Free An Unusual Courtship by Katherine Marlowe

Percival looked up. Mr. Everett had approached him, and stood leaning against a chair quite near to Percival’s side.
    “Shall I aught?” Percival replied, not certain what Mr. Everett was asking.
    “Surely you cannot intend to sleep in that chair,” Mr. Everett said with a wry smile.
    “Oh! No. No, I think not.”
    “Then perhaps you will allow me to walk you home.”
    “Oh!” Percival said. “No, no, certainly, not unless you will subsequently let me walk you home, and I think that combined journey would be rather too tiring for us both. I shall manage on my own.”
    Mr. Everett’s smile widened with amusement at the thought of the two of them being eternally caught at walking between their two places of residence on account of being so polite as to insist upon walking the other home. “Perhaps, then, I may offer that you might bunk with me? To save you the long journey to Linston Manor so late at night, after a spirited evening.”
    The suggestion was tempting, but Percival did not at all trust himself to accept, since he did not know how he might react while sleeping next to the highly distracting Mr. Everett. “I could not impose upon you, Mr. Everett.”
    Mr. Everett looked away, and did not press the issue.
    The silence between them felt weighty and painful. Something had been damaged in their friendship, and Percival still did not understand why.
    “Mr. Everett,” he said softly.
    His friend glanced over and waited for him to continue.
    “I suppose that Miss Bolton has told you—unless, I suppose, perhaps she did not, in order to be discreet—that I, well, in regards to the matter on which we last spoke, that is, the matter of which we spoke… when we…”
    “Mr. Valentine,” Mr. Everett interrupted, “really—”
    Percival would not be stopped. “But I must—you should know—you see, Mr. Everett, that Miss Bolton declined my offer of courtship.”
    This was received with a startled silence.
    “My sympathies,” Mr. Everett said at last.
    “Oh. Well.” Percival cleared his throat. He had not sought nor wanted condolences, although he realised belatedly how that might be the expected result in this situation. “I suppose I find I am really not so wrenched about it. Although Miss Bolton is really quite lovely, I’m not so certain that I desire marriage, nor that she would be very good match for me, nor certainly I for her, and overall I find myself entirely grateful that we are resolved to be nothing more than the very best of friends.”
    “I see,” Mr. Everett said. Percival could not interpret his expression.
    “Indeed, I almost think…” Percival bit his tongue, trying to determine what he was about to say and whether or not it was entirely foolish.
    “Yes?”
    The marble floor in front of him was polished to an exquisite shine, and Percival suddenly took great interest in it. “I almost think,” he said, “that my affections are truly drawn toward a different individual, although I am not at all certain whether such affections are appropriate.”
    “Not Mr. Bolton, I hope.”
    The words were playfully said, and so unexpected that Percival brayed once with laughter. “Ha! Oh, no! No, certainly not. Not Mr. Bolton. Though he is likewise really quite charming and were I to be inclined toward either of the Boltons—”
    This train of thought suddenly seemed dreadfully incriminating and Percival swiftly diverted it. “That is to say, no. Um. No.”
    “And if this inappropriate individual were to return your affections?” Mr. Everett asked, taking a seat near Percival.
    Mr. Everett seemed earnest about his question. His expression was open and gentle, and he smiled at Percival.
    “Oh,” said Percival. He cleared his throat again as he attempted to make sense of that in any other manner but the impossible belief that Mr. Everett shared his inclination to be distracted by members of his own gender. “I suppose I don’t know.”
    “Stay the night, Mr. Valentine,” Mr.