Gentlemen's Agreement

Chapter 1London, September 1815 Percy Havilland stood at an upstairs back window of his recently acquired Chelsea abode. He was uncharacteristically absorbed in the outlook rather than admiring his reflection as was his wont. He observed the freshly manicured lawn and the pleasant view of the nursery gardens and orchards of Brompton beyond with a sense of disbelief. He almost had to blink to ensure he was not dreaming and would awaken with all the tumult of moving house looming ahead. Percy had agonised and vacillated over the transition from his extremely comfortable perch in Mayfair to unknown quarters as though he was moving to the far-flung Bermuda home of his half-brother, Armand, rather than a mile or two along King’s Road to the sedate hamlet of Little Chelsea. His apartment in Mount Street had been a haven since he came down from university six years previously. It had been gifted to him by his careless father, no doubt as a sop to deter his newly adult son from cluttering up Massingfield Hall in Sussex, thus ensuring his parents could continue to enjoy their ruthlessly selfish existence. This suited Percy’s ambitions perfectly as he had no wish to linger in the depths of the countryside without any admiration for his burgeoning beauty, surrounded by people who did not give two figs about him. Also, the apartment was precisely situated to indulge in all the earthly delights that London promised so richly. From this gilded, perfectly arranged abode, lauded as a blond Adonis, Percy had directed his affairs, both amorous and social, as he was launched into and flattered by the ton until that became an unalterable pattern. But, almost a year ago, the unimaginable occurred and Percy’s life of privilege and pursuit of pleasure came to an abrupt halt. This was due to an old indiscretion of his father’s, Sir Edgar Havilland. It wasn’t uncommon for a baseborn child of a peer to come to light many years after conception. However, in Sir Edgar’s case, it seemed to have slipped his mind that he’d accidentally married the lady concerned. As this ceremony took place in the West Indies, it might have been a case of out of sight, out of mind. But unfortunately, on his return to England, he’d subsequently wed Lady Caroline, and between them, they had produced several more young Havillands, including Percy. This series of events meant that rather than a by-blow, the rediscovered son of the long-forgotten alliance was proved to be the legitimate heir to the baronetcy. Since his first wife was now deceased, Sir Edgar and Lady Caroline swiftly remarried and carried on in their usual complacency, oblivious to the calamitous impact on the status and standing of their children. Within days, Percy had diminished from a valuable and coveted guest in any West End mansion to being socially beyond the pale, sneered at, and tittered over whenever he dared to emerge in public. As he looked at the peaceful countryside framed by laurel trees waving in the breeze, Percy shivered as he thought of those dark days when he had felt utterly abandoned. But, he reminded himself, amid that dark and dreadful upheaval had beamed some shafts of light. An image of Nathaniel Brooks, his older lover, came to mind with his attractive craggy features, muscularly thick-set build, and abrupt manner. Before disaster struck, he and Percy had been conducting a combustible and intermittent six-month affair, at worst, defined as a battle of wills. Against all odds, when the scandal hit, Nathan was solidly loyal and stuck by Percy’s side throughout, as did a small group of similarly minded men whom Percy now called his closest friends. Also, because of, rather than despite his indifferent parents, Percy had become closer to some members of his family, including his older brother Simeon, a country vicar, and their three younger sisters, whose marital prospects were nearly scuppered by the scandal. Percy had also met his unexpected oldest brother, the somewhat exotic Bermudan salt and spice merchant Armand Blanchard. Rather than the scheming villain of the piece, he was revealed to be a thoroughly decent man who wrongly blamed himself, rather than Sir Edgar, for the havoc his existence had wreaked on his newly discovered family. Looking out at the serene late-summer vista at the start of a new month, Percy pondered that perhaps it was Armand’s good example that prompted his concern for his teenage sisters, Eustacia, Araminta, and Phoebe. After spending his early adulthood immersed in his own concerns and pleasures, Percy had been taken aback by the strong attachments he had recently formed with his siblings, especially Eustacia, who had relied on him to guide her through the hazards of an over-curious and occasionally hostile ton during her first Season. When Eustacia had returned to Massingfield in early summer, Percy was untypically uneasy about his sisters, left to the mercies of their oblivious parents who stained their reputations by proximity. However much Percy would have liked to have taken the credit, it was Nathan’s suggestion that Percy consider finding a more spacious establishment on the outskirts of London to give the girls a base from which they could be successfully introduced into society, with some strategic help from generous-minded and well-placed friends. Percy smiled ironically at his reflection, as instead of gratefully seizing this neat solution, he had groused and complained, raised objections where there were none, and even memorably declared that there was no fit habitation to be had in any of the prosperous and increasingly fashionable villages surrounding London. Percy could not fathom how Nathan tolerated his temperamental attitude since he had almost become exasperated with himself. Percy and his sisters had holidayed by the sea at Worthing in July, another astute proposal from Nathan. The four Havilland siblings were promenading on the beach one day when Percy had tentatively suggested the move the London to which all three girls leapt at with alacrity. Fair-haired, delicately pretty Eustacia had linked her arm in Percy’s as they walked. She halted, gasped, and asked, “Could we really?” Her grey-blue eyes were huge and dreamy as though she had been offered an unobtainable prize. Araminta, now seventeen and increasingly noteworthy, thanks to her dark brown hair and eyes, the heavy Havilland features, and a wealth of sarcastic wit, had nothing caustic to say for a change as her face lit up in a wide smile. Phoebe, the youngest at sixteen, as sunny as her golden red hair, had executed some inexpert cartwheels on the sand in her excitement. The girls’ positive response forced Percy to look beyond his delaying tactics, a combination of fear of rejection and a sense of inadequacy, both new sensations in his hitherto mercenary, pampered, and self-regarding ways. Nathan had understood, and for a decisive man who never wasted a moment, he had shown remarkable forbearance at Percy’s random stabs at incisiveness followed by nervous vacillations once the property hunt recommenced in earnest. With Nathan’s inside knowledge of available residences and much prompting, Percy had finally picked a suitable country abode, and events had advanced inexorably. His loyal and newly-married servants, William and Martha, had promptly packed up his jewel of an apartment and started to rearrange the villa with their usual efficiency and great satisfaction at their new quarters and their respective promotions to butler and housekeeper. Even if Percy had lingered on a final tour through the empty Mount Street rooms, lost in decadent memories with a hint of regret that his indulgent life was no more, once the capacious domicile was invaded by the giggles, disruption, and frequent squabbles of his three sisters, he had no regrets. His meticulously ordered and decorative life was upended in chaos, and he would not have it any other way. As if to underline that conclusion, Percy heard a rush of light footsteps on the main stairs behind the room in which he stood, followed by a clanging crash. “Oh, Miss Phoebe! What have I said time and again about taking the stairs at a run? One of these days, you’ll do yourself an injury,” Martha’s voice remonstrated gently. Percy heard his youngest sister apologising profusely as she helped Martha to pick up what must be a tray and its contents, before continuing to race down the staircase at full pelt. And Percy couldn’t help but smile.