Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

" S till have trouble telling the time, Catchweed?" Percival's voice greeted Anna like a blade on glass.

She had barely made it onto the wide terrace that bordered the immaculate lawns, barely managed to steel herself for the party, barely managed to shake off the fear that he would be there, and yet there he was, standing in front of her with a smirk on his lips.

At social gatherings, she had been forced to listen and simmer with irritation at other young ladies commenting on his remarkable good looks. She, however, could not see it. Yes, he was tall and possessed of an athletic physique, with broad shoulders and exemplary posture. Yes, he had silky chestnut brown hair that framed his chiseled face in gentle waves, and striking, dark green eyes that might have been considered beautiful, but all she saw was ugliness whenever he opened his mouth.

"Still have trouble circulating at parties?" she retorted, feeling the heat of the past two hours stuck in a carriage upon her skin. "Why are you always on the periphery, lurking as you do?"

It had been a year since she had last seen him, and it appeared nothing had changed.

He sipped his drink, but a tightness appeared around his eyes, as if he did not like what he had heard. It seemed Beatrice had been right—the only way to contend with arrogant, taunting men like this was to taunt them harder and with greater wit. She was no Matilda or Phoebe, quick with her tongue, but she was determined to do her best.

"The conversation bored me," he said with a light shrug.

Anna sniffed. "In order to know if the conversation was dull, you would have to actually converse with your peers. Now that I think of it, I do not believe I have ever seen you do anything but trail my brother around at social occasions." She paused, smiling. "Perhaps, you are the catchweed."

"I see no reason to be the center of every conversation," he replied, raising his eyebrow at her.

"Are you suggesting that I do?"

He smirked. "I would not dream of it, Buttercup."

"Do not call me that. Do not call me anything but my name and title, as is proper. If you cannot do that, I shall have to consider calling you ‘Barnacle.' I find that more fitting for you than Catchweed." She put on the voice that her governess used when she was being particularly stubborn, feeling more comfortable in her authority than she had in years. All thanks to Beatrice.

He laughed tightly in the back of his throat. "Can you and I never be civil?"

"That depends entirely upon you, Barnacle," she replied. "You are the one who seems intent on antagonizing me. Maybe, you have forgotten that you are a grown man now, and ought to behave accordingly."

Percival eyed her. "And you should learn not to carry grudges."

"What grudges?" She folded her arms across her chest and looked outward, if only to avoid Percival's green eyes.

She searched the emerald lawns, where fine ladies and gentlemen reclined on picnic blankets, beneath canvas awnings, in the warmth of early evening. Platters and baskets had been picked clean of delicacies, the bare sight making her stomach rumble. A lake shimmered in the distance, the landscape truly beautiful, though not nearly as comforting as Greenfield House.

"It matters not," Percival said evenly. "Now, I know the reason for your ire."

She glanced at him with cold eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think everyone as far as London heard your stomach growl, just now." Percival sipped his drink with a delight that rankled Anna. "Your brother was the same when we were at Eton—had a foul temper if he had not eaten. I suggest you scavenge for what is left before you say something truly unkind."

It was rare for Anna to anger, and she could count on two hands the number of times she had actually lost her temper, but whenever she was around Percival, he seemed determined to increase that number. She was not even certain if he did it deliberately, or if he was just irritating and provoking by nature. Then again, he never behaved out of turn with Max or Dickie, so perhaps it was part of his nature that was aimed solely at the fairer sex.

"You are already much too thin," he added. "You cannot afford to miss meals. I could venture inside and find?—"

"I did not ask for your opinion on my appearance," Anna interrupted sharply. "Nor would I, even if you were the very last man in existence, every mirror had shattered, and every body of water had lost its ability to reflect."

She stalked off without another word, fearful that if she lingered too much longer, she might do something that would cause a scandal. In her position, slapping a gentleman that society deemed ‘respectable' was neither in her nature nor of any benefit to the matter of her spinsterhood.

It had never been Percy's intention to be at constant odds with Anna. He knew when it had begun and why, and supposed he was too deep into the pattern of behavior to bother trying to change it now. Indeed, he did not know how he would even attempt to be friendly with her.

Or why I allow her to be so… uncouth in my presence. He supposed it was similar to why gentlemen enjoyed fencing: light entertainment, excellent practice for real quarrels with ladies who interested him, and most of the time, he left feeling a sense of triumph. That, and they had known one another forever. The precedent had, unfortunately, already been set.

"Is that you, Sinclair?" Max's voice called out from the terrace.

The golden early evening had dimmed to a starry, moonlit night, still carrying some of the warmth of the day, though Percy had settled himself beside a brazier to keep away the incoming chill. The garden party had dispersed, with some guests leaving for home and some others taking to their guest chambers to sleep off the wine and the sun, but, for the most part, he had been enjoying having the gardens to himself.

"It is! Come and join me!" Percy called back.

His heart sank as Anna stepped down from the terrace with her two brothers, and seated herself decisively in the lawn chair opposite him. She had been absent from the rest of the party, allowing him to enjoy himself at his leisure, but he had evidently forgotten that she would be residing at Harewood Court for the foreseeable. At least until Dickie took possession of his earldom and returned to their family home.

Max glanced between his sister and his dearest friend. "Have the two of you been quarreling again?"

"I do not know what you mean." Anna smiled sweetly. "Percival and I are perfectly civil."

Max laughed. "I believe England and France like one another more than the two of you do."

"I did think it turned rather chilly when you arrived, Anna," Dickie teased, throwing down a blanket and laying upon it. "But it soon thawed, and now we must enjoy this beautiful night together. It might be the last I spend with you all as a bachelor."

It perplexed Percy that Anna did not mind being teased by her brothers, but when he attempted to do so, he was met with simmering fury and barbed words. Other ladies welcomed his attention and light teasing, too. Although, he supposed it made a difference to previous years, when Anna had refused to speak to him at all, beyond a cursory greeting.

"You have found a wife already?" Anna smiled. "That was rather swift. You only just announced that you were in pursuit of one."

Dickie grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. "There is a reason my charm is so famous."

" In famous," Anna corrected, her laughter rippling above the crackle of the fire.

Percy watched her, surprised to find she was quite pretty in the bronzed glow of the firelight. She had always been a strange creature—small in stature, rake thin, with blue eyes that seemed too big for her petite face, light blonde hair that washed any color from her skin, and a few moles dotted across that too pale skin.

He used to say—when she was in earshot—that he thought she had been found beside a fairy mound when she was a baby, cast out by some unnatural, elfin beings, but in that moment, her strangeness was more of an otherworldly beauty, albeit fleeting.

"Alas, I am not that gifted." Dickie sighed and flopped onto his back. "My search begins at Westyork, I think. There is bound to be a fine young lady there who will make an excellent countess—do you not think so, Max?"

Max rolled his eyes. "The petition is already with the Royal Court, and I see no reason why it might be denied, so you can cease mentioning it every two minutes."

"Ah, but I must mention it constantly. Not for a title, but for inspiration. Otherwise, how will you ever follow my lead and find a bride for yourself?" Dickie replied, wearing a smug expression. "You are two-and-thirty soon, Brother, and I noticed a few silver hairs poking through that great mane of yours. Best be quick about it before your bones begin to ache and you lack the vigor to be a good husband and father. Perhaps, the Matchmaker will take pity on you and find you a bride."

Percy doubted that a well-positioned gentleman such as Max would need a matchmaker to help him, though it seemed that everyone had been discussing matchmakers of late. He did not know why, for that was usually a private matter.

Max fixed his attention on Percy. "What of you, Sinclair? It is high time there was a Duchess of Granville, no?"

"A weak diversion, Brother," Dickie remarked, laughing.

Max smiled. "Not a diversion, merely a transition to a more interesting subject."

"Well, the moment any woman sees Percy's estate, they would sever their engagement," Dickie said, tilting his head back to look at Percy. "I mean no offense, but you should know that ladies can be fickle about such things."

Anna frowned, pulling a blanket tighter around herself. "Why, what is the matter with Percival's estate?"

"He did not tell you?" Max replied.

"Evidently not." The temperature did drop slightly at the sound of Anna's grim tone.

But Percy reminded himself that she was a tiny woman who could be felled by a strong breeze, not someone to find remotely intimidating. She had already decided that she could not abide him, even when he did not say something to antagonize her, so no matter what came out of his mouth, she was not going to like it.

"My estate is in disrepair," he replied stiffly. "I had not visited in a while, and when I returned, with the hopes of residing there, I found it…"

Something lodged in his throat, robbing him of the ability to continue. He simply did not have the words for what seeing his childhood home and rightful seat had done to him.

"Disrepair, my good man?" Dickie turned over onto his stomach. "If your estate is in disrepair, then I have misinterpreted the meaning of the word ‘ruin' for the entirety of my life."

A bristle of hurt skittered across Percy's chest and up into his clogged throat. He swallowed it down quickly, cursing the brazier under his breath for sending ash and smoke in his direction, drying out his throat. It licked higher in protest, resenting the false accusation.

Max clicked his tongue. "It is not that bad, Dickie. I thought you had made a promise to improve your behavior—that begins with tact and empathy." He offered a smile to Percy. "I apologize for my brother. Why, by this time next season, it will be restored to its former grandeur. Until then, my home is yours, and do not let any of Dickie's silly remarks make you think otherwise."

But it was not Dickie they should have been worrying about.

"I beg your pardon?" Anna said breathlessly, sitting rigid in her chair. "He is to reside here until next season."

Even in the warming glow of the firelight, and with a complexion already as milk-pale as hers, she had drained of any remaining color. Her big blue eyes seemed impossibly large as they widened in horror, to the point where Percy could neither look away nor keep looking at her.

"It should be no more than a few months. In the meantime, it shall be like one long— very long—summer, Catchweed," he said, somewhat curious as to just how far those huge blue pools could widen.

Anna's eyes quickly narrowed, turning black as the firelight shadows danced across her, making her seem like she might be the offspring of a breed of menacing fairies after all. "I would rather spend my life in perpetual winter, Barnacle. At least in the bitter cold, there is the promise of sanctuary by the fireplace. In the summer, there is no escape."

He heard the words she did not say—"from you"—loud and clear. Rather than make him feel awkward and unwelcome, however, it brought acid to his tongue and that overpowering impulse to tease her some more.

Meanwhile, Max seemed oblivious to the rising tension, while Dickie watched the exchange with a gleeful grin upon his face, kicking his legs up and down, no doubt wondering who would explode first. If there had been a betting table, he would assuredly have placed a wager.

"How would you know anything about summer?" Percy said slyly, putting on his most jovial tone. "All I have ever seen you do is shy away from the sun, locking yourself away with your books and your imaginary gentlemen. Tell me, do they pay you more attention than real gentlemen? If only the church could be persuaded to permit a union between a woman and a fiction, I suspect it would resolve a good portion of the wallflower and spinster dilemma."

Anna's hands gripped the armrests of her chair. "Better to be a wallflower and a spinster with dreams than shackled to a life of misery with an unworthy gentleman for a husband."

"Unworthy?" She could not have pierced him more viciously if she had driven a blade through his heart and twisted, for he knew she was not speaking generally.

Perhaps it was the change in tone, switching from reasonably playful—at least from Percy—to ice cold, or perhaps he had finally noticed the unbridled rage in his sister's eyes, but Max took that moment to swoop in before any blood could be shed.

"It is a pity that you do not know of anyone suitable for my dear friend," he lamented to Anna, leaning forward to bring his palms closer to the heat of the brazier. "Maybe, you could ask them to gently nudge some pleasant ladies into Sinclair's path when we venture to the ball at Westyork. Caroline is debuting this season, is she not? Perhaps, you could introduce them."

Anna got up slowly and, for a moment, Percy had visions of another summer evening when she was but a child, charging at him like a wild beast. He still bore one tiny scar on his neck where she had clawed at him like a feral cat, simply because he had picked some orchids.

"I would rather shove dear Caro into the path of a runaway horse, Max," she replied in a saccharine voice that sent a shiver up Percy's spine. She flashed him a biting smile and announced that she was tired before heading up to the terrace.

Percy watched her go, every step away from him acting like liquor for his soul, relaxing all the muscles he had tightened in her presence. But as his gaze lingered on the blanket-shrouded shape of her, she twisted around at the last moment and shot him a glare so ferocious that he could have sworn it made the fire grow hotter.

"I am sorry to say," Dickie whispered, smirking, "that if I were asked to bet on your survival until your estate is repaired, I would not wager a single coin."