Chapter 33. A Most Grievous Grudge

Lady Alicia spied her husband approaching. His dark hair was in a state of charming disarray, and his lips were pressed together in a manner that might have been construed as a pout. His gaze, sharp and focused, locked onto a particular point across the room. There, a blond, green-eyed gentleman stood, his expression unreadable, yet somehow managing to convey a subtle challenge. Their eyes met. "Earl Percy," Cavendish offered, with a curt nod that served as a most perfunctory greeting. The eldest son of the Duke of Northumberland, a mere one-and-twenty years of age. Cavendish's animosity towards the young Earl was as thinly veiled as a summer gown, sharp and pointed. Yet, the other man, in contrast, possessed a demeanor of infuriating calmness. Cavendish's gaze fell upon the hand that had been kissed, the hand that had only reluctantly been released upon his arrival. Why did this Percy fellow insist on behaving with such infuriating magnanimity? It was almost as if he were the injured party. "Good day, Mr. Cavendish," Percy replied, his politeness impeccable, yet the slight upward curve of his lips suggested a barely concealed smirk. A most provoking smirk, Cavendish was certain, for he himself had often employed such a tactic. However, upon addressing Alicia, his demeanor underwent a remarkable transformation, becoming the very picture of humility. "Then it is settled, Lady Alicia," Earl Percy declared, his voice pitched at a volume clearly intended for all present to hear. "Until our next engagement." Before Cavendish could physically remove him, the Earl executed a graceful bow and departed, his exit as irritatingly smooth as his entrance. He entered his carriage and seated himself, leaving a palpable tension in his wake. "Settled what?" Cavendish inquired, feeling a peculiar tightness in his chest, a sensation akin to being trapped in a room with no discernible exits. It was a rare occurrence indeed to witness her husband so visibly perturbed. Alicia observed him with a curious eye, rather like a scientist examining a particularly intriguing specimen. "To attend a card party. Lady Cowper will be in attendance, as well." Usually, he would collect her and they would share her carriage, his presence a comforting weight beside her. Today, however, he chose to sit opposite, a noticeable and rather unsettling distance between them. "Ah," William Cavendish uttered, suddenly struck by the realization that he might have overreacted. It was only Henry Percy, after all. But then again... The history of their rivalry was a long and tangled one, a veritable tapestry of petty grievances and one-upmanship. For instance, there was that cricket match. Cavendish had only learned later that Henry Percy had served as his replacement, performing rather poorly and even managing to fall in the process. "My apologies, Miss Alicia. I do wish I could have performed better," Percy had lamented, in that self-deprecating way of his. "Mr. Cavendish was absent, no doubt detained by some pressing engagement. I believe he mentioned attending a Venetian breakfast at Lady So-and-So's," someone had offered. Percy had sighed dramatically. "Such a pity. Had he been present, I'm sure the match would have been won." Cavendish, arriving in a flurry of haste, had overheard this exchange. There was nothing inherently wrong with the words themselves, yet they rubbed him the wrong way, like an ill-fitting cravat. Alicia's response, however, had been rather satisfying. "Indeed," she had said, "I do believe cricket is not your forte, Lord Percy." He had chuckled at that, unable to contain his amusement. Cavendish was of the firm opinion that Earl Percy's behavior was a direct result of an excess of leisure time. The Duke of Northumberland, a man of notoriously volatile temper and an insatiable need for control, was not one to relinquish even a sliver of authority to his son. Every aspect of the young Earl's life was meticulously managed. Nevertheless, Percy's reputation in society was, much to Cavendish's chagrin, impeccable. He was widely regarded as a charming, well-mannered, and amiable young man. In short, the very antithesis of Cavendish himself. William Cavendish's mother had once been engaged to the Duke of Northumberland, a fact that further complicated matters. The engagement had been broken off by the lady, a detail that added a certain spice to their interactions. The two families were not particularly close, partly due to the relatively recent creation of the Northumberland dukedom. The previous Duke of Somerset, upon his demise, had bequeathed the majority of his estate to his only daughter, and had obtained royal permission to have the title bestowed upon her husband. Despite their considerable wealth, their connections with other noble families were rather tenuous. Earl Percy had, at one point, been considered a potential suitor for Alicia. However, the Duke's controlling nature, particularly his unwillingness to compromise on financial matters, had ultimately led to the dissolution of any such plans. It was likely that the young Earl harbored some resentment towards him. Their first encounter had involved an apple, of all things. Alicia had casually offered it to Percy. Cavendish, upon witnessing the young man's blush, had been overcome by a wave of annoyance. Percy's fair hair, blue eyes, and delicate features, which gave him the appearance of a particularly well-groomed cherub, were especially irritating. Cavendish had long lamented his own lack of blond hair. Driven by a sudden impulse, he had snatched the apple from Percy's grasp and taken a large bite, right in front of him. The nine-year-old Percy, accustomed to being the center of attention and treated with utmost care, had nearly burst into tears. Cavendish had received a stern warning: "That Burlington fellow is notoriously difficult, quite imperious. Do not expect any sympathy from him." Cavendish remained in a state of unease throughout the journey. A sense of impending doom, a feeling he hadn't experienced since his days of youthful arrogance, washed over him. After a period of contemplation, he finally spoke. "What did he say to you earlier?" Alicia observed the ever-shifting expressions on his face. She hadn't paid much attention before, but she did vaguely recall her cousin's strained relationship with Earl Percy. Her cousin had never uttered a kind word about the man. "He said he missed me terribly. 'London is a much less joyful place without your presence, Lady Alicia,'" she recounted. "'And your husband is simply dreadful. I often hear him complain. How can he be so cruel and indifferent towards you?'" The words of a seasoned rake, clearly angling for the position of her lover. Cavendish felt his temper flare. Percy hadn't changed one bit. Alicia continued, quoting Percy's use of her formal title: "'Lady Alicia, should you ever find yourself in need of assistance, do not hesitate to call upon me. I shall always be your most loyal friend.'" And then, the hand kiss. Cavendish ran a hand through his hair, further contributing to its disheveled state. He was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. "I do have a problem, but I doubt he can solve it," Alicia admitted. "What sort of problem?" His heart pounded in his chest. So, Alicia was growing weary of him, after all. Alicia uttered a specific term, a mathematical equation left by her tutor, the esteemed Cambridge professor. Well, he couldn't solve that either. Cavendish breathed a sigh of relief. Earl Percy, much like his delicate features, was weak and easily manipulated. He had been attempting to drive a wedge between them, but Alicia remained oblivious to his machinations. During Cavendish's years of intense study, Percy had monopolized Alicia's time. He would suggest engagements that clashed with Cavendish's schedule, forcing her to decline his invitations. He had tagged along on their outings to art exhibitions, Vauxhall Gardens, concerts, and the theater, proving impossible to shake off. "I know, Miss Alicia, that Mr. Cavendish harbors a deep dislike for me," Percy had once confided. "Though I'm at a loss as to why. I shall trouble you no longer. However, I do lament the loss of our friendship." He would also relay Cavendish's unflattering remarks about his cousin, remarks that, while true, were hardly appropriate for polite conversation. "Your cousin says you are 'pretentious, stuffy, dull, and utterly lacking in wit.' I find such comments appalling, and though it may damage your relationship, I feel it is my duty to inform you." The girl didn't even look up. "William George? He is incorrigible, conceited, supercilious, atrocious, immature, arrogant, and possesses a levity quite unbecoming of his age." They had quarreled frequently during those years. Alicia had grown accustomed to their bickering. Henry Percy was petty, attention-seeking, and prone to playing the victim, especially in his attempts to win Alicia's affection. Cavendish had once dismissed it with a laugh, retaliating in subtle ways, occasionally throwing a spanner in the works. Now, however, he found it unbearable. Earl Percy was an expert at playing the innocent, the supplicant, the underdog. He hadn't understood it before, attributing it to some sort of enchantment. Now, he recognized the perverse pleasure Percy derived from it. "Was that the first time he had met you?" Cavendish asked, resting his chin on his hand, his mood decidedly somber. "Oh, no," Alicia replied casually, ticking off the occasions on her fingers. There had been several encounters at the evening parties of married ladies, afternoon teas, and even during strolls through Hyde Park. He had a habit of "accidentally" bumping into her. In retrospect, the frequency of these encounters was rather alarming. Earl Percy shared a similar affliction with her cousin, claiming to miss her after a mere half-day apart. Cavendish realized that he had been far too complacent as a husband. He had been remiss in not paying closer attention to Alicia's recent engagements. He should have anticipated this. For instance, at the weekly meetings of the Bluestocking Society, she had also encountered Viscount Belgrave, the eldest son of Earl Grosvenor, a nineteen-year-old who, in Cavendish's estimation, was a rather bookish and shy fellow. Now, however, they seemed to have found common ground in their discussions. And then there were the countless other butterflies, drawn to her flame. Those evening parties, in addition to the ladies, were often filled with idle young men of leisure. It was a common practice in London for young men to take married ladies as their mistresses. Their youthful visages added a certain flair to the gatherings. Cavendish could easily picture his wife surrounded by admirers, just as she had been today. It was only natural, her charm was undeniable, her beauty captivating, both before and after their marriage. If anything, her allure had only grown stronger. He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. He couldn't very well forbid Alicia from interacting with these men. It would be absurd. It was simply a part of normal social intercourse. Yet, reflecting on their past interactions, he was certain that they harbored ulterior motives. Even those who had previously been mere acquaintances would now be tempted to try their luck. He knew these men. To win the affections of a young, beautiful, noble, and wealthy lady would be a feather in their caps, a tale to be recounted for years to come. Would Alicia be swayed by their advances? Would she fall in love with another? The law forbade divorce, except in one particular instance: a wife could elope with her lover, thereby providing grounds for a legal separation. Such cases were not uncommon. Alicia noticed the deep furrow in his brow. His troubled demeanor persisted even after they returned home and shared a simple family dinner at Spencer House. They discussed plans to visit Alicia's maternal grandmother, the Dowager Countess Spencer, who resided in St. Albans, some twenty miles northwest of London. Earl and Countess Spencer intended to depart for the countryside after the visit, to enjoy the hunting season. The newlyweds had agreed to visit them at Althorp House. Cavendish's mother's grandmother and Earl Spencer's grandfather were siblings, a connection that bound the two families together. Their branch of the family, being part of the old English aristocracy, had a long tradition of intermarriage, resulting in a complex web of relationships. Social life in London was hectic, and Alicia, as a married lady, had even more responsibilities. They rarely retired before eleven or twelve o'clock. The aristocracy was known for their late-night revelries, often continuing until dawn. As they exchanged goodnights, Cavendish held her hands, kissing them, attempting to erase the memory of another man's touch. Even though it had been through a glove. "I don't like him kissing you," William Cavendish declared, mirroring Earl Percy's straightforward manner. He attempted to appear pitiful, to squeeze out a tear, but to no avail. Clearly, such a feat required years of practice. "But isn't it customary to kiss a married lady's hand?" Alicia asked, genuinely perplexed. It was a common gesture of respect, and those who were closer might even exchange a kiss on the cheek. "Yes," he mumbled. "May I accompany you to the card party tomorrow?" It was just a game of whist, after all. He would surely be able to beat that little scoundrel until he cried. "I'm afraid husbands are not permitted," Alicia replied, unable to free her hands from his grasp. She gazed at her cousin's dejected expression. A familiar sense of satisfaction welled up within her. She cupped his face in her hands. Cavendish was remarkably adept at self-justification. He abhorred any display of weakness, yet he realized that while he had gained the title of husband, he had also been stripped of certain privileges. "Very well," he said, placing a kiss on her lips. "Goodnight, Alicia. Have a splendid time tomorrow." Would she forgo the gathering for his sake? Alicia was disappointed to find that, despite his reddened eyes, no tears had fallen. She watched him longingly, contemplating how one might induce a man to cry. William Cavendish now had a list, and several names were prominently featured at the top: Titchfield, Sunderland, Percy, Belgrave. Henry Percy's name was heavily crossed out with a large X. Cavendish pondered how best to deal with them.