strong arm snaked

around her waist and pulled her up just when her nose came perilously

close to making contact with the marble floor. Then a large hand pressed

against her other side, helping her regain balance. The waves of pounding

heartbeats and watered-down claret swooshed in her head. Nice show.

Sir Percival’s face loomed in front of hers. He stood one step below her.

“Are you hurt?” His eyes bore into her face.

Her big toe throbbed madly inside the slipper. “Not at all,” she said.

“Thank you.”

His intense gaze slid to her mouth. Heat, apprehension and more

swooshing, together with a flock of butterflies in her belly, amounted to a

very uncomfortable reaction. She tried to move away, but his arm and

hand still trapped her. Her attempt did not go unnoticed.

Sir Percival shook his head, and his gaze refocused, with the customary

polite indifference, on her eyes. The hand holding her side slid down,

brushing lightly against her dress. The arm that prevented her downfall

dropped away.

“Good,” he said in a tone that might apply this sentiment to a large

number of unimportant things. Then he offered her his arm as if nothing

happened.

Letitia took it and let him lead her to the door of her bedchamber. The

strange butterflies gave way to a growing dread. It reached her throat by

the time they stopped in front of the door.

Sir Percival pressed down on the handle. “I believe you want to get ready

for the night. It has been an eventful day.”

“Indeed,” she murmured, trying to decide whether pleading a headache

might procure a delay in fulfilling her vows.