This was happiness.
Chapter Thirty-one
Fiona's breath steadied as she nestled in Percival's arms. He stroked the arch of her back, seeming to find fascination in its simple curve.
Light streamed through the thin curtains with more force, and rain no longer thundered against the walls of the cottage.
Percival brushed his lips against the corner of her eyes, and his lips moved to her cheeks. "Fiona, my sweetheart."
When he pulled her toward him, warmth whirled through her, as if his mere presence was enough to send joy sauntering through every part of her body. She squeezed his hand, tracing the way in which the hairs on his wrist glistened under the light.
"We should leave," Fiona said regretfully.
"Very well." He appeared equally reluctant, and Fiona smiled.
They dressed and made their way down the path.
After a short wait, carriage wheels rolled toward them. Fiona forced herself to at least give the appearance of calm, though her heart still seemed to beat a jubilant melody.
"You seem better." Madeline poked her head from the coach. "Mrs. Rogers is having a baby, and I was going to take you to another doctor. But perhaps you're fine?"
"Never better," Percival said.
"Mm-hmm." Madeline assessed them. "So I'm chaperoning you two?"
Fiona smiled, and Percival linked hands with hers.
"Because I'm not sure I'm doing a good job." She narrowed her eyes at them. "I like doing a good job."
"I'm not removing my hand," Percival said testily.
"Hmph." Madeline sniffed. "So are you joining us in Italy as well?"
Percival stiffened. His hand was, as promised, still around hers, but it was more rigid than before.
"How long will you be gone?" Percival turned to Fiona. "This doesn't change anything."
"As long as we can," Madeline chirped.
"I don't want to keep you from your dreams, Fiona," Percival said, his tone softer than she had ever heard it. "You have brilliant dreams, and I-I have duties."
"Well, you should probably decide, unless you want to wait until we reach Hull to make your decision," Madeline said.
Fiona shot her cousin her most confrontational look.
"I'll wait for you," Percival said. "Go to Italy. Enjoy yourself."
"I-" Fiona hesitated. She'd spent her life dreaming about the Romans. She'd never expected to go to Italy, and her cousin's sudden enthusiasm for the trip had spurred her on.
Italy was the very loveliest of dreams.
"My parents adore the country," Percival said, and his voice trembled.
She peered up at him. She knew Percival's parents loved traveling and hadn't spent much time in England in years. He hadn't spoken much about them.
"You would have a good time with your cousin," Percival said.
"I'm not as horrible as people make me out to be," Madeline added cheerfully.
"Good." Percival bit his lip. "My leg-it makes traveling more painful. Not that I won't do it. I just-probably couldn't do it with as much enthusiasm. Wandering cobble-stoned streets in the rain no longer sounds appealing."
Fiona squeezed his hand. "I'm not going anywhere."
Percival's eyes shone, and he pulled her toward him.
For a moment her cousin's face seemed to crumble, but then her lips arched upward with a swiftness suited to a gifted hostess. "I'm happy for you, Fiona."
"I'm sorry, Madeline. Perhaps one day-"
Her cousin nodded. "Perhaps. You'll have a large estate to manage," Madeline said. "You'll be meeting many people."
Fiona tilted her head. She'd never allowed herself to ponder a life so conventional in its form of happiness. She'd always assumed that that life wouldn't be available to her. She considered her cousin's warnings. It would be difficult. Yes, she knew that. She hadn't lived her whole life as a bluestocking and wallflower to not know that finding her way into society would not come naturally.
Worry flickered through his eyes, and his chin jutted out, as if bracing himself to hear the worst.
She looked at Percival and smiled. "I'm not going anywhere," she repeated. "Except to be at your side."
He beamed and drew her close, and this time their lips met again. His firm, hot lips pressed against hers, sending a jolt of happiness racketing through her body.
Her cousin cleared her throat noisily. "Let me speak to the driver."
Fiona laughed softly as Madeline scurried away.
***
Fiona was firmly part of Percival's life at Wentworth Place. They'd darted up to Gretna Greene before traveling down to Sussex. He beamed as he contemplated her and turned to Higgins. "It's odd, isn't it, how one's whole life can change because of a fallen tree?"
"Terribly," Higgins muttered. "Now let me finish here, because I can assure you your visitor will expect you to look your very best."
Percival's beam faltered. "Just who is here, Higgins?"
"The dowager duchess herself."
Percival stiffened. "She should have sent word of her arrival."
"I believe she was aspiring for the element of surprise."
"Well that's the only thing she will succeed at getting." Percival grabbed his cane and headed out the door.
"I haven't finished your hair," Higgins called after him.
Percival shook his head as he strode down the corridor. "She'll just have to put up with it."
He clutched hold of the banister and gingerly made his way down the marble steps to greet the formidable woman pacing the entry.
"Your Grace!" The dowager exclaimed, her gaze flickering to his unwaxed hair.
"How surprising to see you," he said in his frostiest voice, swooping his torso into a bow.
The dowager curtsied. "I wanted to warn you that I have heard the most horrific rumor."
"Indeed?"
"But you needn't worry. I told everyone it was incorrect."
Percival's face tightened. "And what was the rumor?"
"People are saying that you are married. To a former highwaywoman. The daughter of a county squire."
"That's correct."
The dowager blinked. "Indeed?"
Percival nodded solemnly. "Most definitely."
"Then you must annul the marriage!"
"Impossible."
The dowager's gaze drifted to his leg. "I think in your position, you might be able to convince people of the need. Perhaps if you reference your injury-"
"No."
"Your masculinity need not suffer. People will understand that you are injured."
"I love her," Percival said. "With all my heart."
"Oh." The dowager's gaze flickered down.
Percival sighed. "You have been so helpful to me over these past few months. I'm afraid I haven't told you how grateful I am. But please, do not worry. I may have never planned to be a duke, but I am committed to being a good one. Your son would have been an excellent one, and it is unjust that he is not here now instead of me."
The dowager bit her lip.
"I cannot bring him back," Percival continued. "But I cannot either lead my life imagining what he would have done in my position. You will get to know my wife more, and you will also see her many charms."
The duchess rubbed a hand though her hair. "Thank you. Perhaps I was foolish to barge in like this."
Percival shook his head. "You cared. As someone who also now cares about this estate, I can understand and appreciate that."
The dowager flickered her eyes to the door. "I suppose I should go."
Percival shook his head. "Nonsense. Not after your long journey. Let me introduce you to my wife. I have a feeling the two of you might get along. She was very fond of her grandmother."
Epilogue
December 1816
Yorkshire
Fiona hadn't prepared herself for such joy.
Her life wasn't supposed to be like this. Any joy was supposed to be reserved for the heroines in Loretta Van Lochen's romances.
She wasn't supposed to have married a duke. She was supposed to while away her time in Yorkshire, helping her sister with her child, and reading up on the Romans when she could.
And she might have eventually found contentment doing that. But this-this was more.
Branches of holly spread from vases throughout the bedroom. The scarlet berries countered the silky azurean blankets, gold-framed mirrors, and sumptuous oriental carpets. A large bay window dominated the room, revealing views of the towering Dales, their slopes whitened, glistening under the outside lanterns. The servants had scraped away the snow in preparation for the guests' arrival.
Most of the year needed to be spent at Wentworth Place, but they were spending Christmas in Yorkshire, at one of Percival's smaller estates.