Work Text:
Percy was right on Flavian’s heels as he left the church. Ralph and Hugo were hauling the protesting offender down the nave, and the pews behind them were buzzing with whispers and exclamations and hushing noises. He paid attention to none of it as their little group burst out through the doors of the church and Ralph and Hugo threw their captive bodily to the ground.
“Damn you straight to hell, you son of a whore,” Hugo shouted as Ralph aimed a scornful kick at the man’s boot. Flavian scoffed and spat on the ground near his head.
All three of them had faces like thunder. Percy had thought them an intimidating lot when they had all lined up in the hall to greet him when he came to Penderris in search of Imogen, but that was nothing compared to now. If looks could kill, this man would have surely expired before the words “just cause” had even passed over his lips.
He had to act before the day descended into further chaos. It would ruin the wedding completely if a physical fight broke out in Hanover Square, and besides the three of them belonged inside the church with the rest of their friends. Percy could take care of this. He had some little experience cleaning up these sorts of messes, after all, and he knew how to smooth-talk an irate man into something resembling geniality. And he was not as close to George as the others were; he could handle this more dispassionately.
Seizing Flavian by the shoulder, Percy leaned in close to his ear.
“Go back inside,” he said in a quick, quiet voice, “and take them with you. I will deal with him. Go.”
Flavian nodded brusquely. Stepping forward, he caught Hugo’s eye alongside a sharp jerk of his head and said a few quick words to Ralph. They all seemed rather reluctant to leave unfinished business behind, but the desire to see their friend wed seemed to win out over any violent urges they were currently feeling. Percy was glad of it. He had a sinking suspicion that the authorities would not look kindly upon a murder in the streets of London in broad daylight, and that God would not be best pleased by it either when it was right outside St George’s of all places.
The doors of the church swung shut behind the Survivors, and Percy was left alone in the street with the mystery man who had burst onto the nave in the middle of a wedding ceremony and accused one of his wife’s dearest friends of cold-blooded murder.
Well, not totally alone. The commotion had attracted the attention of some curious passersby, who gawked at the pair of them with ill-disguised curiosity.
“They were quite rough with you, old fellow,” he said breezily, helping the disgruntled man to his feet. “It is understandable, though—an insult to the bride and all that.”
“It is not the bride I mean to insult but the groom,” the man snarled. “That murderer, that villain Stanbrook—”
“Yes, yes, I heard it all in the church,” Percy said. He swiped some dust off the man’s jacket with perhaps a little more force than was strictly necessary. “Ghastly business. My condolences for your sister.”
“Thank you,” the man said reluctantly. “You are—?”
“The Earl of Hardford. And you?”
“Eastham,” the man said distractedly, scowling and glaring at the closed doors of the church as though he would like nothing more than to storm back through them and throttle the Duke of Stanbrook before his bride and all the assembled congregation.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. I must say I have never been to a wedding where someone actually objected to the marriage taking place. It was quite diverting. But of course your grievances are as legitimate as they are shocking. His poor wife. What a terrible end. And that the second lady should find herself so greatly deceived in his character is a pity indeed.”
Clapping a hand on Eastham’s back, Percy discreetly steered him down the street and away from the church. He kept talking all the while. He had always been a persuasive orator and a charming one too, or so his friends and acquaintances often told him.
“You know how one ends up at these society things. Hardly ever spoken to the man in my life. I would, however, be interested in speaking to you further, if you would like a sympathetic ear. I know of an excellent tavern nearby where one can drown one’s sorrows.”
“You seem like a sensible man, Hardford, unlike that blasted bishop,” Eastham said. Now that he had an attentive audience, the man had calmed slightly, though his agitation was still clear to see. “Law enforcement indeed! Does he believe I have not attempted to enlist their aid already? They protect him because he is a duke when they should have hanged him like a common criminal twelve years ago!”
He continued his ramblings about the protection of rank and the evils of disinterested authority as they made their way to the tavern. Percy paid little mind to his words except to make agreeable and sympathetic noises at the appropriate times.
Of course he did not believe for one second that the Duke of Stanbrook had actually done anything he was currently being accused of. Imogen loved the man like they were brother and sister, and the rest of the Survivors were similarly devoted. He would certainly not be taking the word of some five-minutes’ acquaintance over that of his own wife, thank you very much. He was only determined to dispose of the unwanted interloper and make sure he did not trouble the duke or his bride or any of their friends again today.
He planned to accomplish this at their intended destination.
The tavern that Percy had spoken of was called the Stag and Boar. He knew it from his younger days when he liked nothing more than to drink and carouse until dawn with his friends and other like-minded young men. It was a much less reputable establishment than their usual haunts, but he and his cronies had gone there on occasion anyway. The drinks were always plentiful even if the regular patrons were rogues and reprobates, and surely the quantity of alcohol was the most important feature of a tavern.
The second most important feature of this particular tavern was the likelihood that they would become embroiled in a brawl well within an hour of stepping foot inside. That was the easiest way to rid oneself of unwanted company and keep that company indisposed for a good long while without bloodying one’s own hands in the matter. And if a brawl did not start on its own, Percy was damned if he would not find some way to bring the thing about. That was the good thing about tavern brawls. He would not actually be responsible for any damage to Eastham’s person unless he was the one to beat the man himself, which of course he would never do.
“—and that is exactly what I was attempting to impress on Miriam’s neighbors at the time,” Eastham was saying as they entered the Stag and Boar. “Why should she fall off those cliffs when she had lived there for twenty years and knew how steep they were? She would never have done so under her own power. He hated her and he murdered her at the first available opportunity! And so I told them, but what did they say? Only a few believed me. All her closest friends, of course. Most were damnably unable to be prevailed upon.”
“What a pity,” Percy said.
Fortunately, it was a full house even for this early in the day, and all or most of those seated at the crowded tables around the room were rather deep in their cups already. Unfortunately, the patrons of the tavern seemed unusually inclined to peace at the moment. He would have to set that to rights immediately.
Hooking one booted foot around the leg of the nearest chair he could find, he gave a sharp kick and was pleased to watch both the chair and its unfortunate occupant crash to the floor. There was a general uproar at the table as the drunken man made his displeasure loudly and colorfully known. Several other men leapt to their feet with oaths of their own, advancing on Percy and Eastham as steadily and menacingly as they could when they were three sheets to the wind.
“By Jove, I do apologize for my friend here,” Percy said loudly. “He is more than a little in his cups, you see, and drink makes him clumsy.”
To emphasize his point, he clapped Eastham on the back companionably and pushed him slightly so he staggered into one of the unfortunate drunk’s companions.
The first blow came, as expected, shortly afterwards. Eastham howled with rage and pain as the man’s fist connected with his face, but he wheeled about and gave as good as he got. The drunkard on the floor scrambled to his feet to join the brawl as the fighting spirit rapidly spread across the tavern and men who had not even been sitting at the table with those initial miscreants turned on their neighbors with alarming alacrity. For Eastham’s part, he was quickly engaged by both the man he had so callously knocked to the floor and another one of the drunk’s companions.
“Hardford!”
An angry shout reached his ears. Eastham had caught sight of him from underneath his attackers’ arms. Percy raised a hand in acknowledgment and slipped neatly between two rather unsteady patrons who had come to investigate the source of the disturbance for themselves—with their fists at the ready, of course.
He hoofed it back to Hanover Square, hoping he had not entirely missed the whole thing and praying he would not come back to find that Imogen had set up camp upon the deserted front steps of the church. But surely one of her friends would take her along with them to Stockwood House for the wedding breakfast if the ceremony was indeed over, and Percy would only need to catch up with her there. Disposing of Eastham might have meant missing the remainder of the nuptial service and the newlyweds’ departure from the church, but it certainly had not taken so long that he would entirely miss the rest of the celebration as well.
Rounding the corner, Percy let out a sigh of relief as he turned onto the square. Even from this distance, he could see that he had not missed their departure after all. There was a crowd of curious onlookers gathered outside the church, waiting to see the bride and groom make their merry way to the open carriage that had pulled up outside the doors, and Percy spied Hugo’s massive frame looming head and shoulders above most of those standing there. In the next moment he saw Flavian and Ralph beside their friend, all three of them turned towards the doors in apparent expectation.
He skidded to a stop, a little breathless, outside the church. Deuce take it all, a man was not made to be running all around London when he was wearing his finest clothes on the wedding day of one of his wife’s dearest friends. It was a good thing that George was the last Survivor to be married, so Percy would never have to do this again.
The gathered onlookers parted easily for him as he made his way past them until he was standing by Flavian at the front of the crowd. The viscount let out a cry of recognition when Percy tapped him on the shoulder, and the other two turned to greet him with similar enthusiasm.
“You are just in time,” Ralph said, thrusting a handful of flower petals out towards him with such force that Percy had no choice but to accept. “Here, take these. They are signing the register now and will be coming out any minute.”
He was scowling significantly less than when Percy had seen him last. Hugo and Flavian too seemed slightly more relaxed. It was evident that the remainder of the ceremony had proceeded without incident, but even so, there was tension behind their smiles and faint anger in their eyes. Eastham’s insult was not one that could easily be forgotten, especially not by the bridegroom’s closest friends.
“All is settled,” Percy informed them, and watched as a little more of the tension eased away. “He will not be bothering anyone again any time soon.”
“Good man,” Hugo growled, clapping him on the back with enough force that Percy nearly lost his breath again. “We cannot thank you enough for taking him away and keeping him there. And for allowing us to return to the church.”
“Of course. You three could not possibly miss the wedding. I, on the other hand, am a little more disposable.”
“I think Imogen w-would disagree,” Flavian put in, smirking slightly.
“Whatever did you do with him?” Ralph asked.
“Oh, I simply expressed my deepest condolences for the loss of his sister and offered myself up as a friendly ear in his hour of need. Have you ever been to the Stag and Boar?”
“No,” Hugo said, looking somewhat puzzled by the apparent non sequitur, but Ralph brightened beside him in recognition.
“You know the place?” Percy asked him somewhat amusedly. He had not thought the Duke of Worthingham to be quite as much of a merrymaker as Percy himself had been some years previously, but it was not an unwelcome discovery.
“Only by reputation,” Ralph said hastily, blowing that theory right out of the water. Ah, less intriguing and slightly disappointing. “You took him there?”
“I did indeed. This particular tavern,” Percy explained for the benefit of the other two, “is a favorite haunt of those unsavory and disreputable types. Rarely a day goes by in which someone or other does not take offense at some minor slight and cause the whole place to descend into utter chaos. True to form, there was a bit of a scuffle just a few minutes after we arrived. I was able to escape with minimal injury, but he was not so lucky.”
“Who threw the first p-punch, I wonder?”
Percy grinned. “Do I look like the kind of man who would incite a tavern brawl?”
Hugo let out a great bark of laughter. The corner of Ralph’s mouth twitched. Flavian raised a mocking eyebrow at him.
Percy was feeling distinctly, though perhaps not unfairly, judged.
There was no time to say any more. The doors of the church swung open and the bride and groom emerged, nodding and smiling at the gathered crowd while the onlookers burst into cheers. Ralph and Hugo and Flavian threw their handfuls of flower petals up in the air, and Percy joined them. The church bells were ringing, the sun was shining, and there was every appearance of the perfect wedding day—second only to his own wedding to Imogen, of course.
But despite their smiles as they clasped hands and dashed for the carriage, Percy noted the same undercurrent of tension in the newly wedded couple as he had in their friends. George’s eyes were grim, and the former Miss Debbins was pale to the very lips. The ceremony might have resumed in Eastham’s absence, but his interruption had clearly drained the joyous spirit right out of the room.
By Jove, he hoped the day had not been irrevocably spoilt. Imogen would be beside herself if the uneasy mood continued throughout the breakfast and the rest of the celebrations, which necessarily meant that Percy would be vexed as well. No one else would be best pleased either. And the bride’s entire family had been in attendance and so had witnessed the public insult. Good Lord, what a disaster. Surely there had to be some happy memories that could be made today to overshadow the unwelcome interruption.
He stepped up to the carriage and laid a hand on George’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Don’t worry,” Percy said for his ears only. “He is gone and will not be reappearing for a little while.”
George nodded sharply, once, and then the coachman gave the signal for the horses to start and the carriage moved away from the front of the church with a deafening clatter as the numerous metallic decorations hanging from the back were dragged across the square.
Percy hoped that his words were enough to lay any lingering discomfort to rest, but he was not quite sure they had been.
The rest of the wedding guests began to emerge from the church, and Percy stepped aside with the gathered crowd to allow them room to exit. Imogen was coming through the doors with Ben and Samantha, moving slowly along with the flowing crush of people. Her lower lip was caught slightly between her teeth and her eyes scanned the mass of onlookers beneath her worried brows. When she saw him standing to the side, her countenance brightened with obvious relief. Percy could not help but smile back at her as she lowered her head to say something to Ben before breaking away from the couple and heading in his direction.
“Oh, Percy,” she said agitatedly as soon they came within speaking distance of each other, “I cannot believe it. How could he possibly think that George would do such a thing? And to stand up and say what he said during the wedding ceremony?”
“It is unthinkable,” he told her. “I am very sorry it happened, and even more sorry that you were obliged to witness it. If I could have prevented it from ever happening in the first place, I would have done.”
“But you were absolutely perfect,” she said. “You took him away somewhere, did you not, so he would not cause any more trouble? Hugo and Ralph and Flavian came back, but you stayed away. I was not quite sure you would return in time. Whatever did you do with him?”
He briefly summarized the events of the past half hour and was rewarded with Imogen’s luminous smile. Her lips curled upwards at the corners and her eyes softened, and for the second time that day, he watched some of that long-held tension ease away.
“Very quick thinking! A well-deserved punishment, in my opinion, and I cannot thank you enough for it. I am sure everyone else is terribly grateful too.”
She slid her arm through his and—not for the first time in their little-more-than-a-month of marriage—Percy marveled at how naturally it rested in the crook of his elbow, almost as though they had been made to fit each other. And the trouble was that he was filled with joy at such a silly sentimental thought as the one he had just had. How would he fare after two months of marriage, or three or six or twelve? It was quite alarming.
“How was the rest of the service?” he asked.
Regrettably, Imogen’s smile faded at the question. “It went on as well as it could have done. George put on a brave face, and Dora was wonderfully composed. I do think they will be happy together, but I am sorry their day was spoilt by that horrid man.”
Percy wanted to comfort her and say it had not been ruined in the least, but the words would ring false to his ears and hers. The four of them—Percy, Ralph, Hugo, and Flavian—had done all they could to maintain the sanctity and happiness of the day, yet none of them would ever be able to totally erase the discomfort that Eastham’s public accusation had caused. Maybe the rest of the celebration could be salvaged somehow, but the damage could not be undone. Everyone knew it. He would not lie to his wife by making light of the situation.
“They are man and wife now,” he said instead, “and I am sure they will have many happy days together. This one bad moment cannot possibly overshadow them all.”
Imogen pressed her hand more firmly against his arm, and he knew that she appreciated his honest reassurance.
“Now,” Percy continued, “we ought to make haste if we want to be at Stockwood House directly. I ran across nearly half of London to get back to the church before the ceremony ended, and I will not mar that triumph by being late to the wedding breakfast.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “We could not possibly have that, now could we?”
That luminous smile was teasing at the corner of her lips again, he noted with some pleasure, and he would do his level best to keep it that way for the rest of the day. For the rest of his life, in fact, and there he was being sentimental again. Ah, he would blame it on the nuptial atmosphere and the way it reminded one of one’s own wedding day even when the day in question had taken place ages ago. Weeks and weeks—why, he was well on his way to becoming a staid old married man already.
Percy laid a hand over Imogen’s and squeezed affectionately as they began to make their way to Stockwood House for the wedding breakfast, and he did not let go for the whole duration of the walk.