Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

I t had been less than thirty minutes since they arrived, and Percival could already feel the ache under his shoulder that demanded he return to the comfort of his home. But he had chosen to attend one of the frivolous affairs that made up the Season in the hope that he might build his reputation and increase his standing.

Unfortunately, he did not make any progress because he could only see scorn and disgust on the faces before him. That was why he was standing at the fringes of the ballroom, nursing a glass of bad punch while he considered the merits of ignoring polite society and returning to the comfort of his sanctuary.

At the very least, he mused, he deserved to have a stiffer drink. Whiskey, perhaps, if he was going to endure this spectacle any longer.

“Your Grace,” someone greeted, drawing his gaze.

He guessed that the man was of high rank from his well-tailored, bold-coloured clothes.

“It is an honour to have you here with us,” the dandy continued, his smile saccharine sweet.

“I do not think the other guests feel the same way,” Percival replied dryly, before taking another sip of his punch.

“It is just the shock of seeing you in person. Many of us, myself included, believed that you were not real. Your reputation is fit for folktales.”

“And scary stories, I imagine,” Percival drawled.

“I do not—” the dandy sputtered.

“I guess it also serves as a good story to laugh about in your clubs,” Percival continued, totally ignoring the man’s attempt to defend himself.

“Well, I never?—”

“What do you want, Lord…?”

“Glassington,” the dandy supplied. “l was hoping to tempt you into a business partnership. Rutherford had promised to share profits if we invested in the railways being constructed across the Continent. It will be hugely successful, I tell you,” he crowed, so happy with himself.

“Why do you need a business partner even if you have one already?’’ Percival asked, fixing Lord Glassington with a sharp look. “Besides, I do not have the money to invest.”

“But you are a duke,” Lord Glassington pointed out, his eyes widening in surprise.

“I should think that by now, you would have realized that not all dukes are wealthy,” Percival replied, a rueful smile on his lips.

Quite typical of a dandy to be clueless about money and how it should be handled. Lord Glassington had probably invested some money in that scheme in the hope of making more money to buy new clothes, accessories, and gel to keep his hair flattened to his head.

Percival, on the other hand, could not afford to be careless with money, especially when the business scheme in question was as shady as a backwater alley in London at night.

He was married now, and he had a duty to make sure that his wife lived in a respectable, comfortable home. It would be so stupid of him to gamble with her dowry when he could use it to improve their home. She had placed her trust in him, and he was going to do everything to honour it.

“You are so different from your brother,” Lord Glassington sneered. “He was more adventurous, generous, and lively—unlike you, gloomy as the storm brewing outside.”

The comment piqued Percy’s curiosity, causing his eyes to narrow in suspicion.

“You knew my brother?” he asked in a low voice, stepping closer to the man.

Lord Glassington eyed him warily. “We were friends… sort of… yes,” he replied, his wariness growing when Percival’s face darkened. “Why do you ask?”

“I have been looking for Micheal’s friends for some time now. It seems I am in luck today,” Percival murmured, his eyes glittering.

“Why would you want to meet his friends?”

“To see if any of them had seen him on the day of his death.”

“But he died in an accident…” Lord Glassington’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Do not tell me you suspect that his death was not natural.”

“Of course, his death was not natural. He died in an accident, Glassington”, Percival pointed out in a slightly mocking tone.

“You know what I mean,” Lord Glassington whispered urgently. “You think he was killed by someone? A nobleman, perhaps?”

“Precisely,” Percival answered, keeping his expression carefully bland.

“Your brother left us at the club, and several hours later, we received news of his death. I did not detect any foul play.”

It seemed that his brother was given to making bad investments and frivolous living, which had resulted in the dilapidated state of the manor. Another consequence of leading a lifestyle of drinking and gambling was that one easily acquired enemies—both loan sharks and losers. Any one of them could have killed Micheal.

“Do you know anyone he might have had a falling out with before the accident?”

Lord Glassington placed a contemplative finger on his chin. “I do not remember any. Micheal was lively and rather entertaining. It is almost impossible for him to have enemies.”

Of course one tended to attract a lot of friends once word spread that one was quite reckless with money.

Percival was about to ask the man if he knew anyone who could provide better answers to his questions when another gentleman interrupted them. He recognized him as the dissolute Duke of Banbury.

“Colborne,” Banbury boomed, grabbing his hand roughly and shaking it until Percival feared the man might pull his shoulder out of its socket. “Fancy seeing you here. It seems you have finally decided to descend from your ivory tower to grace us lesser humans with your presence,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I, for one, am grateful that you did not truly die on the battlefield. That would have been such a profound waste. I was beginning to wonder if tales of your return were just fiction, but it seems I was wrong. Welcome back.”

He slapped Percival on the back with a meaty hand.

“Now that you are back among us, you must attend my house party. It promises to be quite enjoyable and invigorating. You will even get to shoot some game.” He barked out a laugh, his jowls and belly shaking.

“While I appreciate the offer, Banbury, I do not think I am ready for such events yet. I regret to decline your offer.”

“Do loosen up. I do not see the reason why you would refuse my kind invitation—unless, of course, you do not know how to shoot. It is nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you,” Banbury said, his lips curling into a mocking smirk.

“You seem to forget, Banbury, that I am a retired soldier, and you definitely could not become one without passable shooting skills. In fact, it is a testament to my skills with a rifle that I still stand before you today alive and well. I wager that I have gained more experience shooting in my years in the army than you have your whole life,” Percival scoffed with barely concealed anger.

“I’m only declining your invitation because I refuse to kill anything innocent. I have seen enough death in my life to last me a lifetime or even more. I do not want any more blood on my hands, both human and animal. You are welcome to enjoy your sport, but do leave me out of it.”

Percival didn’t blame the man because he had not experienced the horrors of war. The sadness of knowing that with one snap of your finger, you could take lives. Granted, they were his enemies, but the shock on their faces as the light left their eyes was imprinted in his mind and haunted his dreams. Even now, any sudden loud noise could throw him into a panic, making him feel as if he were back on the battlefield, where grenades and bullets flew with reckless abandon, leaving death in their wake.

They did not understand the reality of shooting a living being because they had not endured the hell that he had.