An Unusual Courtship (12 page)

Rapping at Mrs. Hartley’s door, he heard a cheerful whoop from within.

“Just a minute, dear!” Mrs. Hartley called, and shortly afterward appeared at the door. “Mr. Valentine!”

“Mrs. Hartley,” Percival said, smiling at the sight of her.

“How good it is to see you! Come in, dear. Will you have coffee? I’ve just been hanging this mint to dry. So much of it this year, you see! That’s what happens with mint if you’re not careful with it, you know. Do you have mint at the Manor, Mr. Valentine?”

“Do you know, I have no idea!” Percival replied, removing his hat before he stepped into the low-ceilinged cottage, hung all about with drying herbs from her garden. “I suppose we must—I see it often enough fresh in the summer, and I imagine Mrs. Otto would come to you for it if we had none, which you would certainly know about.”

“There’s sense!” Mrs. Hartley said, laughing as she put the kettle on. “It
is
good to see you again, Mr. Valentine. Why, we’ve hardly exchanged two words since the trouble with my roof.”

“I apologise for that, Mrs. Hartley,” Percival said, glancing up toward the patched hole in her roof. It was securely repaired, and looked expertly done. Percival didn’t know much about such things, but he nonetheless nodded approvingly, pleased that his estates looked to themselves so well with just a bit of benevolent oversight. “I shall try to come more often.”

“Oh, no, no! You have your friends now, and very glad I am for it.” Mrs. Hartley plopped into a chair across him while they waited for the kettle to boil. “They’re such good young people, don’t you think? I like them all very much. And I am so very glad to see you with friends of your own age and status. As much as I enjoy your company, Mr. Valentine, I am glad to see you kept so busy with them. You seem—brighter, when you are with them. That’s my opinion, at any rate. Do you suppose they’ll stay?”

“Stay?” Percival repeated. “I suppose. I think they might. Miss Bolton—had you heard?—she does seem to be very taken with Mr. Humphrey. I’ve told her that she may be mistress of the school, once the repairs are finished.”

“Will she indeed!” Mrs. Hartley said, entirely delighted by this news. “Oh, that will be very nice. She seems to be the most wholesome and gentle young lady. I am certain that any pupils she has will only benefit from her tutelage, and we
do
indeed need a school in Linston again.”

“I intend to have it open as soon as the harvest season is done,” Percival promised her, his smile feeling more genuine in Mrs. Hartley’s cheerful company.

“You don’t suppose she’ll find it dull? For as fine a London lady as she is, to be sure.”

“I don’t suppose so, no. Miss Bolton seems to have flourished in the country. Her brother may return to London, once she’s settled, perhaps, and Mr. Everett…”

“Oh, yes! Mr. Everett. He’s off to London, isn’t he? Is it true what one hears about London in the summer? Reeks like a—”

“Mrs. Hartley!” Percival scolded, beginning to laugh. “Yes, I suppose it’s true. I’ve never been to London in the heat of the summer.”

“No, I expect not. You have better sense than that.”

Percival continued laughing, feeling lighter for it. “Mrs. Hartley!”

“When will he be back, then? I do very much like Mr. Everett. Very earnest, he is, and takes a genuine interest in one! Why, he let me rattle his ear clean off about the local growing season for herbs!”

“He is…” Percival hesitated and cleared his throat. “He is very earnest, yes. I… to be quite honest, Mrs. Hartley, I am not certain if Mr. Everett
will
return. He departed very suddenly for London, and without proper explanation. We’ve had nothing from him since. Near three weeks it’s been, now.”

“Oh, he’ll be back, to be sure,” Mrs. Hartley prophesied, nodding knowledgeably. “He seemed like a country sort to me, and I can spot them.”

“A country sort!” Percival repeated, not certain whether or not he ought to be offended on Mr. Everett’s behalf. “Why, he isn’t at all! He is
very
refined and fashionable.”

“Oh, Mr. Valentine!” Mrs. Hartley said, laughing. “I didn’t mean he was not. I am sure that Mr. Everett is the very height of the
beau monde
in London. Only, I mean—there are those sorts, whether they’re born town or country, out in the country they fuss and fidget and count the days until summer is over and they may return to Town. And there are those who come to the country and they bloom and relax. No matter a person’s birth or upbringing, some of us are Town, and some of us are Country. You and I, we’re Country. Mr. Bolton—I think he’s Town. But the other two… they’ll stay, mark my words. Miss Bolton will have her country rector, and Mr. Everett won’t be gone long. He’s Country at heart, and his heart is here.”

“I do not at all know if I believe you,” Percival said, smiling hopefully. “But I like your theory very much.”

I
t was halfway
through August when Percival one day received a brief note from Miss Bolton saying that Mr. Everett had returned and would Percival kindly join them for dinner that night or the next.

There was nothing more than that, no explanation or encouragement. Percival sent back at once that he would, and spent the rest of the day fretting and changing his mind about his wardrobe.

He did his best to wait until the indicated time before setting out for Linston Grange, but he was half-mad with yearning and impatience, and arrived more than half an hour early.

The butler met him at the door and showed him into the parlour.

It was empty, and quieter than the drawing room where he usually met with his friends. Percival fidgeted and paced until Miss Bolton appeared, alone.

“Miss Bolton!” Percival said, startled that she was alone, and not accompanied by the wayward Mr. Everett. “Why, whatever has happened? Where is Mr. Everett?”

“He’s here, Mr. Valentine,” she said. Her smile endeavoured to be reassuring, but there was something unhappy about it which Percival did not like at all. “He will be down shortly.”

“But Miss Bolton…” Percival hesitated. He felt puzzled and betrayed by her demeanour. She knew how wrought with misery he had been in Mr. Everett’s absence, but now she offered no comfort or explanation, and Mr. Everett did not even bother himself to appear! “What has he said? What explanation has he given? Why has he not come to the manor to see me?”

“Mr. Valentine,” she said, appearing to struggle with what to say. “Please, come in to dinner, and do not ask me. You are
both
my dear friends, but I—!” Mastering herself, she took a deep breath and folded her hands. “All will be well, Mr. Valentine. I am certain of it. Please, will you come in to dinner?”

“Yes,” Percival said. He was unhappy and confused, but Miss Bolton was his friend and he had no intention of pressing her for further details if she had been for some reason sworn to secrecy. Lifting his chin and straightening his spine, he followed her in to dinner.

Mr. Bolton was already waiting, and this time it was Mr. Everett who was late.

Percival rose from his seat when Mr. Everett appeared. “Mr. Everett!”

“Mr. Valentine.” Mr. Everett pressed his hand politely in greeting, and then let go and took his seat. He seemed guarded and aloof, and did not meet Percival’s eyes for more than an instant.

Utterly flabbergasted by this strange reception, particularly considering the context under which they had last seen each other, Percival stared at him in shock.

“Mr. Valentine,” Miss Bolton said, her unhappiness only just concealed under a firm, polite exterior, “please, will you sit?”

He sat, feeling as though the world around him was reeling.

There was no conversation at all for several minutes as they all stirred unhappily at their soup.

“I hope,” Percival said at last, with the same sterile politeness he would use with a stranger, “that your journey to London was a productive one, Mr. Everett?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Everett. “It was.”

Percival barely tasted the beautiful food in front of him. Miss Bolton made some tentative forays at conversation, inquiring with Mr. Everett about news from London. There was little enough of it—he was still unwelcome in society, and appeared to have done little other than visited his solicitor and settled some legal affairs, of which he provided no specifics.

After dinner, they retired as usual to the drawing room. Mr. Everett refused Mr. Bolton’s suggestion of playing chess but consented to play cards all together.

He seemed to Percival to be very cold and very gruff, not at all the friendly and engaging Mr. Everett that he had been mere weeks ago. He replied to questions and jests only when prompted and seemed at all times deeply uncomfortable, which made the evening miserable for all four of them.

At last Miss Bolton called an end to it, dismissing herself off to bed. Mr. Bolton and Mr. Everett promptly agreed, and rose.

“Mr. Everett!” Percival said, rising also to his feet as Mr. Everett made to quit the room.

Mr. Everett paused.

“Pray, will you stay a moment?” Percival asked. “I would speak with you.”

Nodding once, Mr. Everett returned to stand in front of Percival. The Boltons exited quietly.

Searching for suitable words, Percival studied Mr. Everett’s blue eyes but found only cold regard in them. “Mr. Everett—have I given you some offence?”

Mr. Everett looked away guiltily. “No, not at all.”

“Then perhaps you have some doubts as to my character,” Percival suggested. His cheeks heated with nerves and indignation at this cold treatment from Mr. Everett.

“Nothing of the sort,” Mr. Everett said firmly, and offered no further explanation.

“Then are we not friends?”

Mr. Everett hesitated. He still would not meet Percival’s eyes. “Certainly we are friends, Mr. Valentine. I do enjoy your company. It is only that I have no further desire to be alone with you.”

Upon that statement, he turned and left the room.

Percival stared after him with jaw agape. Mr. Everett had never before been so shockingly rude to him.

Cheeks flaming, Percival showed himself to the door.

On the way home, he allowed himself the unkind thought that perhaps Miss Martin had been right after all.

That did not, he conceded to himself, make sense with all the rest of the evidence, and there remained too many strange inconsistencies in Mr. Everett’s behaviour and in the behaviour of the Boltons. But it did make him feel better to imagine himself direly wronged and to reproach Mr. Everett’s character, which had now been cast into question.

H
e was invited again
to dinner the next day, with a polite note indicating that Mr. Humphrey would also be joining them.

Nothing had progressed in the romance between Miss Bolton and Mr. Humphrey, which had left Miss Bolton despairing whether he would ever make her an offer. Percival couldn’t make sense of it, and kept resolving to see to the matter with Mr. Humphrey, but he had continually put it off due to his own troubles.

The information that Mr. Humphrey would join the party was a great relief. He was innocent of the question of Mr. Everett, and would serve as a mediating influence upon the tempers of the group.

Percival sent back a response at once, and then went out to oversee the construction projects in progress. That kept him busy for most of the day, so that he was the last to arrive at the Grange for dinner.

Miss Bolton met him with her usual kindness and grace, and Mr. Bolton’s humour seemed likewise to be restored. It was only Mr. Everett who remained peculiarly aloof. He was perfectly cordial to the company, but avoided conversation with Percival and would not look at him unless required to answer a direct query.

Percival left him alone for the most part, not wanting to make the situation worse.

“Mr. Everett,” said Mr. Humphrey, who had no such compunctions and no suspicion that there even was a situation, “have you seen the improvements that are in progress around Linston? It is so very thrilling! Why, it seems like half the village is going to be expanded or improved.”

“I have,” Mr. Everett said, with only as much interest as was polite. “I hope it will be very good for Linston.”

“I’m sure it will! The improvements to the school are being prioritised, as you may know—oh! I suppose that you don’t know. They are, you see. Linston has not had a proper school in nearly a decade, but with Mr. Valentine’s kind oversight we will have the schoolhouse back in repair for pupils. And, would you know, Miss Bolton has even suggested that she may wish to stay on as schoolmistress! Oh—I suppose you
might
already have known that.”

“I did,” Mr. Everett confirmed. “And I wish her the best of it. She seems to be very fond of Linston and its inhabitants.”

“Indeed I am,” Miss Bolton said, bestowing a smile upon Mr. Humphrey, who looked away fretfully.

An uncomfortable silence followed as everyone strove to pretend they had not noticed.

After dinner, they retired to play games again. Five made for an odd number at most of their games, but Mr. Everett protested that he would prefer not to play on the excuse of having the headache, and they were able to play more evenly with four.

Percival attempted not to watch him as they played, but his eyes kept straying toward Mr. Everett’s handsome form and unreadable face.

The evening again ended sooner than had previously been their habit. Mr. Humphrey was an early riser, and when he expressed as much the party decamped.

Not wanting to linger in Mr. Everett’s presence when he was so clearly unwanted, Percival left with Mr. Humphrey, intending to walk him as far as the church and the rector’s cottage.

“Quite a pleasant evening,” Mr. Humphrey said, as the two of them made their way down the lane.

“Yes,” Percival agreed, though it was hardly heartfelt. “The Boltons keep an excellent cook.”

“Oh yes! The mutton they served tonight was unparalleled!” Mr. Humphrey sighed happily. “And it is pleasant to have Mr. Everett back, although he seemed a bit quiet tonight, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Percival said. “I believe something has weighed upon his mind ever since he left so suddenly for London several weeks ago.”

“How unfortunate! Has he given no intimation as what it is about?”

“None whatsoever,” Percival said, since he certainly didn’t intend to comment on how the matter seemed to be linked with himself in some way.

“Most likely it is financial,” Mr. Humphrey said sagely. “These matters nearly always are.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Percival said.

The conversation lulled, until all at once Percival remembered that he had been intending for weeks to speak with Mr. Humphrey alone.

“Oh!” said Percival. “Mr. Humphrey!”

“Yes, Mr. Valentine?”

Percival toyed with his gloves and considered his approach to the matter. “If you will forgive me for prying into the matter, it had seemed—perhaps to my uninformed eye—that you might perhaps, well… that you might have some matrimonial interest as to Miss Bolton.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Humphrey, and joined Percival in fidgeting.

When he did not elaborate upon the point, Percival was forced to inquire further. “May I ask whether … that is indeed the case?”

“It is, I confess,” Mr. Humphrey said miserably. “Although it is very foolish of me!”

“Why, Mr. Humphrey, why do you think so? Certainly the lady is very fond of you, and I believe that she would look warmly upon your suit.”

“No, not at all, Mr. Valentine!” Mr. Humphrey exclaimed. “Indeed, how can I look for marriage in such a quarter? Miss Bolton is a lady of such esteemed quality, comfortably monied and of such impeccable beauty and character. She can expect to marry far, far higher than a village rector.”

“That may be true, Mr. Humphrey, but Miss Bolton is very fond of you, and as we both know it is her heartfelt wish to stay in Linston and teach. And, as you may know, Mr. Bolton wishes to return to London at the end of the summer. Miss Bolton certainly cannot stay on in Linston without family or chaperone. If she were to marry, and I think she would indeed very much like to marry
you
, she could easily stay on.”

“Even if a lady of quality might marry a country rector,” Mr. Humphrey objected, “you must consider that there is one remaining problem, and surely no friend of Miss Bolton’s could allow her to stoop so low.”

“So low as a country rector!” Percival retorted, offended on Mr. Humphrey’s behalf. He knew for a certainty that Mr. Humphrey was Cambridge educated and of good birth, even though he had neither land nor money aside from the rectory of Linston. “Mr. Humphrey, I think that you do yourself too much—“

“Mr. Valentine,” the rector interrupted, “the Linston rectory is a
two-room cottage
.”

Percival stopped short in surprise. “Oh!” he exclaimed.

Mr. Humphrey stopped likewise and turned to face him. They were still near the edge of the village, and needed not fear anyone overhearing.

“
Oh
,” Percival repeated, for Miss Bolton could
certainly
not be expected to live in a two-room cottage. Percival knew that the rectory funds were sufficient to support the rector and his family, in addition to at least one or two servants, but it was true that the rector’s house had for decades been a tiny two-room cottage near the church which was suitable only for a bachelor. “Oh, I do see the problem.”

Folding his arms as he thought over possible solutions, Percival nodded to himself. “I think—with your leave, Mr. Humphrey—that I shall write to Lord Barham to inform him that our rector wishes to be married, but in order to do so he shall require larger accommodations. I am certain we can settle you with something suitable, and it is quite shocking that I have not thought to rectify this matter sooner. Please accept my apologies, Mr. Humphrey. I did not mean to keep you in a bachelor’s cottage when I might perfectly sensibly have realised that you are of marrying age and temperament.”

“You are too kind, Mr. Valentine! Certainly I do not wish to impose upon our landlord, and I consider myself quite fortunate in my position. But if Lord Barham were to approve the matter and … and if he were to offer some place that would be suitable for Miss Bolton—oh, Mr. Valentine! I should offer to her at once, although I do not dare to
hope
that she would accept my poor hand in marriage!”

“I think she should, Mr. Humphrey,” Percival insisted, and resumed their course toward the church. “I shall see to it right away, I assure you.”

“How good of you, Mr. Valentine. If it is not too much imposition—well, you have my utmost thanks.”

O
n the morrow
, Percival went out riding with Mr. Bolton.

Mr. Everett, Mr. Humphrey, and Miss Bolton had all begged off of the excursion, but Mr. Bolton was quite resolved that he
would
go, and Percival thought he should like to take the opportunity to speak alone with his friend.

Mr. Bolton was an impeccable horseman who kept a very fine seat. Percival felt as countrified as ever whenever they went riding together, but he at least had the advantage of knowing all the best routes and hidden glens around Linston.

“You have still not taken us to the old monastery that you promised us,” Mr. Bolton reminded him.

“Oh! Quite right, I haven’t. Forgive me, Mr. Bolton, I’d entirely forgotten.”

“I do so forgive you,” Mr. Bolton said, smiling kindly at his friend. “It is Mr. Everett who wanted to see it, after all, and he has been away.”

“We shall go as soon as is convenient for Mr. Everett, then,” Percival resolved.

“I shall propose it to him at once.”

The matter was left there, since neither of them wished to further broach the complicated topic of Mr. Everett.

“Mr. Bolton,” Percival said, when they’d gone not very much further. “I should tell you—I suppose I should tell Miss Bolton as well, but I do not know how to politely broach the subject. Perhaps you might mention it to her.”

“Certainly, if you wish. What is the matter in question?”

“It concerns Mr. Humphrey.”

“Oh, our unmarriageable Mr. Humphrey! I am near to despairing of him. Have you any sense of the matter?”

“I have indeed,” Percival said. “And it was very foolish of me not to have realised the trouble earlier. Linston’s rectory is possessed of no house grander than a two-room cottage.”

“Oh!” Mr. Bolton said, drawing his horse up in surprise. “A two-room cottage!”

“Our previous rector never married, you see, and preferred an ascetic existence. Previously to him, Gadswod House was part of the rectory estate, but he very generously bestowed it upon the Blackwood family, whose need was greater than his own. The trouble comes, you see, that now Mr. Humphrey is our rector, and of marrying age, and much infatuated with Miss Bolton.”

“But no one could have a family in a two-room cottage!” Mr. Bolton concluded. “I see the matter entirely. Oh, Mr. Valentine. We have been a bit foolish. Poor Mr. Humphrey.”

“I have resolved that I shall write to Lord Barham at once. I wish to propose that we may bestow Heatheridge House upon Mr. Humphrey. It is
very
nice, but it has sat empty these past few years and will need some repairs. I believe Lord Barham will be amenable to my applying some of the renovation funds to that purpose, if he will consent to me thus bestowing it.”

“I am certain he will!” Mr. Bolton said. “You ought to mention the matter to Mr. Everett. I think he would find it of interest.”

This seemed a peculiar statement, especially since Percival was not presently on friendly terms with Mr. Everett.

“Do you really suppose that he should?”

Mr. Bolton appeared to doubt himself. “Well, yes. I would think so. Don’t you? He does take such an interest in … provincial management. And he has followed the new construction with interest.”

“Has he really?” Percival asked, having not known that at all.

Mr. Bolton fidgeted uncomfortably, for no reason Percival could understand.

“Yes, to be sure,” Mr. Bolton said. “We all do. At any rate, I am sure that soon Mr. Humphrey will have Heatheridge House, as you recommend, and Hermione will be entirely transported with joy.”

This now settled, they rode together for a few minutes in silence. Percival had no topics to hand other than the renovations and general management of Linston, and he knew that Mr. Bolton had not the least interest in such things, despite his good manners about suffering through them when they came up.

“I don’t know that Mr. Everett will speak to me,” Percival said at length. “It seems that our friendship has taken a permanent blow, and I do not understand it.”

“Nor do I!” Mr. Bolton exclaimed. “He is being devilish tight-lipped about it, and won’t talk sense—or talk at all. I’m certain it will sort itself out, Mr. Valentine.”

“You don’t know?” Percival said, both stunned and relieved by this. “I thought he had taken Miss Bolton and yourself into his confidence upon his return.”

“Hardly!” Mr. Bolton sighed irritably. “He made a short end to our questions and then refused to answer anything further. I do not think the trouble is you or anything you’ve done, and—to be quite honest—I think he’s still in love with you!”

“Still in love with me!” Percival burst out, jaw hanging open in shock. “He won’t be in a room alone with me! Why, I think the very sight of me is detestable to him!”

Mr. Bolton shook his head. “I don’t think that’s the trouble. I don’t know what the trouble
is
, but I am certain you are quite innocent of whatever has caused it.”

Percival considered that, and sighed. “That is very kind of you to say, Mr. Bolton. But I suppose I don’t know what good it will do, if he still will not speak to me.”

“No, nor I,” Mr. Bolton agreed. “But I think I’ve had quite enough of it.”

“What, Mr. Bolton?” Percival asked, startled by the determination in Mr. Bolton’s voice. “Are you resolved upon some course?”

“I think I am,” Mr. Bolton said with a secretive smile. “If Hermione and I can contrive to give you a stretch of time alone with him, do you think you can make some use of it?”

Percival’s breath huffed in a surprised laugh. “What, shall I use my wiles upon him?”

“Have you any?”

“No, I fear not.”

“Well, he seems charmed enough by you as you are.
Can
you make use of a spate with him?”

“Yes,” Percival resolved, nodding once. “I would be very glad for it. Even if he will not talk to me, I would appreciate the opportunity to
try
.”

“Then Hermione and I shall scheme, and you shall have the fruit of it. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Certainly I am.”