Chapter 5

Chapter Five

P ercival felt the difference in the air the moment he stepped into the tavern. The air inside was thick with smoke, permeated with the smell of unwashed bodies and another distinct smell that seemed to emanate from rotting food.

This was the place the lowest of the low frequented in England. Thieves, cutthroats, assassins, and patrons of such services met here. The Bow Street Runners would not dare raid the tavern. The gangs that met there would return with even deadlier force.

It was no place for a duke, but then he was no ordinary duke. He felt more at home here than in the finest gentlemen’s clubs that London had to offer.

Looking around, he finally located his half-brother sat at one end of the room. Percival made his way through the crowd towards him. He had told Eli to dress simply, but his half-brother still looked out of place among the pile of unwashed bodies.

“Eli,” he greeted when he stopped in front of the table.

“Colborne,” Eli returned, taking a swig from the tankard he held in his hands.

Percival had thought that the man would complain about not going to a better establishment, but Eli looked at ease. Perhaps he had misjudged him, after all.

“Do you care for some ale? They brew a fine batch here,” Eli said, raising his tankard.

“Not yet,” Percival replied, taking a seat across from him. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am. I received your missive. I hope there is nothing amiss?” Eli asked, studying his face carefully.

Percival opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the owner coming to their table, bearing a tray laden with bread and a plate of stew.

“Gud eve’, guv. Ye’re a sight for sore eyes, eh?” Mr. Lewis greeted with a smile that revealed two missing front teeth and several yellowing ones.

“Great to see you too, Mr. Lewis. I’d like to have a more private room for me and my companion.”

“Anything ye want, guv. We got a fine room at the back—very fine,” Mr. Lewis said with a bright smile, leading them past the counter.

He went down the hall, passed two doors, and stopped at the fourth one. He balanced the tray on one arm and fished in his apron for the key. After opening the door, he led them into a smaller room that boasted one trestle table and two rickety wooden chairs that had seen better days.

It was rough, but it met Percival’s requirements—it was private.

“Thank you, Mr. Lewis,” he said, dropping two coins into the owner’s free hand.

“Anything for ye, guv.” Mr. Lewis set down the tray on the table. “Call to me if ye need anything else,” he added with a bright smile, before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

This was why Percival liked coming to this tavern. No one knew he was a duke here… Not that anyone would imagine that. There was no one to judge how he ate his food. No one to wonder why he was meeting the Baron Gillingham. No one to wonder at the similarities between his features and those of the man sitting opposite him.

“What secret do you have to tell me that requires such privacy?” Eli asked with a raised eyebrow, taking another sip from his tankard. His eyes flickered with faint amusement.

Percival suspected that his half-brother was fast on his way to getting drunk. As long as he had known him, Eli had always had a fondness for drink, but that vice had worsened in the past year until it seemed like a cup of alcohol was an extension of his arm.

“I am getting married,” Percival announced with a sigh.

He poured himself some ale and downed it in one gulp. When he put his cup down on the table, he noted the surprise on Eli’s face.

“Do close your mouth—flies might get in,” he said dryly.

“You are the one who had sworn vehemently never to marry over the past couple of years, so forgive me if l am a bit surprised,” Eli scoffed, his eyes flashing with an emotion that Percival could not place.

Percival had known Eli for the better part of five years since the day Michael had found the Baroness Gillingham’s letters to their father, mentioning an illegitimate son that she had managed to foist on the old Baron to avoid public disgrace. They could not believe they had another brother, but when they took a good look at Eli, they could see the similarities in their features.

Eli had their distinctive height, colouring, and their trademark gray eyes. Eventually, Michael and Percival approached him with evidence of his mother’s perfidy in this very tavern, being careful about tarnishing his reputation.

Michael had been quick to accept Eli as their brother, but Percival had always felt there was something off about the man that he couldn’t put a finger on. He wouldn’t have bothered informing him about his impending nuptials, but as it stood, since Michael’s death, Eli had become his only surviving blood relative, and he wanted to keep that connection alive. That was what Michael would have wanted.

“It is merely a marriage of convenience,” he explained, waving a hand dismissively.

“What exactly do you mean by the term? Would she bear your heirs?”

“My contract with my wife does not require us to see each other more than a few times a year. It is a marriage in name only.”

“In that case, I must say congratulations. I must meet the lady who is about to make an honest man out of you,” Eli said with a teasing smile.

Percival gave a noncommittal grunt.

One tankard of ale and a few moments later, Percival was ready to go home. Saying his goodbyes to Eli, he headed out of the tavern and flagged down a hackney cab.

As the hackney pulled away from the seedy tavern and towards home, he thought about his impending marriage and the feisty lady that was to be his bride. When he had first met her in his gloomy study at Colborne House, he had thought she was a beauty who had a scar that she made no effort to conceal. That fact had caught his attention.

Ladies of the ton were more likely to attempt to conceal such an imperfection with layers of powder, but she did not mind walking around barefaced, as if she was challenging everyone to think that she was less.

She had not seemed afraid of him, holding his gaze throughout their meeting. He was aware that he was intense in an intimidating way, but instead of cowering before him, she stood her ground. But her scar suggested that she had experienced things that no young lady should have to endure.

He was loath to admit it, but her boldness and confidence did interesting things to the area below his waist. It hardly mattered because he planned to have a chaste marriage with her. It wouldn’t make sense to burden such a young lady with the weight of the demons that tormented him.

As he stared out the window of the carriage, he admitted to himself that he was not sure what the marriage would look like, and he was too exhausted to ponder on it. That was his last coherent thought before he drifted off to sleep.

Percival woke up to the sound of someone screaming and tapping him on the shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that the hackney was parked on the side of the road and the driver was standing at the door with a concerned look on his face.

That was when he came to the sickening realization that he had been the one screaming loud and long enough to alarm the driver.

“You seemed to have had a nightmare, guv. Do not worry, it happens to everybody. We are close to the address you gave me,” the driver said, before closing the door and regaining his seat, giving him no chance to reply.

But what was Percival going to say?

He had been suffering from horrible nightmares since he returned from the war. Some were particularly violent. They had been partly the reason why he avoided human interaction and neglected the notion of marriage.

In the last couple of months, he had not had them, so he had assumed that he was cured. It seemed that he wasn’t if he was having night terrors in broad daylight, for goodness sake. At that moment, he was glad that he made the arrangement he had with Louisa.

Hopefully, she would never know about the scars he hid under his clothes or the night terrors that turned him into a vulnerable infant. She would never know because they would never live together. He would make sure of it.

He might not be innocent—he could not be, not after the bloodshed that he had a hand in—but he was going to protect her from the demons that haunted his sleeping and waking hours.

When the hackney stopped in front of his manor, he climbed down, paid the driver, and walked slowly to the front door. Tobias appeared to take his coat, and he continued down the passageway till he opened the door to the basement, where he sparred.

Soon after his return from the war, Percival realized that physical exertion helped push his body to exhaustion, thereby helping him sleep better. His weapon of choice was a leather bag filled with sand that he suspended from the ceiling.

After rolling up the sleeve of his simple tunic, he started punching the bag, taking out his embarrassment, frustration, and pain on the resilient leather. Eventually, he started feeling the strain on the muscles in his shoulders, the soreness of his bare knuckles, the sweat pouring down his face.

He welcomed it, pounding at the bag until his breath came in pants.

Collapsing on the floor, he stared up at the ceiling. An uneasy feeling bloomed in his chest, telling him that things were changing drastically and he had little control of it. And somehow, he knew that a certain blonde-haired lady stood in the middle of that change.

He woke up the next morning with an aching body courtesy of the punishing activities of the previous night. He might have had better sleep, but his inner turmoil returned in full force the moment he opened his eyes.

He rang the bell to summon Tobias and requested hot water. In about half an hour, Tobias, along with two footmen, had filled the tub with steaming hot water. The heat of it caused perspiration to drip down Percival’s brow.

He then shooed them out of his room so he could bathe in solitude. He never wanted anyone to see the extent of his scars.

He quickly undressed, eager to step into the welcoming heat of the water. It felt like heaven to his aching muscles when he lowered himself into the water and dropped his head back, relaxing fully. He was fast on his way to falling asleep when he was startled awake by the sound of the bedroom door opening.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. It seems you have a letter?” one of the young footmen from earlier said.

“Who is it from?” Percival asked, lowering himself further into the water.

“It seems to be from your fiancée, Your Grace. Miss Louisa Gouldsmith.”

Percival motioned for the footman to drop it on a stool far from him and waved him away.

It seemed that his fiancée had a fondness for writing letters. He wondered if the note she had sent him was as sweet as the first one she had written and smiled to himself.

But then he caught himself and frowned.

In just two days, she had made him break character more often than anyone who had ever tried. Any longer and she might turn him into someone he didn’t recognize. It seemed there were some ground rules he had forgotten to set when he made his proposal. It was time to remedy that.

He rose from the bath to read her note, and frowned. She was inviting him on an outing with her family, and he wondered if she was truly expecting him to come.

Did she think that with just one visit to her family home, he was suddenly ready to re-enter Society?

He would go if only to warn her never to repeat that mistake.