Bound by Honor

Chapter 5

“Not quite. You were about to marry Viscount Darnley. You must have

thought about your future together and what it would mean for you. Surely

you had some expectations.”

“Whatever my expectations were before, they do not apply to you, sir. I do

not hope for the same degree of happiness with you as I had hoped to

have with—”

“Lord Ogilby?” he supplied. “No, you certainly cannot.”

Her heart hammered with indignation. So the lies spread about her were

still in circulation. Besides, she had meant Sir Walter Hasting, not the poor

Lord Ogilby. Luckily, she’d held her tongue just in time. Yet Sir Percival’s

calm, if not cynical, reply pierced at last the bubble of restraint and

provoked an outburst.

“Have you ever loved someone?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “

Really loved? So much you were ready to do anything for that person? So

much that the disappointment they dealt you was worse than death? You

think me ridiculous, don’t you? You acquired me like a-a piece of livestock,

along with all that land my father didn’t even care for. All you know about

me is the gossip you heard in London and whatever my father chose to tell

you. Very well, sir, I can count your silver and your linen, and converse

prettily with your guests, but you do not own my heart and my soul, even

though the Church just blessed your ownership of my person.”

“I have not married you for your heart or your soul, ma’am.” His face had

changed as she spoke. Raw pain distorted his features, and anger crept

into his voice. He turned away sharply before adding in an icy tone, “And I

do not ask for them either. They are yours to keep.”

Letitia fell silent, stunned by his revealing reaction, stung by the blatant

acknowledgment of his indifference. Deep inside offended by the implied

unimportance of her person, now that he had whatever he had wanted

from her father.

Her father’s malicious chuckle echoed in her ears, together with the

question he’d thrown in her mother’s face so many times: “And what are

you going to do about this, Lady Stanville , huh?” Her mother had never

done anything beyond trying to hide the tears of humiliation caused by his

nonchalant disrespect for her as his countess. For years, Letitia could only

watch in helpless fury.

Now, she sucked in a deep breath and swerved away from Sir Percival.

She could not let him see how much his words cut her to the quick. He’d

just confirmed what she had known ever since that afternoon Walter had

boasted to his brother about their understanding. She was not a person in

her own right, but the means of access to her father’s wealth.

Suddenly, strong yet gentle fingers closed around her clenched fist. Letitia

blinked in surprise when Sir Percival lifted her hand to his lips.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I did not mean to hurt your feelings.” With a

movement of his head, he indicated the view to the left of the carriage.

“Welcome to my home. It is yours now too.”

Letitia turned abruptly to follow Sir Percival’s gaze. Behind the trees lining

the driveway sat a pretty Palladian house. Much smaller than the sprawling

ruin of Wycombe Oaks, it seemed to be its opposite in every way. The

pale-pink stucco contrasted pleasantly with the old gray of the stone

columns supporting an elegant portico. Shrubs in tubs graced the front. A

wide path branched off the driveway, circled the house on one side and

disappeared behind the hedges demarcating the flower gardens. A few old

trees on the other side of the house waved their tops to the sun with the

serenity of wizened old women. A dozen or so servants of both sexes

stood in a line on the driveway.

Letitia slowly pulled her hand free from Sir Percival’s. The horses changed

pace, and the carriage came to a stop.

Sir Percival stepped down without waiting for a footman to open the door

on his side. He was already waiting by her door when the butler himself

swung it open. All remote politeness now, he bowed slightly and extended

his hand to her.

She took it, stepped down and smiled at the servants.

To her great relief, once the introductions were over, Mrs. Waters, the

housekeeper, led her inside. The entrance hall was awash with sunlight

from the dome above it. Full-length portraits of Hanbury ancestors in all

their armored finery flanked an ornate Boulle chest on each side, and a

marble staircase graced the back of the hall. Lush Oriental carpets lent

softness to the stone walls. Well proportioned, affluent yet not overbearing,

the house seemed to be in tune with its owner’s elegance of this morning,

not with his highwayman’s outfit from the day before.

Tucking this observation away, Letitia followed the housekeeper upstairs

to her new bedchamber. She was anxious to see Josepha, whose safe

arrival at Bromsholme was immediately confirmed by the already

unpacked familiar objects. A change of clothes was laid out on the bed and

Letitia’s things arranged on the dressing table and the escritoire.

A moment later, Josepha herself walked into the room, carrying an

evening dress freshly pressed downstairs. Her honey-colored face broke

into a grin that accentuated the almond shape of her gorgeous golden

eyes.

Letitia returned a wan smile. “It is done, Josie,” she sighed. “Father

already left for London. We are alone in this place.”

Josepha hung the dress over the back of an armchair, next to a delicate

chemise, then walked up to Letitia. Gentle, long fingers touched Letitia’s

cheek in a soothing motion.

“And so it is, my dove.”

Letitia closed her eyes and let her cheek sink into the safety of Josepha’s

warm palm. The familiar feeling of comfort that never failed to follow this

token of Josie’s unconditional love since she was three and Josie ten

spread in her chest.

“How is your room?” she asked. “You do not have to share, do you?

Because if you do, I’ll speak with Mrs. Waters immediately.”

“No, no.” Josepha tucked a loose strand of hair behind Letitia’s ear. “I

have my own room, with a fireplace. Come later to see it.” Then a

mischievous smile split her face. “Sir Percival is a handsome devil. Didn’t I

tell you not to worry so much? You will be pleased, you will see.”

“Pleased, Josie? Surely you’re jesting now.”

“Not at all. Take my advice and try to make him happy. Your husband is a

good man. He won’t abuse you.”

“How do you know that?” Letitia walked to the window. At least the view

was lovely. She could like this place.

“It’s written on his face. He is sad inside. Something bothers him. Maybe

he’s been without a woman for too long. A wife can fix that easily. But he

respects people. He will respect you.”

Letitia bit her lip at this insight into the soul of Sir Percival Horrible. It

brought forth the subject she had successfully kept at bay all day, but both

Josepha’s words and her present surroundings made it impossible to avoid

thinking about tonight any longer.