They had no time for male histrionics if Mrs. O’Donnell was maneuvering her cannon into place, and there was no point to Percival’s dramatics, either. “Listen, Percival Windham, and tell me what you hear.”
He closed his eyes. “I hear altogether too many small children making a lot of rumpus over one sorry feline.”
“Those children are laughing. They are playing together without a single toy between them, and they are having great good fun. They met each other a few minutes ago, and already they know how to go on as a family. We must take our example from them and make a certain cat sorry she ever thought to go hunting on our turf.”
“Nobody prosecutes warrants for prostitution.”
Cecily’s attempt at disdain was undermined by the quaver in her voice as she stared at the document Percival had tossed onto the table before her. If the woman had any sense, she’d be more terrified than angry, but then, she’d never demonstrated appreciable common sense.
“Madam, I vow to you that I will see this warrant prosecuted, and have affidavits from a dozen witnesses of good birth to ensure the charges result in a conviction. I will also bring suit for slander if you suggest to a soul that a single, casual evening in a public theater box was indicative of any renewed association between us.”
Cecily flicked the document aside. “You kidnapped my daughter. I am the child’s legal custodian, and you’ve taken her unlawfully from my loving care. Perhaps you aren’t even her father.”
“In your loving care, she hasn’t a single proper toy. She hasn’t been inoculated for smallpox, her feet are covered with blisters because she outgrew her only boots ages ago. And I am very certain she is my daughter, thanks to the documents you so kindly provided me.”
Something smug in his tone must have given him away, because Cecily rose from her artful pose on the green sofa and stalked over to her escritoire. She rifled the drawers and came up glowering.
Which purely delighted Percival. On his last raid into enemy territory, he’d made one stop before he and Maggie had left the premises, and that detail, that one small detail, justified years spent shivering on reconnaissance in the Canadian wilderness.
“You’ve stolen the documents, my lord. Shall I have you arrested for that?”
Percival settled his elbow a little more comfortably on her mantel and noted one of the green bows on Cecily’s towering wig was coming undone. “By all means. You’ll want your witnesses to lay information, provided you can find any who will malign a duke’s son with their perjury. You procured the documents for me at my specific request, as the signatories on the documents would attest.”
As they would attest now, now that Percival had met with each one and held pointed discussions with them.
Cecily slammed the last drawer closed hard enough to make the inkwell on the blotter jump. “You lying, conniving, sly—”
“Such flattery will surely turn my head, Mrs. O’Donnell.” He pushed away from the mantel, because if she came flying at him, he’d want to be able to step aside without letting her touch him. “You have an alternative, you know. My wife was insistent that you’d see reason eventually.”
“Your wife isn’t fit to—”
Before she could complete her insult, Percival harpooned her with a look that let her see every particle of savagery in him. To protect his wife and children, to protect even his lady’s good name, he would cheerfully murder this woman on the spot. Esther had been very clear he was not to indulge in such an impulse, though Esther was also demonstrating a marvelous ability to deal with the occasional marital disappointment.
Cecily took a seat at her escritoire. “What is this alternative?”
Percival tossed documents before her, like he’d throw slops before a hog. “Sign those papers giving me authority over the child, and that bank draft is yours to do with whatever you please.”
No sow had ever regarded her dinner with such a gleam of avarice in her eye. Cecily traced her fingers over the figures on the draft. “All I have to do is sign the papers?”
“Immediately.”
She didn’t like that. From the scowl on her face, Percival surmised she’d planned on absconding with the money, and at some future date, perhaps absconding with the child.
“Fine then. Take the brat, and I wish you the joy of her.” She reached for the inkwell, and Percival went to the door.
“What are you—?”
“Witnesses, Mrs. O’Donnell. A proper legal document, to be binding, requires proper witnesses, doesn’t it?”
She made no effort to hide her rage as John, Duke of Quimbey, strode into the room, very much on his dignity. Anthony came after that, followed by a marquis and an earl whom Percival had known since his years at Eton.
Quimbey took the time to make sure Cecily was signing freely and voluntarily and that she understood what she was signing—a nice touch that, but then Quimbey had acquired his title before he’d gone to university, and was a genuinely good friend.
The deed was quickly fait accompli, and with thanks all around in the mews, Percival mounted his charger and prepared to report to his commanding officer that the enemy had been thoroughly, absolutely, and permanently routed.
“Maggie will help me civilize them,” Esther said as they closed the nursery door. “She’s had to think for herself from a young age, and lot of cosseted boys will not slow her down one bit.”
Beside her, Percival studied the closed door. “You consider Devlin to have been cosseted?” He hoped it was so. Distracted by his siblings, Devlin seemed to be fitting in easily, but Percival saw worry in the boy’s eyes.
Time to go shopping for some ponies.
Esther slipped her arm through his and walked with him toward the stairs, probably to prevent him from suggesting they read the children just one more story.
“You must not fret, Husband. In some ways, Devlin has been cosseted the most. His mother could not provide lavishly for him, but he had her love all to himself, no siblings to compete with, no father to distract Mama from her darling son. He’ll be fine, Percival. We’ll all be fine.”
Because Esther believed that, Percival could believe it too. Kathleen St. Just had taken ship for Ireland, where a second cousin was willing to marry her. Cecily O’Donnell was reported to be taking a repairing lease at Bath. In some ways, the Yule season that approached would be the happiest of their marriage so far.
Esther leaned a little closer. “What did Tony have to say?”
Tony had said surprisingly little, and all of it encouraging. “Anthony could barely spare me the time of day, so anxious was he to return to his bride.” Percival opened the door of their private sitting room. “He did say Peter seems to be doing much better for trying the foxglove tincture.”
“Arabella writes to the same effect. Are we returning to Morelands for the holidays?”
For all the upheaval in the past few days, and for all the honesty and closeness it had brought between Percival and his lady, he still could not tell if she was asking to go home or asking not to.
He closed the door behind them and drew his wife into his arms the better to communicate with her. “His Grace’s spirits are also reported to be much improved.”
They were all in better spirits, and who would have thought such a contretemps might yield that result? Against his shoulder, Esther yawned.
“Surely, that your father’s situation might admit of any improvement qualifies as a miracle.”