Page 19 of Miss Davis and the Spare (Dazzling Debutantes #3)

Chapter Eighteen

“Please, I beg of you, please never sing again! Hum, if you must, but never, never sing again.”

July 1818, Richard Balfour to his brother, Peregrine, on his twenty-third birthday.

* * *

A t the final, enthusiastic rendering of the song, shoulders shook and faces reddened as her family did their utmost not to dissolve into laughter. Max lost the battle and howled like a braying ass, which meant his twin followed suit. Both boys doubled over, clutching their bellies, while helpless mirth overcame them.

Her father gasped for air, steadying himself against the wall, his shoulders shuddering. Her mother’s lips were pressed into a thin, white line as she struggled to maintain composure, looking as though she had forgotten how to breathe. The entire room shimmered with stifled amusement as each occupant fought to collect their wits.

Emma turned her gaze on the rogue still kneeling at her feet, her expression one of wonder. “Uh … thank you?”

“You are welcome!” Perry beamed up at her, flushed with exuberance and clearly not at all regretful for his assault on their ears.

Emma glanced briefly at her family, who were still snorting and wheezing with laughter, and then addressed the two gentlemen who had flanked Perry during his display. “Mr. Ridley and Lord Trafford?—”

“That is Lord Oaf to you, Miss Bluestocking,” Trafford interjected with a rakish grin.

Her father stiffened at the slight, but Emma ignored him, determined to maintain civility. “—you are musically gifted, and it was an honor to hear such marvelous tenors in our home.”

Mr. Ridley gave her a warm, gracious smile, vastly improved from their first encounter when he had been so soused. From the kindness in his eyes, Emma felt reassured that this had not been some elaborate jest made at her expense. Both men bowed politely.

“They are excellent tenors,” Perry agreed cheerfully from the floor, one hand still braced on his knee. He made no move to rise.

Emma pursed her lips, half-tempted to let him remain kneeling forever. “Mr. Balfour, I hate to be the bearer of bad news … but you are not musically competent.”

He nodded solemnly. “Quite true.”

“You are aware of this?” she asked, genuinely uncertain.

“I am,” he replied with no trace of embarrassment, which prompted another soft wave of chuckles from her family.

“Then why—may I ask—have you regaled us with this … unusual rendition of Dibdin’s aria?”

Perry’s green eyes twinkled. “It seemed only right that I reveal, in the most humiliating and public fashion, my most distressing personal flaw.” His gaze flicked meaningfully toward her family, a silent apology for the night at the ball when he had humiliated her so publicly. And just like that, Emma understood.

Her thoughts flew to Lady Slight and the cruel taunts at the ball. To Perry’s confession that morning, and his heartfelt apology. To the very real vulnerability in his voice now—and the assault her ears had just endured.

“You are correct. Tonight, you have revealed your most unfortunate trait. I am not sure any of us shall recover.”

“Hear, hear!” Trafford chimed in with mock solemnity.

Perry grinned. “A most regrettable and, I fear, memorable performance.”

Emma could not help herself—she laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere warm inside. The last remnants of pain seemed to drift away on the joyful absurdity of it all.

“It is not entirely my fault,” Perry continued with exaggerated dignity. “My father did not believe music was a worthy pursuit for a gentleman. Richard once attempted to correct the oversight, but after five minutes in the music room, he fled, claiming his ears were bleeding.”

Trafford and Ridley nodded gravely. “It has been an excruciating week, traveling with Balfour and rehearsing,” Ridley confirmed.

Emma smiled softly. “Your father had much to answer for.”

“That he did. But tonight is not about him. It is about you.” Perry reached up to clasp her hand. She noticed her father tense, but her mother gently touched his arm, and he relaxed.

“Miss Davis,” Perry said, his voice low but steady, “there are no words to describe how a country jewel slipped into my soul and stole the heart from my chest.” He tapped over his left breast. “And while I can never undo my past foolishness, I can attempt to atone for it, in word and deed.”

Trafford mumbled something about irreparable idiots, but Emma barely heard it.

“You are wit, and beauty, and joy,” Perry continued. “Despite my many shortcomings, I hope you might consider my offer. It has come to light that I am in possession of a substantial estate near Rose Ash. And so, I ask—will you accept the position of mistress of Shepton Abbey?”

Gasps sounded around the room. Even her parents, new to the region, had heard of Shepton Abbey.

“You mean to live in the country? A city buck like you?” Emma asked, breathless.

“I do. The city has lost its shine without you in it. If the lady does not come to London, then I shall come to the country and attempt to become worthy of her.”

Emma’s heart swelled. A thousand emotions danced within her—hope, joy, disbelief. Could this really be happening?

“Like Edward Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility !” Thaddeus piped up, starry-eyed. Emma’s heart softened further at her little brother’s romantic idealism.

“You wish to marry me?” she asked, just to be sure.

“I do.” Perry leaned in, voice quiet. “I hope I have humbled myself sufficiently for you to forgive my … imprudent deportment?”

Emma leaned closer, matching his tone. “You have. Especially since you brought Lord Oaf. Word will travel far and wide of your deplorable lack of talent.”

Perry chuckled softly, and she straightened, drawing in a breath.

“In that case,” she said aloud, smiling down at him, “I accept, Mr. Balfour.”

Cheers erupted. Her family surged forward to embrace her, each hug warm and brimming with delight. And through it all, Emma held fast to Perry’s hand.

For once in her life, everything felt exactly as it should be.

* * *

Perry reflected that his grand gesture had been a grand success. Emma’s good spirits had been restored, and the dinner had been lively. She had glowed with renewed confidence, and Perry was deeply gratified to see the damage he had wrought to her self-esteem now eased, if not wholly erased.

Even Trafford had surrendered his usual cynicism to enjoy hearty country fare, relaxed etiquette, and simple pleasures in the drawing room afterward. Mr. Davis had remained with the women and children after the meal, rather than withdrawing as gentlemen often did, and Perry had been charmed by the warmth of the Davis household as they passed the evening with music and parlour games—though he was firmly admonished not to sing.

Thaddeus had solemnly complimented Perry’s dancing skills despite his “lamentable lack of musical gifts,” which he took to be high praise from the earnest young lad.

Come morning, Perry sat with Emma and her parents to finalize arrangements. As agreed with Richard, the Davis family would join them at Saunton Park for a wedding in the chapel in just a few days, ahead of the impending house party. Now that Perry had declared his intentions, he and Emma had no desire to delay. He discussed marriage terms with Mr. Davis, who had grown markedly more genial since witnessing Perry’s musical humiliation. Apparently, any man who would publicly debase himself for the love of his daughter was considered worthy enough to enter the fold.

It touched Perry more than he had anticipated—this warm welcome into a loving family. He finally understood what had overtaken his older brother months earlier when he had taken Sophia’s hand in marriage. In gaining Emma, Perry would gain five younger siblings and new parental figures who lived only a short ride away. It was almost too much to take in, and the thought of raising a family among such loyal, kind-hearted folk brought an unexpected lump to his throat.

Mr. Davis even offered insight into the mindset of the Shepton Abbey tenants—a valuable resource, given the upcoming modernization plans. That practical support only deepened Perry’s appreciation for the unexpected blessings of his impending marriage.

After two days in Rose Ash, Perry was more than ready to escape coaching inns. With great satisfaction, he assisted the Davis family into their carriages before joining Trafford and Ridley in the Saunton coach. As he settled into the familiar leather squabs, he sighed deeply and allowed himself to imagine married life with Emma.

“I must admit,” Trafford said, watching the countryside roll by, “Miss Bluestocking is quite comely. I begin to see the appeal—especially after spending time with her family.”

“Keep your eyes off my jewel,” Perry replied with mock menace. Still, he found himself wondering if even Lord Oaf might one day settle down. That Trafford had agreed to journey into the wilds of Somerset and make a public spectacle of himself had revealed more heart than Perry might have guessed. And Ridley, who had abandoned a promising widow for the cause, had shown himself a true friend.

Perhaps they, too, were nearing the ends of their careless bachelorhoods. Perry would not mind being the first to walk a new path, if it meant inspiring others.

“I did not know you intended to move to Shepton,” Ridley said, arching a brow. “Will you spend any time in London?”

“As little as possible.”

Trafford straightened, aghast. “Is that a line for the country mouse?”

Perry let the quip slide. “I shall be engaged with the estate. I think it wise to avoid London’s entertainments while I adjust to married life. Emma need not endure awkward encounters with the ghosts of my past. Richard and Sophia have had their share of scandal since marrying, but I am not bound to Westminster as my brother is.”

Trafford shuddered. “You are becoming domesticated.”

Perry’s mind drifted to late evenings with Emma—chamomile and ink stains, laughter over tenant ledgers, soft kisses beneath patchwork quilts. “Aye. And I welcome it.”

Trafford groaned. “It is one thing to take a wife, but to rusticate?”

“You are always welcome at the abbey,” Perry offered. “If you need respite—or if you need to hide from a particularly disgruntled paramour.”

“No one will think to look for you in Somerset,” Ridley added, chuckling. “It is a brilliant hiding place.”

“Exactly,” Trafford muttered, slumping back. “Only a black day would drive me so far. I have drunk enough ale to last me a decade. I need wine. Fine, rich wine.”

“The wine will flow at Saunton to mark the celebrations.”

“Thank heavens,” Trafford replied, hands to his face.

They arrived at Saunton Park later that afternoon. The earl had sent a missive the same morning Perry left London, instructing the staff to prepare for both the Davis family and the upcoming house party. The guest wing had been opened for the newcomers, while Trafford and Ridley were shown to the bachelor hall.

Perry met with the senior staff to finalize arrangements for the ceremony and the wedding breakfast. The next afternoon, he stood on the manor’s broad stone steps, watching the procession of carriages from London. The Saunton arms were emblazoned on the first few, but it was the familiar gilded coach of the Duke of Halmesbury that made Perry’s breath catch. Two more ducal carriages followed behind.

“My sister must be here,” Ridley murmured behind him.

His cousin and the duchess had come. They had traveled all this way to attend his wedding. The warmth in Perry’s chest was swift and profound.

Richard stepped down from the lead carriage. Perry hurried to meet him. “Richard—what is this?”

“Halmesbury insisted on accompanying me when I shared the news.”

“You knew I would succeed?”

Richard shrugged. “I told him you were terribly persuasive when you wished to be.”

Perry blinked. “The duke canceled plans to attend my wedding?”

“He did. He and Annabel are staying through the house party. You have made quite the impression.”

As Perry tried to absorb that, Sophia and Ethan disembarked, followed by Jane Davis. The introductions began, and Halmesbury crossed to thump Perry’s shoulder.

“Congratulations, Peregrine.”

Perry raised a brow. “You may call me Perry, Halmesbury.”

The duke paused, his gray eyes considering. “Congratulations, Perry.”

Perry grinned. “Richard, do we have the license?”

Halmesbury tapped his coat pocket. “The Archbishop sends his regards.”

“You secured the license yourself?”

“I did. He owes me favors. I thought it time to collect on one.”

“I thank you. It means more than I can say.”

Inside, the drawing room soon swelled with sound and laughter. Oliver and Max entertained their guests by mimicking Perry’s tone-deaf serenade. Ridley bounced his baby nephew, Jasper, on his knee while Sophia and Annabel exchanged amused glances. It was boisterous, joyful chaos.

Across the room, Emma glanced at him. Her eyes, dark and knowing, caught his. And held.

He ached to be near her, but not under the watchful eye of her father. No, he would behave—for one more night. Tomorrow, she would be his wife. His partner. His beloved bluestocking.

He could wait.

Just one more night.

* * *

Emma studied Jane, concern etched across her brow. “You are still not sleeping? Did you speak with the physician Sophia recommended?”

Jane gave a careless shrug. “There is no need. It is only excitement.”

Tilting her head, Emma narrowed her eyes. “I wish you would consider seeing either the physician or an apothecary. It is unlike you to struggle with sleep. Even when we moved from Derby, and the entire household was up at all hours from the anticipation, you slept without trouble. I recall envying you at the time.”

Jane pulled a face and changed the subject with a pointed cheerfulness. “Now that you are to wed—as I predicted, mind you—it is my turn to find a beau. The countess mentioned several eligible landowners are arriving on Friday for the house party. I am sure to meet a gentleman who captures my heart the way Perry has captured yours.”

Emma smiled softly. “Is that important to you—that he be a landowner?”

Jane paused to consider the question. “I suppose it is. It just seems the epitome of success, does it not? For a young lady to marry a man with land. But honestly, I do not know what sort of gentleman would truly suit me. Perhaps someone young and fun?”

“Perhaps,” Emma allowed. “But it is worth considering what kind of life you wish to lead. The man you marry will greatly influence the course of your future. I wanted to be with Perry, but while we sparred in London, I questioned whether we could reconcile our differences—especially since it would have meant settling in Town. His decision to take the reins at Shepton Abbey played a significant role in my decision to accept him. It shapes what our future will look like, and I have always known I was destined to be involved in estate management in some form.”

Jane’s brow puckered. “I do not know what I am destined for. I have never thought beyond meeting a man I loved and raising a family together.”

Emma reached across and gave her sister’s hand a light squeeze. “Perhaps now is the time to think about it. Before the house party begins and charming smiles cloud your judgment. Consider what you truly desire for your future—so when a suitor does appear, you will know whether he is truly a match.”

Jane huffed, though without heat. “Good heavens, Emma. You are such a pragmatic bluestocking. Are you truly saying you might have turned Perry down if he had no satisfactory plan for the future?”

Emma nibbled her lip, then turned her head to glance across the room at her betrothed. Perry caught her gaze and offered a quiet, affectionate smile. Her heart lifted.

“Perhaps I would have risked it regardless,” she admitted. “But I am relieved he chose the path he did. It is an excellent opportunity—for him, and for us. I believe we shall be very happy at the abbey.

* * *

The earl broke away from the lively group in the corner and approached Perry, who stood at the open window taking in the evening air. After so many years of solitude, it still astonished Perry to find himself surrounded by relations—relations who wished to spend time in his company. He was grateful, deeply so, but it would take time to grow accustomed to the hum and bustle of such familial closeness.

“How was your journey here, Richard?” he asked, as his brother joined him.

“Uneventful. We waited until the rain ceased before departing. You, however, must have been caught in it?”

Perry grimaced. “We barely moved for three days.”

“Hmm … and how long did it take to reach Rose Ash?”

“Six days. With Trafford whining the entire journey.”

Richard chuckled. “He does like his creature comforts.”

“I appreciated his support, but I confess there were moments I wished to shove him under the carriage wheels.”

They both turned to observe the spoiled lord now in deep conversation with young Thaddeus, who looked very serious while Trafford appeared distinctly out of his depth. It was an unlikely but oddly endearing pairing.

“I have news,” Richard said after a pause. “And I am hoping you will delay your departure for the abbey until the end of the week. There is someone you need to meet.”

Perry arched a brow. “It would need to be someone rather remarkable for me to agree to remain under your roof amidst this many guests.”

“A brother.”

Perry stared. “What?”

“You recall our conversation in May, when we speculated that Father may have sired children we were unaware of?”

Perry swallowed, shifting to ease the sudden tension that gripped his spine. “I remember. I was not aware you had acted on that suspicion.”

Richard nodded. “Johnson investigated discreetly. He found someone. I met with him before we left Town and persuaded him to join us for the house party.”

Perry’s stomach knotted. Another brother? On the one hand, it meant he was not as alone as he had believed. On the other … he thought of the boy’s life. A bastard’s life. He imagined the hardships, the isolation—what young Ethan might face as he grew older. Perry had struggled with being the overlooked spare. A by-blow would have faced far worse.

“Was it difficult,” he asked quietly, “when you brought Ethan into your home?”

Richard sighed. “A few servants left. Some acquaintances withdrew. But I would make the same choice again without hesitation. I cannot abide disloyalty—especially to those who deserve our protection.”

Perry nodded solemnly. His own moment of disloyalty to Emma still ached within him. He was grateful every day that she had forgiven him. That he had found the strength to right his course before it was too late.

“Why did … our brother … require persuading? Surely he would welcome a connection to an earl—and the support it could offer?”

“Barclay Thompson is successful in his own right. He had no need of our assistance, and no desire to claim connection to a man who never acknowledged his mother. It took every ounce of my persuasion—and his grandfather’s support—to convince him to meet us. The prospect of advantages for his young daughter was the turning point.”

“Barclay Thompson?” Perry narrowed his eyes. “That name sounds familiar.”

“His grandfather is Tsar Thompson.”

Perry’s jaw dropped. “Tsar and Barclay Thompson? The architects?”

Richard inclined his head. “Just so. And Barclay is older than either of us. He would have inherited the title, had our father done right by his mother. It is a bitter legacy, but I hope to forge something better from it. I would appreciate it if you were here to welcome him. I should like him to see what our family might look like when it is not built on cruelty or lies.”

Perry exhaled slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. “I suppose we can delay our departure until the morning after. I was a fool to think I had nearly no family left in this world.”

“I regret that you were made to feel that way in your youth.” Richard followed Perry’s gaze to the tea table, where Emma sat with Jane, her smile radiant. “But you are making different choices now. You are rejecting his legacy. And I am proud of you, brother.”

Perry’s eyes lingered on the young woman who would soon be his wife. She looked up and met his gaze, her smile deepening, her expression tender.

“I am so pleased she agreed to be my wife.”