Percival

 “Papa!” the sweet voice chirped. “Papa, look!”

 Percival turned and saw the small form of his three-year-old daughter running towards him, her soft blond curls shining about her head in a perfect halo of childhood beauty, her green eyes turned up to his in the very image of her mother. She stopped short of him and held out a little flower in her hand.

 “What is?” she asked, sweetly. 

 “It’s a daisy,” he answered her, kneeling to examine it seriously. “You have done a fine thing plucking it, my dear, for your mother can now wear it in her hair. Will you take it to Mama?”

 The girl, named Madeleine, turned and retraced her steps across the sun-warmed stones of the garden to the place where Aurora was sitting on a blanket pruning some rose bushes.

 “Mama, hair?” Madeleine inquired, sweetly, and Percival watched as Aurora took the daisy and tucked it into the twist of the fair blond braid that fell straight down her back.

 He thought with wonderment as he looked at his wife of four years how remarkable it was that she remained as soft and beautiful to him today as she had seemed the first time that he ever laid eyes on her. It was on days like today, thick with warm spring air and the blossoming of all living things, that he was most reminded of the months that they had shared before their marriage, when he would sit at her side during her recovery, when he bound up her arms against the wounds of the rose bush, when they would walk together in the cool of the evening.

 The understanding between them had only sweetened with time and age and he felt satisfied with the knowledge that he had found not just a momentary love, but the sort of deep friendship and companionship that could last an eternity.

 After living for a few years at his family estate, they had moved back to Thornbrook, and it appeared that their absence had been an excellent choice. The town had all but forgotten the news carried by the papers and, though the people were interested in what had transpired it seemed that, on the whole, they were happy to have their sweet Lady Aurora back again.

 Percival had finished his studies by then and, as the town had never had a physician of its own, he took up residence at once at Thornbrook and was on-call for all manner of maladies. He reached out to his uncle William whenever the Duke of Follett and William met halfway at Thornbrook for a visit, and always shared any new ideas with the older man before trying them himself.

 He had not forgotten his promise to his father, however, and made certain to balance his medicinal work with the appropriate amount of time studying the books and business of the estate, so that the current Duke would not be frightened to hand off the mantle of leadership when the time came.

 “Percival,” Aurora called, from where she sat. “I believe I just heard someone pull up in the drive outside. Would you go and see if it’s the milliner for my mother? She had a piece commissioned a few weeks ago and I know she is expecting it this week.”

 Percival turned to do as she asked but, when he did so, he saw that the visitor had made quick work of the front staff and skirted directly around the house to the garden. Percival did not recognize the tall, stately, older gentleman with white hair and a beard, but Aurora knew him at once and stood quickly to her feet.

 “Lord Pemiscot,” she said, breathlessly, giving a little curtsy and exchanging a worried look with Percival.

 Percival understood her perfectly. Lord Pemiscot, the father of Douglass, had not returned to England four years ago following the sentencing of his son. There was a belief among many that he had not come back because of the Royal Magistrate’s ruling against his son and because his wife seemed to have fled for the Americas to preserve her own name. Neither Percival nor Aurora knew what to make of it, only suspecting that he was angry at all that had transpired and had no more need of England or the people therein.

 He walked quickly now across the garden towards them, coming to a stop only a few feet away.

 “Lord Avondale,” he said, bowing quickly. He turned his eyes to Aurora. “Lady Avondale.”

 She nodded and reached out to take Madeleine’s hand. “Sweet one,” she said. “Run over to the house to where you see your Grandfather in his easy chair and sit there with him for a time. I will come get you in a bit.”

 Madeleine took off towards the house as innocently as could be imagined. Lord Pemiscot watched her go, then turned back to Aurora and Percival with a face that was unreadable.

 “She looks much like you looked at that age,” he said, quietly.

 Percival saw Aurora nod nervously and interjected on her behalf.

 “Lord Pemiscot, it is a pleasure to finally meet you after all that has transpired. We feared you would not return from India at all.”

 The older man bowed his head. “Is it really a pleasure?”

 Aurora cleared her throat. “What do you mean by that, pray tell?”

 “I mean what you think I mean,” he said, quickly. “I mean that it is difficult for me to imagine you were really very glad to know of my return after everything that my wife and son did to you.” Then, all in a moment, his face seemed to melt and crumble before them. He didn’t cry, but there was a look of astonished sadness about him. “I am so sorry,” he said, quietly. “That is what I came to say and I would understand if you felt the need to put me off this lovely property forever after what my family has wrought upon you.”

 Percival saw Aurora’s compassion had been aroused, for she shook her head at once. “Why are you apologizing?” she asked. “It was not you who did all those things and, besides, they are a matter of the past.”

 “It was not I who poisoned you or kidnapped you,” he said, with a nod, “but it was I who was so disheartened with my own marriage and so easily led by my wife’s whims that I left England and allowed a son whom I knew to be a tyrant to take over my lands. I was happy enough to disappear into the wilds of India forever, so desirous was I to be free of them, but I never imagined they would wreak such havoc in my absence.” He sighed. “I could not bring myself to return for many years, for I knew the shame that would be waiting for me here.”

 “There is no shame,” Aurora said, taking a step towards him. “None at all. We know that it was not you and, as for your absence, all is forgiven.”

 Lord Pemiscot turned to Percival quietly. “And you, good sir? I have heard tell of all you did for this dear lady and I imagine you are a bit more unwilling to forgive having seen the entirety of her suffering so close at hand.”

Percival reached out his hand then, clasping the older man’s hand in his own.

 “You do not yet know me well,” he said, quietly, “but you will learn in time that I respond well to an honest spirit in others, even if mistakes were made. You are forgiven, sir.”

 Lord Pemiscot looked like a man in the desert who had stumbled upon a well of clear spring water.

 “My thanks to you,” he said, softly. “That is more than I could have asked for. I will take your leave now and go see what I can mend in my own estate. A long absence leaves long troubles.”

 Percival stepped up and put his arm around Aurora’s waist.

 “Perhaps,” he said, “you would join us for supper? I know that your estate will not begrudge you a reunion with old friends and Lord Vincent is just inside.”

 With a smile, Lord Pemiscot agreed. They walked together towards the house, lit not only by the knowledge of forgiveness, but by the hope of a happy future that lay before them all.

The Next Book is Available on Our Website and on Amazon!
Read The Next Book!
Click on the Image or Scan the QR Code