prevented them from marrying up.
"Fitting in hasn't exactly been your forte, has it?" Charity said mildly. "Why the concern over it now?"
Given that Charity had stood by her through her countless antics at Mrs. Southbridge's, Percy did not fault the other's honesty. In fact, she admired her friend's steady, sensible temperament—and wished some of it might rub off on her.
"Because Mama thinks I'm a wicked girl. She's … ashamed of me," Percy whispered.
"Pish posh. Mrs. Fines only wants the best for you. Indeed, you should count yourself lucky to have a mama to give you guidance."
Charity's wistful tone reminded Percy that her friend had grown up without a mother, Mrs. Sparkler having succumbed to a difficult childbirth. Feeling even more wretched due to her own relatively minor complaint, Percy mumbled, "Well, when I win Viscount Portland's affections, I'll show everyone. And I shan't be a snob about it, either. I'll invite all the other girls to my wedding."
"An invitation that will no doubt turn them green with envy."
Percy aimed a rueful look at her friend. "I suppose that would be small of me?"
"Human of you," Charity said. Linking a slender arm through Percy's, she asked, "How are things progressing with his lordship, by the by?"
The image of Lord Charles' rich auburn curls and dreamy grey eyes rose in her mind's eye, accompanied by an effervescent feeling in her breast. Out of nowhere, another visage popped into her head. Her giddiness gave way to alarm at the flash of harsh, scarred features.
"Percy, dear, are you alright?"
She jerked her attention back to her friend. "Yes. I'm fine."
"So ... what about Portland?" Charity said, giving her an odd look.
"As you know, I've had other matters to deal with." Percy pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Dear God, why am I even bothered by those silly chits when Paul is in danger? It's been three days since I saw Hunt. Time is running out,"—Percy bit her lip—"and I still don't know what to do."
"I've thought it over. I believe there is only one proper course of action," Charity said.
"Yes?" Percy said hopefully.
"You must write your mama and the Marquess of Harteford. Once they know about Mr. Fines' situation, I am certain they will return home with due haste and take care of the matter."
Percy frowned. "I already told you. I promised my brother I wouldn't tell the family. He doesn't want word getting out of his troubles."
"You haven't much choice," her friend pointed out. "You already tried taking matters into your own hands, and look how that turned out. You are lucky that nothing worse happened."
Sometimes Charity could be a bit too sensible. Which was why Percy hadn't consulted her prior to meeting Hunt—she'd known her friend would disapprove.
"I knew what I was doing," she said, kicking at a rock in her path. "I could have handled Hunt. In fact, I have half a mind to take the wager—"
"Oh no, you don't." Charity braced her hands on her thin hips. Beneath the brim of her plain bonnet, her brows lowered, and she gave Percy a stern look. "That is precisely the kind of thinking that led to all those scrapes at Mrs. Southbridge's. Remember the time you snuck out of class to see the gypsy caravan, and I had to make all those excuses for you?"
"It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to have my fortune told," Percy protested. "Besides, I didn't miss anything important. 'Twas just an etiquette class."
The irony struck them both at once. Exchanging a look, they chuckled.
"Now that you've set your cap for Viscount Portland, I thought you meant to reform your ways," Charity said, her lips still twitching. "Ruining yourself is hardly the way to win his affection."
"You're right, of course." Percy sighed. "Writing the family is the wisest option."
"If all goes smoothly, they'll be back in a few weeks," the other said in encouraging tones. "'Tis best for you to wait and carry on as usual so you don't compromise your brother's situation."
Waiting was one of
"Fitting in hasn't exactly been your forte, has it?" Charity said mildly. "Why the concern over it now?"
Given that Charity had stood by her through her countless antics at Mrs. Southbridge's, Percy did not fault the other's honesty. In fact, she admired her friend's steady, sensible temperament—and wished some of it might rub off on her.
"Because Mama thinks I'm a wicked girl. She's … ashamed of me," Percy whispered.
"Pish posh. Mrs. Fines only wants the best for you. Indeed, you should count yourself lucky to have a mama to give you guidance."
Charity's wistful tone reminded Percy that her friend had grown up without a mother, Mrs. Sparkler having succumbed to a difficult childbirth. Feeling even more wretched due to her own relatively minor complaint, Percy mumbled, "Well, when I win Viscount Portland's affections, I'll show everyone. And I shan't be a snob about it, either. I'll invite all the other girls to my wedding."
"An invitation that will no doubt turn them green with envy."
Percy aimed a rueful look at her friend. "I suppose that would be small of me?"
"Human of you," Charity said. Linking a slender arm through Percy's, she asked, "How are things progressing with his lordship, by the by?"
The image of Lord Charles' rich auburn curls and dreamy grey eyes rose in her mind's eye, accompanied by an effervescent feeling in her breast. Out of nowhere, another visage popped into her head. Her giddiness gave way to alarm at the flash of harsh, scarred features.
"Percy, dear, are you alright?"
She jerked her attention back to her friend. "Yes. I'm fine."
"So ... what about Portland?" Charity said, giving her an odd look.
"As you know, I've had other matters to deal with." Percy pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Dear God, why am I even bothered by those silly chits when Paul is in danger? It's been three days since I saw Hunt. Time is running out,"—Percy bit her lip—"and I still don't know what to do."
"I've thought it over. I believe there is only one proper course of action," Charity said.
"Yes?" Percy said hopefully.
"You must write your mama and the Marquess of Harteford. Once they know about Mr. Fines' situation, I am certain they will return home with due haste and take care of the matter."
Percy frowned. "I already told you. I promised my brother I wouldn't tell the family. He doesn't want word getting out of his troubles."
"You haven't much choice," her friend pointed out. "You already tried taking matters into your own hands, and look how that turned out. You are lucky that nothing worse happened."
Sometimes Charity could be a bit too sensible. Which was why Percy hadn't consulted her prior to meeting Hunt—she'd known her friend would disapprove.
"I knew what I was doing," she said, kicking at a rock in her path. "I could have handled Hunt. In fact, I have half a mind to take the wager—"
"Oh no, you don't." Charity braced her hands on her thin hips. Beneath the brim of her plain bonnet, her brows lowered, and she gave Percy a stern look. "That is precisely the kind of thinking that led to all those scrapes at Mrs. Southbridge's. Remember the time you snuck out of class to see the gypsy caravan, and I had to make all those excuses for you?"
"It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to have my fortune told," Percy protested. "Besides, I didn't miss anything important. 'Twas just an etiquette class."
The irony struck them both at once. Exchanging a look, they chuckled.
"Now that you've set your cap for Viscount Portland, I thought you meant to reform your ways," Charity said, her lips still twitching. "Ruining yourself is hardly the way to win his affection."
"You're right, of course." Percy sighed. "Writing the family is the wisest option."
"If all goes smoothly, they'll be back in a few weeks," the other said in encouraging tones. "'Tis best for you to wait and carry on as usual so you don't compromise your brother's situation."
Waiting was one of
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