An Unusual Courtship by Katherine Marlowe Read Free Book Online Page B

should take the right-hand turn down the upcoming path, at the same time that Mr. Everett turned leftward, perhaps to make another inquiry, and the two of them collided.
    Breath hitching in surprise, a flush of warmth went through Percival’s body. Mr. Everett reached out and clasped Percival’s shoulder, perhaps to steady him, and then quickly let go.
    “Forgive me, I…” Mr. Everett began.
    “Perhaps we shall—” Percival cleared his throat once again, and awkwardly indicated the right hand path.
    “Yes, to be sure.” Mr. Everett indicated that he should lead the way, and after a brief shuffle as they both strove to politely not touch or collide, they resumed their stroll through the garden.
    Percival felt pressed by the need to say something, anything, which might properly address the situation and set them on the right course. He felt that he ought to some way address their conversation by the ruins, or his probably-evident distraction in Mr. Everett’s presence, or inquire as to Mr. Everett’s opinions on the matter of two gentlemen kissing: particularly as regards to the two of them.
    The gardens were lovely in the late afternoon as the trees cast long shadows across the gravel paths. Percival heard a bird singing, distant and alone, from the direction of the forest.
    “The Boltons are very charming,” said Percival. “I am very pleased to have made their acquaintance. And yours,” he added quickly, lest Mr. Everett should think that he was not included. “Mr. Bolton is still very amusing, and Miss Bolton is… is, well, she’s quite lovely, isn’t she?”
    “She is,” Mr. Everett affirmed. He seemed as nearly as unsure of himself as Percival, and made a gesture in Percival’s direction which was quickly aborted as he changed his mind. “They are.”
    “Are you,” Percival attempted to ask, clearing his throat nervously mid-question, “that is, is she… I mean to say, as you have the acquaintance of such a very charming and elegant young lady, that you might be…”
    “Oh!” Mr. Everett said, surprised. “No. No, indeed. Miss Bolton and I are dear friends, but certainly nothing more.”
    “Oh, oh, I see.” Percival felt a rush of relief. He folded his hands in front of himself, fidgeted with his gloves, folded his arms across his chest, and at last returned his hands to his sides.
    “Did you intend to…?” Mr. Everett gestured vaguely. His earlier grace and charm seemed to have deserted him and rendered him nearly as awkward as Percival. “Ah, hm, to court the lady?”
    “I thought that perhaps I might,” Percival admitted. “She is, after all, very lovely, although I do not know her circumstances, and I fear that she may be above the reach of a mere provincial gentleman such as myself.”
    “To be sure,” Mr. Everett said, “you are a gentleman of very good bloodline, and certainly a competent manager of these estates. If the lady pleases you, you should approach her.” He spoke more stiffly than was his usual habit, holding his spine very straight and looking away across the gardens.
    Percival felt as though he had done something wrong, and supposed that it might be something in the Boltons circumstances or background of which he was ignorant. He felt very foolish, and wanted very much to have Mr. Everett cheerful and at his ease once again.
    “Then I suppose that I shall,” Percival said. He felt dizzy, and there was an ache in his belly.
    “I encourage you to do just that,” said Mr. Everett. His voice was very proper and polite, but had none of the intensity or charm that Percival found so distracting.
    They completed their loop around the garden, and stood in silent uncertainty by the side of the house.
    “Will you come in and take tea, Mr. Everett?” Percival suggested.
    “I fear instead that I ought to return to Linston Grange,” said Mr. Everett. “I am certain that they will be expecting me for dinner.”
    The excuse was nearly transparent, but Percival did