Free An Unusual Courtship by Katherine Marlowe Page B

a polite smile on his face. “Good day, Colonel Willworth. I—“
    “Well, did you send word you were coming, dear lad?” Colonel Willworth cut him off.
    Percival bit his tongue and coloured, finding the colonel’s tendency to interrupt to be very trying on his nerves. “Indeed, I—”
    “The letter must have been lost in the mail,” Colonel Willworth hypothesised, being uninterested in any account of events other than his own. “Really, I do think that it is simply intolerable that the mail service should be run in this addle-pated manner! Something should be done. Why, do you know, that last year I sent to my brother, Robert—I think you will remember Robert? He is married these days, to a most profligate shrew.”
    Percival tightened his jaw and coloured further as he restrained the urge to make a defence of Mrs. Robert Willworth’s character. It was Percival’s opinion—having only met her the once—that the poor lady was uncommonly patient and long-suffering with the members of the Willworth family, but he knew that expressing as much would make no impact upon Colonel Willworth's perspective, and would most likely bring down further lecturing and wrath upon himself—and possibly, in belated fashion, upon poor Mrs. Robert Willworth herself.
    “What was I saying? Oh, yes. The mail. Would you know that he has written to me that my letter from last year has only this month been delivered to him! It’s unacceptable! Indeed, I fully intend to—”
    Percival was at this point spared from a detailed account of Colonel Willworth's planned campaign against the shockingly irresponsible mailboys of the world by the arrival of his cousin Agatha, now Mrs. James Willworth.
    “Percival!” she exclaimed. Like her husband, she was middle-aged and somewhat stout, although she entered any room by the stern thrust of her large, bony shoulders, which made her as forcefully magnetic as she was overwhelming.
    “Cousin Agatha,” Percival began, already exhausted by the force of their combined presence.
    “You wicked boy, how shocking of you to simply turn up like this. Why didn’t you write?”
    Percival opened his mouth to respond, but was saved from having to do so by Colonel Willworth, who was much loath to let anyone in the room other than himself answer questions, regardless of what the question might be.
    “It seems that his letter was lost in the mail, my dove! Why, I’m certain that it’s those snitching mail boys again—greedy, lazy sorts every one! It’s them that’s causing the ruin of this country!”
    “Oh! Oh! Shocking! ” Mrs. Willworth agreed. “Percival, my poor boy, it’s a wonder you survived the journey at all. Did you have any trouble? Why, with the amount of footpads and adventurers on the roads these days! In fact, I quite think that the mail boys are most likely in league with the common footpads, don’t you suppose? It would be quite like them. Claim that they were set upon by footpads in order to cover up their own grasping laziness! Lud! Well, I do certainly think…”
    This went on for several minutes more between the two of them, while Percival tried not to feel entirely dizzy from his long journey. He wished very much that one of them would eventually remember to invite him to sit and perhaps even to offer tea.
    “Here,” Agatha said at last, “how long do you intend to stay, Percival? I shall ring for luncheon. You must be quite tired from your journey. Lo! I am quite tired at even the thought of it! Ha!”
    There was the briefest pause in the Willworth’s discourse as Agatha reached to ring the bell for the servants, and Percival seized upon it. “Several days, I do think,” he said, speaking rapidly in order to take advantage of the brief opening in conversation. “Lord Barham has approved funds for the expansion of Linston, and I hope—”
    “You always speak so dreadfully fast, Percival,” Agatha reprimanded him. “It is a shameful habit, and I do not know why your