Prologue: A Gentleman in Transition
The University library was quiet except for the faint scratching of pens on paper and the occasional cough muffled behind a polite hand. Outside the mullioned windows, the university courtyard stretched in manicured symmetry, bathed in the soft amber glow of a late autumn afternoon. Freshman Percival Nigel Humphreys III sat at his usual table, his back ramrod straight and his textbook open to a chapter on international economics. The faint scent of old leather and fresh ink hung in the air, comforting in its predictability.
“Percy, darling, you’ve got to stop reading so much.”
Camilla Carlton’s voice floated over his shoulder, lilting and playful, like a melody only she could hum. She leaned down to kiss his cheek, the faint brush of her lips as fleeting as the whisper of a secret. Her perfume—something citrusy with an undertone of jasmine—lingered long after she straightened, intoxicating in its subtlety.
They had been childhood friends, of course, their families orbiting the same gilded circles. The Humphreys’ estate and the Carltons’ manor were close enough for summers spent running through meadows and winters skating on frozen ponds. Yet even then, Camilla had been a force of nature: vivacious, daring, always reaching for something just out of sight. Where Percival saw boundaries, Camilla saw opportunities to push beyond them.
Now, here at university, she had bloomed into something even more dazzling, her effortless confidence a beacon in a world Percival was still struggling to navigate. This was his first relationship, and it was clear to anyone watching—perhaps even to Camilla herself—that Percival was utterly, hopelessly smitten.
He turned, his expression softening despite himself, though he kept his back straight and his hands folded over the open textbook. Camilla always had that effect on him: a hurricane of charm that swept him off balance, leaving him caught somewhere between admiration and awe.
“If I don’t read,” he said with the faintest of smiles, “how will I keep up with you? You’re the clever one, after all.”
She laughed, light and airy, sliding into the chair beside him with the kind of ease that turned heads in every room she entered. Her wool coat slipped from her shoulders, pooling behind her like a discarded piece of art. Beneath it, she wore a cashmere sweater that hugged her figure and a string of pearls that glinted in the library’s muted light. Camilla belonged to his world, yes, but she wore it differently—less as armor, more as an accessory to her charm. She carried their shared heritage like a feather-light mantle, while Percival often felt crushed beneath its weight.
“You’re cleverer than you give yourself credit for,” she said, reaching across the table to shut his textbook with an authoritative snap. Her hand lingered on the leather cover, her nails immaculately manicured, a perfect match to the effortless polish she carried in all things. “But you’re also terribly dull when you’re buried in these books all day. Come to the party with me tonight.”
He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “I have a paper due Monday.”
“And?” She tilted her head, her lips curving in that knowing smile that always left him feeling as though he were missing some private joke. “Come on, Percy. It’s just a little gathering. You needn’t stay long. Look—” she held out her sleek new phone, the screen lighting up to show a string of text messages. “They’re even asking me to bring you. You haven’t even met them yet.”
Percival frowned, his gaze lingering on the screen. “I’m still getting accustomed to these modern frivolities you seem to enjoy. I certainly wouldn’t want to be interrupted by these messages every minute of the day.”
Camilla simply laughed, a bright, lilting sound that drew glances from the surrounding tables. “Percy, we’re here at Uni to explore what our parents wouldn’t allow us before. To find out what type of people we are away from our stuffy society obligations. You’re always talking about how much you admired your aunt for forging her own path. Why can’t we do it too?”
It was always like this with Camilla—a delicate waltz between his rigid sense of duty and her relentless pursuit of spontaneity. And, more often than not, she led the dance. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and her confidence made him feel bolder, freer, as though he could shed the weight of expectation, if only for a moment.
He nodded, closing his notebook with a quiet sigh. “All right. Just for a little while,” he conceded, though truth be told, he would’ve conceded much more for Camilla.
Her smile was dazzling, her eyes sparkling with triumph. “That’s the spirit. We’ll make a proper modern gentleman of you yet.”
The party was a whirl of music, laughter, and modernity. People swayed to the rhythm of a song Percival couldn’t name, their voices raised in cheerful abandon. He stood at the edge of the room, one hand gripping a glass of champagne as though it were an anchor. Camilla flitted through the crowd with the ease of a butterfly, her laugh bright and lilting.
Percival’s discomfort began to ebb as he watched her. She was radiant, her energy drawing people in like moths to a flame. For a moment, he felt proud. She was his, and he hers. He’d begun to imagine a future together—a life where her vivacity balanced his reserve, where they carved their own path between tradition and modernity.
But as the night wore on, Camilla’s attentions began to drift. A man—Percival thought his name might be Chad, though it hardly mattered—joined her orbit. He was brash and charming, the sort who wore confidence like a second skin. Camilla laughed at something he said, her hand brushing his arm in a gesture that felt too intimate, too casual.
Percival tried to shake the unease that knotted his stomach. She was merely being polite. Friendly. But the longer he watched, the more his confidence wavered.
The betrayal came not long after, though the signs had been there all along.
He found her in the library one evening, her phone left unattended on the table. A message flashed on the screen, bright and unignorable.
Can’t wait to see you tonight. Tell Percy you’re busy.
His hand trembled as he set the phone back down, his world tilting beneath him. When she returned, her smile faltered at the sight of his face. “Percy?”
He held up her phone, his voice quiet but firm. “Who is he?”
Camilla’s composure cracked, but only briefly. “Percy, don’t be dramatic. It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is,” he said, his chest tightening with a mix of anger and heartbreak.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Percy, you’re… wonderful. But you’re so stuck in the past. Sometimes I just need something… different.”
Her words hit harder than he expected, sharper than any blade. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t fight for him. She simply gathered her things and left, leaving him alone in the dim light of the library.
That night, Percival sat at his desk, pen poised over a sheet of heavy cream paper. His calligraphy was flawless, the letters forming words he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud.
Dear Camilla,
I wish you well in your pursuits. May they bring you the joy you could not find with me.
Yours,
Percival Nigel Humphreys III
He set the pen down, the finality of the words settling over him like a shroud. The modern world had betrayed him, its promises of connection and progress unraveling into isolation and loss. He would not make the same mistake again.
As dawn broke over the university courtyard, Percival folded the letter and sealed it with wax. He rose, adjusting his waistcoat and slipping on the polished shoes his father had once commended as “a gentleman’s armor.”
If modernity could offer nothing but chaos, then tradition would be his refuge. And from that moment on, Percival Nigel Humphreys III vowed never to stray from the compass of his upbringing again.