XVIII. – Carry That Weight

Yvonne was such a tiny, willowy thing.

He could lift her, easily, with both hands 'round her waist, his fingers barely touching at the small of her back. He knew, because he had lifted her several times during their three blissful, heavenly days together, if only to pick her up and hold her against him and feel her heart beating beneath her beautiful breast.

On the other hand, her father was nearly five times Yvonne's size, and all the heavier for being dead.

He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and shifted slightly, grunting from the weight upon his strong, young shoulders. He resolved, silently, to never allow himself to go to seed as this foolish man had done – although, if Percy had any say-so about the matter, none of them would. Once the Revolution was over, their fearless leader would undoubtedly find some new sport that would keep all twenty of them fit and active well into their advancing years.

And, in one way, he blamed Percy. Oh, yes. Percy, who had sent him on this errand, as though the Scarlet Pimpernel had known from the very beginning, even before Tony had married Yvonne, that this was how things would end. That de Kernogan would die and Tony would carry him to his grave, to those who would ensure a proper burial, without further humiliations to a man who deserved to be humiliated for all the idiotic, foolish, nearly-fatal mistakes he had made.

And while Tony struggled with this task, Percy took it to hand to rescue Yvonne from the clutches of evil.

It just didn't seem fair, somehow.

But, he was aware that it was because Percy knew his feelings. Percy knew Tony inwardly blamed de Kernogan for all that had happened, though Tony had been careful not to voice such opinions aloud, not wishing to earn censure from his beloved chief or his fellow comrades. And, as a result, the hateful bitterness had simmered and frothed inside of him, eating away at him mercilessly.

The sweat in his eyes mingled with a few salty tears at the indignation of the whole thing. The seventeen stones upon his back had nearly ruined every chance he'd had at happiness, every desperate desire he'd felt when he had looked into Yvonne's soulful eyes or at her graceful figure. The Duc had disliked Lord Anthony Dewhurst from the very start, and had likely died hating him – though only heaven knew why. It wasn't as though he were a bad marriage prospect! After all, he held the title of 'lord', owned two country estates and a townhouse, had four British bank accounts and one hidden neatly away in Switzerland that only Percy knew of, and also managed quite a few investments and much property – both undeveloped land and tentant housing.

And yet, it was because of his feelings towards de Kernogan, and de Kernogan's feelings towards him, that Tony had to be the one to drag him to the cemetery.

It was no use wondering why on earth Percy hadn't sent Ffoulkes or Hastings or Stowmarries or anyone-bloody-else to do this job. He had planned it so Tony would do it.

And by the time the low stone walls that surrounded the graveyard came into view, he found that there were now more tears than sweat in his eyes, and he nearly collapsed from the weight of emotions within him, rather than the weight of inert matter upon his back.

If he were to continue loving Yvonne, and continue his life with her as her husband, he would have to forgive the dead man he was carrying to his grave.

Lord Anthony Dewhurst was an honorable man, unlike the Duc de Kernogan. Percy knew it, and had planned things this way for a purpose.

For this purpose.

Damn Percy, sometimes, he thought bitterly. The man was saint and devil all in one, God love him.