Chapter 10

The following morning, perplexed by his actions the previous night, Percy’s first thought was to find Anna and apologize with all the sincerity he could muster.

He had already missed breakfast, held in his guest chambers by his own unease, but he would not make a prisoner of himself when it was a matter that could be easily remedied. At least, he hoped it could be. If not, he would merely find Max and Dickie and forget the unpleasantness all together.

After asking a passing servant where the majority of the guests were, he managed to make his way through the enormous manor, getting lost at least three times, until he finally found a door that led out into the gardens. It was more of a park, in truth, with vast lawns bordered by woodland that seemed to stretch for miles.

He heard Anna before he saw her.

“Lord Luminport was just telling me that he loves to race. It was almost a pity to inform him that I cannot ride at all,” she said, laughing as if last night’s quarrel had not caused her to lose a single minute of sleep.

Simon was gazing at her as if she were still wearing that incredible, sparkling gown, though she had chosen a more sedate, ordinary dress for the daytime. A dress Percy guessed he had seen her wear countless times.

Her friend, Olivia, smiled encouragingly. “But she does love horses, Lord Luminport. And they adore her.” She looked up at her husband, Evan, who made up the quartet. “Do you remember that stallion you were having trouble with?”

Evan nodded. “He barely tolerates being ridden, even now, but when he met dear Anna, you would think he was a doting foal; he would not be parted from her, following her around the paddock, charging at any of the other horses that attempted to greet her. If she ever did decide to ride, I am certain he would be as docile as an old mare.”

“I, myself, have a troublesome stallion,” Simon said. “Perhaps, if you ever pass Luminport Manor, you might come and meet him.”

Anna smiled shyly, scuffing her toe against the grass. “I should like that.”

Am I missing something? Even if Percy had not been exhausted after a sleepless night of tossing and turning, Simon’s conversational abilities would have made him yawn. When had a troublesome stallion become an interesting subject?

He dusted off the boredom and headed for the foursome, ready to ask if he might take Anna to one side so he could apologize. Before he could intervene in a conversation that had turned toward favorite kinds of apple, Dickie bounded up and took the moment from Percy.

“I have decided it!” Dickie announced, for all to hear. “No more standing around, idly chatting to one another—we are to have a game of croquet on the bowling green! The Countess has given her permission, but take care with your swings so we do not ruin her expensive grass!”

A ripple of amusement ran through the guests, who were scattered close to the house in their respective clusters.

The countess herself raised a hand. “My husband loved to bowl. Please, swing as hard as you please!”

A more nervous sort of laughter made its way around the congregation, though most were acquainted enough with the countess to know her sense of humor. Percy, however, thought the comment as unseemly as the living statues that had lined the driveway.

“Follow me!” Dickie waved a hand in the air and set off toward the farthest reaches of the estate grounds.

The foursome of Anna, Simon, Olivia, and Evan went after their fearless leader, joined on the walk by Leah and her husband, Nathaniel. Meanwhile, Percy trailed behind, waiting for his opportunity to steal a moment with Anna.

It came as they were cutting through a coppice of magnolia trees, Anna pausing to refasten the laces of her shoes. Whether she had done it deliberately or not, Percy did not know, but he would not be able to settle until he told her how sorry he was for last night’s bad behavior. Ever since he was a child, he had suffered with a peculiar, intense anxiety if he thought he had upset someone.

“Lady Anna, I—” Percy began, but she rudely interrupted him.

“You ought to be conversing with the ladies present, to see if there are any among them that you favor. What on earth are you following me for?”

He blinked at the reprimand. “I wanted to speak about last night.”

“Well, I do not.” She hesitated before adding, “That salmon dish made me very unwell, and I do not intend to miss out on further amusements because the reminder has made me feel nauseated again.”

He furrowed his brow. “The… salmon?”

“Yes, the salmon.” She fastened her lace and stood up, brushing her hands down the front of her skirts. “That is why I left the table. Now, if you will excuse me, I have croquet to play, and you have ladies to pursue.”

She hurried back toward her friends without another word, leaving him in a state of utter confusion. He liked to think of himself as a reasonably intelligent man, and knew the salmon excuse had no truth in it, but why would she dismiss their quarrel like that? She had never done so before. Indeed, he had assumed she would demand an apology, which likely would have made him rescind it.

At least before, I understood the pattern… He scratched his head and pressed on for, in that moment, there was no woman he wanted to talk to more than her. If only to figure out what was going on.

* * *

One had only to see Anna dance to know she had no coordination whatsoever, and the pressure of trying to play croquet well in front of Simon seemed to make it ten times worse.

She looked at the blunt end of the mallet, looked at the position of the ball, looked at the arc of the hoop embedded in the ground and felt in her bones that her aim was about to be perfect. But time and again, something bizarre happened between the swing of the mallet and the precise strike that should have followed: Either she missed the wooden ball altogether, it flew away at a crooked angle, or it barely moved across the grass.

Red cheeked and sweaty with frustration, she let the next guest take their turn.

“If you could steer the ball with the mallet itself, I expect you would miss,” Dickie said, grinning.

Max chuckled. “Did you say unkind things to the ball before we began? It does seem to be avoiding you.”

“No, but I am very close to saying unkind things to it now,” Anna replied, sighing at her hopelessness. “I suppose I should have known I would be terrible at this. The ladies still talk about my attempts at battledore.”

Olivia, standing close by, offered an apologetic smile. “It was your first time.”

“That is the thing, dear Olivia—it was not.” Anna had to laugh; there was nothing else she could do.

Not prepared to let her friend be downhearted, Leah stepped in. “Everyone has their gifts, Anna. Yours are of the less physical sort. I know of no one who can bring more cheer to a room than you, and I know of no one who tells stories the way that you do, and yes, I am including Matilda in that. She writes excellent books, but you are the storyteller.”

“It is no wonder,” Dickie replied, “for she has read every story in existence. If she could not tell a good story, I would call that time wasted.”

“Would you not call reading stories time wasted anyway?”

Anna turned to see who had spoken, as did everyone else. Percival leaned on his croquet mallet at the periphery of the small group, looking somewhat uncomfortable with so much attention suddenly fixed on him.

“What I mean is,” he hastened to add, “that you might have spent more time playing croquet instead of poring over romantic novels. Then, you might be able to hit a ball through at least one hoop. I expect no one has written a romantic novel set among the perilous world of croquet players, or you would be an expert.”

Max and Dickie laughed at that, and the rest of the group relaxed into chuckles. Everyone but Anna, who could see that he had only added that last part because of the reaction of the others.

“Lady Joan is an excellent croquet player,” she said, tilting her head toward the woman who was about to swing. “Perhaps, you could discuss the merits of the game with her.”

Simon smiled at Anna, drawing her attention away from Percival. “But Lady Joan is too serious about the game, do you not think? I prefer the way you play, with spirit and determination.”

“You are too kind, Lord Luminport.” Anna’s face warmed, for she had never experienced the complimentary words of a potential suitor before. She did not know what to do with herself.

As Simon continued to engage her in conversation, turning the subject toward the earlier discussion of favorite kinds of apples, Anna stole a glance at Percival. He looked as if he had just found a raw oyster in his shoe, shocked and dismayed in equal measure. It was the most open expression she had ever seen upon his face, but the expected satisfaction was not as potent as she had hoped for.

Shaking off the strange confusion that swept through her mind at the sight of that look he was wearing, she decided to concentrate on Simon, ignoring Percival entirely.

It was a good thing, too, for no sooner had she decided to ignore him than he approached Lady Joan, who had just made a direct hit through one of the hoops.

* * *

“You can do it! You are the master of these hoops!” Olivia called from the side of the bowling green.

“We believe in you!” Leah cheered, clapping her hands together.

Nathaniel laughed and joined in with his wife. “Show those hoops that you are a champion, Anna!”

“Remember to breathe!” Simon offered his encouragement, to Anna’s shy delight.

She still did not know what to make of Simon and his quiet attention, but she could not deny that it was a nice feeling to be the one that he sought out, the one he made excuses to be close to. Moreover, he seemed kind, and she liked kind.

In a way, it reminded her of what she had been missing out on, all these years: the conversation, the shy smiles, the awkward jokes, the nervous laughter, and the “getting to know one another” discussions that traversed from the mundane to the mildly interesting.

Anna steadied herself, closing one eye as she glanced from the end of the mallet to the ball, squinting against the sun to see the hoop ahead. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling the balance of the grass beneath.

With a breath, she drew the mallet back for an almighty swing.

“You will never hit it like that!” Percival’s voice stalled her. “Your grip is entirely wrong!”

She slowly lowered the mallet and scowled ahead, to where Percival had positioned himself right in her line of sight. There was no sign of Lady Joan near him, though she had seen the pair talking to one another earlier. She had tried to eavesdrop, but they had been too far away, and she did not want to get into another Lady Eleanor fiasco by involving herself in the conversation.

“I will never hit it if you keep shouting that I will never hit it!” she replied, forcing cheer into her voice. For Simon’s sake, more than Percival’s.

Laughter echoed around the bowling green.

To her alarm, Percival stepped over the low border of the green and began walking toward her. She looked over at her friends and family, their expressions a mixture of amused and disapproving. Simon’s face, however, wore a pensive frown.

“Here, let me show you,” Percival said, as he came up beside her.

Anna clasped the mallet to her chest, keeping her voice hushed as she said, “I do not need your help, Barnacle. Go and stick to someone else.”

“But you are doing it wrong.”

“Then, I shall continue doing it wrong in my own way until I do it right,” she retorted, exasperated.

He rested his hands on his hips. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

“Why are you?”

“I am trying to help.”

“No, you are trying to meddle,” she replied. “I am content to do things my way. If I needed help, I would have asked Lord Luminport. He has scored twice as well as you. Indeed, I would ask Lady Joan before I would ask you.” She huffed out a tense breath. “Speaking of which, why are you not teaching her how to play? It does not matter that she is better than you—it is the flirtation of the thing.”

An odd thought crossed her mind. That is not what he is trying to do, is it?

She dispensed with the notion as quickly as it had appeared, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of the idea. He would have been more inclined to hit her with the mallet than pretend to teach her for any sort of flirtatious reason.

“Lady Anna,” he said quietly, echoing her exasperation. “Are you… angry with me?”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Are you angry with me?”

She rolled her eyes, aware that they were being watched. “Currently or generally?”

“Are you angry because of what I said last night? Is that why you have been avoiding me?” Percival paused. “We both know it has nothing to do with salmon.”

Anna scoffed, hoping he could not see the heat blooming in her cheeks. “I have known you for many, many years, Percival,” she said in a hushed tone. “It would take more than a few sour remarks for me to bother with anger.”

He had hurt her, when he had tried to insult the nature of the work she performed. He hadhurt her when he had used her spinsterhood against her, though he knew it had never been her intention to be unmarried. He had hurt her when he had called her “Catchweed” again, for she had thought they had moved past that. He had hurt her in myriad ways, but she would never admit that to his face.

“Nor have I been avoiding you,” she hastened to add. “I have merely been enjoying time with my friends and brothers.”

Percival raised an eyebrow. “So, you did not leave the table because of what I said?”

“I left the table because I could not stomach the salmon,” she insisted. “Now, if you please, I should like to take my turn. Everyone is observing us, and I doubt Lady Joan will take kindly to this intervention of yours.”

For a worrisome minute, it looked like Percival was going to stay there anyway, until he got the answer that he wanted out of her.

Then, with a breath and a shrug, he headed back to the periphery of the bowling green and stood there with a face like thunder, his arms folded across his chest. His entire demeanor seemed to say, “Go on then, get it over with.”

“Show that hoop that you will take no prisoners!” Olivia cheered, raising the anticipation of the gathered crowd once more.

Leah whistled sharply. “Swing as you have never swung before!”

Anna flashed her beloved friends an embarrassed smile, thinking for a brief instant that not so much had changed. They were as gloriously silly and supportive as always, even if half were missing, for Phoebe and Matilda were not due to arrive until later that evening.

“Anna! Anna! Anna!” the two women chanted together, spurring Anna on.

Brimming with confidence, a wide grin upon her lips, she made a few practice swings. Certain that she would succeed this time, she drew the mallet back one final time…

“Pretend it is a husband, Catchweed, then you will be sure to miss!”

Her eyes snapped up at Percival as the mallet came down, and with all the fury and hurt suddenly surging in her veins, she slammed the blunt end into the ball. It sailed into the air, missing the hoop entirely, barreling like a cannonball across the bowling green. Headed straight toward Percival.

As she watched it fly, her anger transformed into horror. A few ladies gasped and turned away quickly, while eyes widened, and hands flew up to cover open mouths all around the bowling green.

The ball struck the side of Percival’s face, and Anna was left standing there, mallet in hand, trembling at what she had done.