Chapter 15

Daniel listened well and intently, giving Percy some hope that his financial difficulties were, at least, not the worst that the Earl had heard of.

Max and Dickie had fallen away at some point, returning to the revels inside the house, and Caroline had been whisked away by a group of young ladies to chatter among themselves, which turned out to be somewhat preferable. Percy did not want all and sundry overhearing everything about his business plans and his crumbling residence.

“My first piece of advice,” Daniel said, once Percy had finished, “is that you ought to find yourself a well-stationed wife. I cannot tell you how vastly it will improve your own situation.”

“Oh?”

Daniel nodded. “Doors open that were not open before, and if you find the right lady, half the battle is already won before you enter into a meeting with potential investors and associates. Wives talk, wives organize, wives encourage and persuade, and my own darling Phoebe has been the linchpin in my greatest endeavors thus far. She is immensely intelligent—more so than me, in truth—and once she understands what needs to be done, she does it. I had Lord Wickford shaking my hand and agreeing to invest before I had even sat down, because Phoebe had already had tea with Lady Wickford eight times, to introduce the idea.”

Lord Wickford was an extraordinarily wealthy merchant, known for being very, very difficult to deal with. Many gentlemen wished he would invest in their endeavors, but the number of successful candidates was in singular figures.

“I am currently in pursuit of a wife. I hope to be married by—” Percy did not get to finish, or to hear any more advice, as Caroline hurried out onto the terrace looking flustered.

“India is having a tantrum, and I could not find Phoebe, and the nanny is beside herself, and I tried to calm her down—both of them—but it is no good. She keeps screaming for Mama and Papa,” Caroline blurted out.

Daniel laughed softly. “I shall tend to it, Caro. You return to your own exploits.”

“Thank you, Brother.” Caroline visibly relaxed. “Goodness, I am surprised you cannot hear her from here.”

Daniel bowed his head to Percy. “Let us arrange a more formal meeting in the next fortnight. I shall ruminate on your concerns beforehand, so I can be more prepared.” He paused. “But a wife—yes, find yourself a wife. It will change everything for the better. Love her, be loved by her, have children with her, and you shall be the richest man alive, whether your coffers are full or empty.”

Percy watched the man go, utterly perplexed by those parting words. He had not expected a highly respected gentleman of business to be so… sentimental. Nor could he understand why any gentleman would hurry off to tend to their own child, instead of his wife. He certainly could not understand why Daniel had seemed so heartened by the prospect of facing a child having a tantrum.

He turned around and gazed out across the immaculate lawns of the Grayling Estate, squinting at the shadows that moved in the torchlight. Couples who had stolen away to be alone for a while.

Hastily diverting his gaze to a patch of lichen on the balustrade in front of him, he took a calming breath and thought of his own father. Once, his father might have run to him the way Daniel had just run to his daughter. Once, he had been the center of his father’s world, alongside his mother. He tried to remember, but the memories would not come, buried beneath the silt of so many years of rejection and dismissal.

“I should hate for you to think I was eavesdropping,” a silky, feminine voice drifted toward him, “but how is your search for a bride developing?”

Percy glanced to his side as the countess appeared, attired in a gown of garnet red. He said nothing, for though he spoke his mind about her when she was not there, having her in his presence was an entirely different experience. She radiated a kind of confidence he had never witnessed before, intimidating even in her silence.

“My dearest Anna hand-selected several of the ladies in attendance for your consideration,” the countess continued, following his gaze out to the lawns, “and though I would ordinarily find that sort of thing as distasteful as a cattle market, her reasoning was persuasive. And I do not think any of the ladies she selected would be averse to your attention, so all is well.”

“Her reasoning, Countess?” He turned to look at her, refusing to be daunted. He was a duke, after all.

The frightening woman smiled. “That would be between me and her.”

“Yes, of course.” Percy smiled thinly.

“So, have you found a lady who has piqued your interest?” She turned sideways, leaning her hip against the balustrade, staring at him as if she did not know whether to eat him or let him go. Just a fleeting glimpse into her intense, glinting eyes sent a faint shiver up his spine, as if he were supposed to have the right answer ready for her. The trouble was, he did not think his answer was the right one.

He shrugged, sweating a little. “Not yet. Lady Joan is very pleasant.”

“You do not need to humor me,” the countess said, in a voice that was more warning than suggestion. “Nor should you humor Anna, if none of the ladies here are to your liking. Be honest with her. I hate to see her disappointed.”

Percy nodded stiffly, disliking her manner toward him. “As do I, but I truly have not had the time to discover if any of these ladies would be suitable brides.”

“Eight years has not been long enough?”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Pardon?”

Eight years? What is the significance? His brain was too hazy with irritation at her tone and demeanor to be able to figure it out.

“The two of you have a very interesting relationship,” she continued, ignoring his question as if he should already know the answer. “I assumed that when I finally saw you together, you would be in the constant throes of fearsome quarrels. Instead, I have seen you hold her hand in a room full of people. I have seen you reach for her while in terrible pain. I have seen you search for her in a crowded room, and watched your dismay when you could not find her. I have seen you gaze across a table in silence at her, wishing you could be the one sitting beside her. I have seen you lean in so close to her that I thought you were about to kiss her, and was moments from causing a diversion so that you might.”

Percy’s eyes widened, his mouth curving instinctively into a hollow sort of smile. He did not know whether to laugh or whether to let his bewilderment do the talking for him.

“Countess, I apologize, but you are mistaken,” he said, at last.

“Are you saying I did not see all of those things?”

He swallowed thickly, feeling as if he were back at Eton, reciting awful Latin to his schoolmaster. But he squared his shoulders, unwilling to show that she had rattled him. “The first two, perhaps, but out of friendship. The latter two—I am sorry, but you are mistaken.” He searched for the right words. “Anna and I are truly just friends. We are barely that, most of the time.”

“Of course.” The Countess smirked. “How silly of me. I always hold hands with my male friends where anyone could see. I always miss my mouth with my spoon because one of my male friends is laughing at something another lady has said.”

The beads of sweat on Percy’s brow and down his spine became a feverish trickle, the night air refusing to offer up a breeze to cool him. He had not realized anyone was watching him at dinner, though he knew the moment she was talking about. He had thought he had covered it up rather quickly, but apparently not.

Even so, it had nothing to do with Anna. She is a friend. Just a friend. He meant it. Or, he thought he did, but the countess’s words were swirling in his mind, mixing everything up into an unintelligible mush.

“I took her hand because she was ripping her glove apart,” he explained firmly, willing the encounter to be over.

The countess smiled that frightening smile. “Why would you care about such a thing?”

“Because… because her brother will have to replace it. I cannot abide unnecessary expense.”

The countess laughed a high, tinkling laugh. “You must think me and my parties very vulgar then.”

“I can… see their value,” he rasped, her intense presence and utter disregard for hierarchy like a hand around his throat. “If you will excuse me, Countess, I think I am in need of a drink.”

She did not stop him, gesturing toward the terrace doors. “You will find lemonade and cordial—or port, if you prefer—on the table at the back.”

“Thank you,” he said, striding for the respite of the drawing room and the promised refreshments.

But before he could pull one of the wretched doors open and step inside, her voice halted him. “If she is just your friend, Your Grace, then keep your distance.” That note of warning laced her voice once more. “Because Lord Luminport isactually interested in her and, as I have told you, I hate to see her disappointed. So, stay away and let her be happy with the man who sees the majesty in what is in front of him.”

It was not a request, but an order. If she had not been Anna’s friend, he might have asked her what right she had to speak to him in that tone of voice. But, deep down, perhaps he understood that, too.

In the end, Percy simply inclined his head as the door opened and he practically fell into the drawing room. However, as he took a few moments to gather himself, and to cool the heat of such an intense encounter with a glass of lemonade, his foggy mind cleared. And what was left behind was a burning ball of fury, with Simon’s face at the very center of it.

Unworthy. He is unworthy of her. He simmered with the realization, and he did not care if Simon could see “the majesty of what was in front of him,” because he had seen it first.

An icy sort of dread ripped through him, his lips frozen on the rim of the lemonade glass as he clumsily strung his thoughts together. What was he saying? What was he thinking? He was not falling for Anna Dennis. It was impossible. She was his best friend’s sister, she was someone he had known for two-thirds of his life and almost all of hers, she was “Catchweed”, and he was a thorn in her side.

She was the very last woman in the world that he would fall in love with, even if he believed in love.

He brought the heel of his hand to his chest, pressing hard to ease the tight, burning feeling where his heart should have been. Yet, thinking back to all of the gestures and moments that the Countess had noticed, he could not deny that he had done those things. Nor could he deny that when he had leaned in close to Anna, whispering in her ear, there had been a second where he had almost wanted to kiss the curve of her neck.

But it had passed so quickly that he had forgotten about it. Now, it was all he could think about. That, and what on earth he was supposed to do with this ache in his chest.

“Stay away and let her be happy,” the countess’s words rang in his skull.

He downed the rest of his lemonade and took a steadying breath, determined to prove that he did not have to stay away to let her be happy, determined to show the Countess that he and Anna were just friends, and all of this was nothing more than a passing effect of the blow to his head.

It had to be. For both their sakes.