Page 42 of The Labours of Lord Perry Cavendish
“Christ,” Perry whispered. He felt sick.
Jonny’s gaze took on a faraway look. “And when I say they robbed me, they tookeverything. They stripped me down to my drawers and took everything else I had. They took the horses, and my clothes, and the pocket watch my mother gave me before she died—everything.” He lifted his wine glass and threw back the rest of the contents. “When I’m alone in a carriage, especially at night, I’m always listening for those distant shouts and the approach of galloping hooves.”
Jesus.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Perry murmured. “No wonder you hate travelling so much.”
There was a longish silence which Perry finally broke. “May I ask?” he said. “Is it the thought of travelling itself you can’t abide, or is the idea that you’ll be a burden to your friends?”
Perry was vaguely aware that the room had gone very quiet. He had no idea what Huxley and Alderton were making of this, and honestly, at this moment, he didn’t much care. All his attention was on Jonny, whose throat bobbed with emotion.
Hoarsely, Jonny said, “Why are you doing this, Peregrine?”
Perry didn’t look away. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to have the right of it. I mean, it’s one thing if you can’t go because you’re too scared to put yourself through it, but it’s another if you want to go but think you might be too much of a burden.”
“I can say with some certainty that Iwouldbe a burden,” Jonny said tightly. “I wish I was strong and stoical about it, but I’m not. And you know what? It’s not just that I’m scared of being attacked again. I also hate other things about travelling. I feel physically unwell in carriages—I always have done, even before that incident. I can'tdoanything because of the nausea, so I also need constant distraction like a—a god-damnedchild. I complain about every discomfort. In short, you wouldn’t want to be my travelling companion!”
Jonny had been working himself up as he spoke, and he said the last words all in a rush. Some angry, helpless tears spilled from his eyes, and he brushed them aside with an impatient hand, fixing his gaze on the table.
“You’re wrong,” Perry said gently. “I would be honoured to be your travelling companion.” His heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might just burst out of his chest, and his voice threatened to dry up in his throat, but he forced himself to go on. “I’d be your shadow, every step of the way. I’d see off anyone who dared to so much as speak to you the wrong way, and I’d happily provide all the distraction you require.” The more Perry said, the bolder he felt. “You don’t need to feel alone or anxious, Jonny. You don’t need to be vigilant. I can take care of all of that for you. I’m good at taking care of people.”
Jonny glanced up then, meeting Perry's gaze, and Perry saw, with a sinking feeling, that his expression was not grateful, as Perry had hoped, but agonised.
Jonny said, his voice quiet but horribly clear in the silence, “I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that, Peregrine. It would be an unforgivable imposition.”
For a moment, Perry just stared at him, taking in that absolutely unequivocal rejection.
There was simply no room for argument. Jonny’s words were firm and clear… and devastating.
Perry’s offer was not welcome.
Somehow, amazingly, Perry managed a smile—it was a weak and tremulous smile by the feel of it, but still. Considering he felt as though he’d been run through with a particularly nasty blade, he considered it a sterling effort.
“I understand,” he said lightly. “Well, the offer’s there if you change your mind.”
The offer of his bloody, still-beating heart on a silver platter.
Perry pushed his chair back and stood. “Well, I’m feeling pretty done in,” he said. “It was an early start, and I had a bit too much ale this afternoon, I daresay. I think I’ll retire for the evening.” He smiled at Huxley and Alderton, who were now watching him with strained, sympathetic expressions. “It was good to meet you both. I’ll leave the three of you to enjoy a bit of reminiscing in peace now.”
Huxley glanced at Jonny, but Jonny didn’t say a word. Huxley sent him a disbelieving glare, then turned back to Perry himself and said, “Must you retire, Cavendish? We were enjoying your company greatly.”
“And I yours,” Perry replied. “But I’m honestly exhausted. I drove all the way here from High Wycombe, then walked a good few miles this afternoon.” He smiled warmly, hoping that showed he bore no hard feelings. "I do hope you have a wonderful trip.”
“Well, if we can't persuade you to stay…” Huxley looked at Alderton, as if he hoped the man might come up with some other idea, but Alderton was too busy scowling at Jonny, who was staring fixedly at the tablecloth.
Perry took advantage of their distraction to make for the door.
“I’ll take the truckle bed, Jonny,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room. “So don’t worry about waking me when you come up. You can be as late as you please.”
“Peregrine, no,” Jonny protested, finally provoked out of his silence. “Please take the larger bed. I’ll be wretched if you don't.”
“Don’t be daft,” Perry said dismissively. “I’m so tired I could honestly sleep standing up right now. Enjoy the rest of your night, won’t you?” He fixed Jonny with a serious look. “You’re not going to see your friends again for a while, so make the most of it.”
And with that last word, he left, closing the door quietly behind him.
14
Jonny