Chapter 8

In his bygone studies and recent business endeavors, Percy always found that he worked best in absolute silence and solitude, and figured he ought to give Anna the same grace after the events in the park.

As such, he had kept to himself over the past few days, avoiding her wherever possible. Although, where he could not avoid her—at dinner and breakfast, primarily—a new civility had appeared between them. He did not feel compelled to join her brothers in teasing her, she did not need to retort coldly, and though they barely said more than a few words to each other, it was a pleasanter state of affairs.

However, as the afternoon of the Countess of Grayling’s house party came around, there could be no avoiding Anna, for Max had decided that they should all travel there together.

“Could we not have taken two carriages?” Anna complained, squished into the corner of the squabs opposite Percy. “The three of you are enormous individually, but together, in such a tiny space, you are smothering. I shall be soaked through with perspiration by the time we arrive, and this is a borrowed gown!”

Dickie lounged across his portion of the squabs. “Perhaps, if you were not wearing that cloak over it, you would not be sweating so profusely. What is the matter, dear sister—are you ashamed of it?”

Percy had also thought it rather strange when Anna had come down to the entrance hall in a floor-length cloak, considering it was feverishly hot outside, and they were about to journey for two hours in the carriage. But what could be so special about it that she had to cover it up? He could not deny that he was intrigued.

“Not at all.” Anna drew the cloak tighter around herself, offering no glimpse of the gown beneath. “I want it to be a surprise, that is all.”

Max arched a worried eyebrow. “Not the sort of surprise that will have us all crammed back in this carriage within five minutes of arriving, I hope?”

“I do not think so, and the countess has asked me to wear it, so wear it I shall,” Anna replied, her cheeks bright red.

Max’s other eyebrow rose to join the first, his worry deepening. “The gown belongs to the Silver Widow?”

“Yes, and do not call her that.” Anna folded her arms across her chest. “All I shall say is, it is not my usual sort of attire. And when I shed this cloak, if none of you can say anything nice, please just do not say anything at all. That means you will have to restrain your eyebrows, Max.”

She did not mention Percy by name, but he heard the warning anyway.

“I will say only lovely things, I promise,” he said, before he could stop himself.

She frowned at that but made no further remark. Perhaps, after the business in the park, she would be more inclined to treat him the same way she treated the other two.

Dickie laughed. “Personally, I cannot wait to see this surprise revealed. Is this your last attempt to snare a husband? Are you and the countess conspiring?” He paused. “Actually, if anyone can find you a husband, I imagine it would be her. She would simply have to demand it and it would be done; every gentleman I know is terrified of her.”

Is she the one who inspired you to become the Matchmaker? Percy mused. He knew of the countess only by reputation, though he did not believe she could be anything like what he had heard.

“It has nothing to do with finding a husband,” Anna insisted. “I am wearing it for me… and for the countess.”

Max smiled fondly at his sister. “You used to disapprove of her, and now you are as close to her as you are to your Spinsters’ Club.”

“I judged her, and that was wrong of me.” Anna’s cheeks were turning redder by the second. “I thought she stood against the very idea of marriage, but that could not be further from the truth. She champions marriage, but only of the proper sort.”

Percy could not resist. “What, pray tell, is the ‘proper’ sort of marriage?”

“Ah, well,” Dickie interjected, “it is where the prince and princess are married and crowned in front of the entire kingdom, and their love is written upon slabs of marble for all the world to remember.”

Anna cast her brother a disapproving look. “You ought to read from my library if you think fairytales are what I favor.”

“I do not think Dickie needs to read from your library,” Max replied, grinning. “He should not be given ideas.”

Percy observed the smile that curved Anna’s lips, brightening her big blue eyes with mirth. He wondered absently if he would ever be able to make her smile like that, and immediately chided himself for such a weak thought.

“Why, what is in Anna’s library?” He had some notion, after glimpsing countless spines over the years, but there were other books that she used to hide in a hurry if anyone disturbed her. He could guess what they were, but he was interested to see if she would admit to it.

With a flustered sigh, Anna leaned over and pulled down the carriage window. “Never you mind what I have in my collection.” She drew in a breath of the balmy afternoon air. “As for your previous question—the ‘proper’ sort of marriage is one that is built upon love, respect, affection, mutual joy, and shared amusement. But love should always be at its center. A marriage is nothing but an empty contract without it.”

“Now you have done it.” Dickie groaned. “There is nothing Anna likes to talk about so much as love. Indeed, the very first time I saw her angry was when I told her that love is a trick, created to trap two people in a union they cannot get out of. The second time I saw her angry was when I told her that love does not last.”

Anna drew in another breath of fresh air, though the warm afternoon did nothing to ease the blush in her cheeks. “Just because love does not last for you, that does not mean it does not last when it is real. And love is not a trick when neither party are trying to gain something superficial from the other.” She shot a pointed look at Dickie. “Truly, though you profess otherwise, I do not believe you have ever been in love.”

“My dear sister, I have been in love more times than you have had eggs for breakfast.” Dickie chuckled, and drew a hip flask out of his pocket, taking a triumphant sip.

“No, you have been in infatuation. It is not the same. Love is quieter, love is everlasting, love is patient, love is powerful, love is… magic. When you love someone, you would do everything within your power to ensure that you never broke their heart.” She smiled. “Your trail of broken hearts is all the evidence I need, to know you have never truly been in love.”

Percy sat back against the squabs, dumbfounded by the poetic words flowing so easily from Anna’s mouth. He had heard her anger, he had faced her temper, he had observed her cheer among friends and family, had seen her laugh and smile with others, and had seen her become quiet in company, diminished by the louder voices of others. But he had never seen her so passionate, her entire being glowing with confidence and belief in what she said.

“It is not for nothing that ladies read romantic novels,” she continued. “It is what all ladies seek—that eternal, unbreakable love that is theirs and only theirs—and I suspect most men long for it too, if they were honest with themselves. When I was younger, I did fear that it was just fiction, and could not be found in the real world. But then my dearest friends met their true loves, and that is all the evidence I need to know it exists.”

Max smiled, but it was sadder than before. “No one would be worthier of it than you, Buttercup.”

“Alas, she is six-and-twenty, and no romantic heroine can be above the age of five-and-twenty, so our darling Anna’s search has had to come to an end,” Dickie teased, though there was no cruelty in it. Indeed, Percy thought he heard a note of sadness in Dickie’s voice, too.

Anna shrugged shyly. “I spent too much time reading of love and studying love, forgetting that seeking out love requires skills that I never learned.”

She rubbed her throat, eliciting a flush of red that Percy watched as it rose up to her jaw. His palms were cool, and, for a moment, he wondered if it might ease that heat if he were to press his hand there. A ridiculous notion, of course, which he swiftly pushed aside.

“What skills?” he asked.

“She has never been very good with people,” Dickie explained. “Always preferred her books to actual humans.”

Max nodded. “We have witnessed her chattering for hours about this book and that book, and what she saw on her morning walk. We have heard her describe the sunset like no one else could, with such detail that you can almost see it for yourself, but put her in front of a stranger and…”

“She becomes a mute. A painfully awkward one at that. An entirely different person, sometimes,” Dickie said, finishing the sentence. “It is the most peculiar thing. How did I once describe it?”

Anna pulled a face. “Like I am a candle, and someone has snuffed me out.”

“You become mute?” Percy stared at her in disbelief.

Her mood darkened. “I do not mean to. My tongue swells; I am certain of it.”

“But I am a gentleman. You have no difficulty speaking to me.” Percy carefully chose his words, though ‘yelling’ and ‘hissing’ might have been more suited.

Anna stared down into her lap. “Yes, but you are not a suitor.”

“If I were, do you think you would fall silent?” It was a genuine question, born of curiosity, but as her eyes snapped back up, he could tell she had misunderstood.

“Are you so eager to quieten me?” she replied.

“There have been potential courtships,” Max interrupted, no doubt noticing his sister’s discomfort and the tension stretching in the carriage. “I never liked any of them, so I am glad she did not proceed.”

Dickie rolled his eyes. “They were not courtships. They were… evenings. Morsels of suitors. The occasional dance here and there. Once, there were two dances with the same gentleman, so naturally we raised our hopes, but we never heard from the fellow again.”

“He was not mine to have,” Anna said quietly, her anger vanishing. “He married Miss Rebecca Fitzpatrick, and they are blissfully happy, even now. So, being hopeless in his presence was the right thing to do.”

In that moment, Percy understood completely what Dickie had meant by her being a candle that someone had snuffed out. The moment her brother had mentioned former suitors, the light had extinguished from her eyes in an instant, her small figure withdrawing into itself, the pretty pink of her cheeks draining away to a dim pale.

But how could anyone find her dull?

It had not been his experience at all, for though they were formerly locked in a constant state of quarreling with one another, he had never left one of their encounters feeling as if she were boring. Quite the opposite. At times, he found her to be too lively, too opinionated, too eager to trump whatever he had to say, and often sharply witty, where he tended to be the target of her cutting remarks.

“Is this why you are not married?” he asked, thinking aloud.

He had always assumed it was because of her books—that no gentleman could match up to the fictional heroes and men she read about, so she had not bothered to try. He would never have guessed that it was because she became silent and charmless when presented with potential suitors. Nor would he have guessed that she held love in such sacred esteem and had actively—at least in intention—sought it for all these years.

And now you are a spinster, alone without security or anyone to take care of you but your brother. To Percy, that seemed like madness, like a terrible risk that had not paid off.

He would have said he pitied her, if he had not thought it would gain him a smack in the face. But to put so much weight upon love—he could not fathom such a foolish act and had to wonder why her brothers had not stepped in to tell her as much, years ago.

Anna turned away, gazing out of the carriage window at the verdant world beyond. “It was not for lack of trying, regardless of what my brothers might say,” she replied softly. “If I had met the gentleman who is meant for me, things might have been different. Now, I am studying acceptance instead, learning what power there is in being alone from the likes of my friend, the countess. But that does not mean I have ceased believing in love. I never shall, even if all I can do is share in the joy and love of others.”

Is that why you became The Matchmaker? Percy could not ask it aloud, but he made a note in his mind to enquire later, if he could catch her by herself for a moment.

“At least you will always have Max,” Dickie chimed in. “He is as hopeless as you when it comes to wooing, and he simply will not agree to take lessons from me. I suppose it is the cost—I am a very expensive tutor.”

Max laughed. “I have been a duke for barely more than a few months. I must adjust to that change before I consider finding a duchess and, at present, it is not important to me. Perhaps, it never shall be. I have never daydreamed about love the way the two of you do.”

“Quite right, too,” Percy said, all this talk of that vague emotion making him feel uneasy, and rather like he was sitting among lunatics. “Marriage does not require love. Love is a foolish notion, so it is little wonder that ladies chase it so diligently.”

Anna whipped around. “Excuse me?”

“I am inclined to agree with Dickie—love is a trick. I have never felt it, nor would I wish to. Those who think they are in love allow it to cloud their judgment; it makes them silly, and it makes them do stupid things.” Percy sat up straighter, soothed by his own words. “It is witnessed time and time again. You hear of a couple ‘in love’ who marry for that reason, and that reason alone, and in a year or two, they are miserable.”

“And what of marriages of convenience that result in misery?” Anna shot back. “What about marriages of business and status and exchanges of wealth—how many of them are thoroughly dismal?”

Percy puffed his chest. “At least everyone is well taken care of. The ladies have security, the gentlemen have the promise of legacy. That is nothing to be despondent about. Being without two coins to rub together, and finding that love is fleeting and certainly not enough—that is a reason to be miserable.”

“But… but… that is so cold!” Anna gasped, as if she could not believe what she was hearing.

“Perhaps, you think it cold, but I think it is logical, and people should be logical instead of allowing silly ideas to guide their decisions,” he replied. “Of course, I am not saying there cannot be companionship, but having it or not having it does not, in my mind, dictate whether a marriage is successful. Legacy and security are the only essentials.”

Anna shook her head, like he had disappointed her. “When you have found your bride, perhaps we shall see who is right and who is wrong. But in my experience,” her eyes widened, sending a silent message, “love always triumphs, and the absence of it is always keenly felt. Love endures anything, while matches of logic and business cause eyes and hearts to wander.”

“She has a point,” Dickie remarked, surprising Percy. He had thought the younger of the two brothers would be on his side. “What good is legacy if you are a cuckold? What good is security if your husband is never home, and has a trail of illegitimate children that are draining his coffers with every threat he receives? It is why I truly will not settle for less than a love match.”

Anna flashed a victorious smile at Percy. “What do you say to a wager, Percival?”

“I do not gamble,” he replied stiffly.

“But if you are so sure that you are right, why not?” she challenged. “It can be something small, if you are not as confident as you claim to be.”

He shifted in his seat. “Very well. This is silly, but as I shall gain the satisfaction of winning, then yes—why not.”

“Five pounds to the victor,” Anna said without hesitation. “If you are miserable within your marriage after… two years, then you owe me five pounds. If you are very content, I shall owe you.”

It appeared that she had forgotten about her reputation—or, rather, The Matchmaker’s reputation as a figure of unrivaled success in the art of bringing couples together in happy unions. Still, Percy would not let that stop him, for he knew that he was right, and she had walked directly into her own trap.

“Let us hope that I am matched with the most suitable bride, then,” he said, sticking out his hand.

He saw the moment it dawned on her and resisted the urge to smile at his early victory. Having heard everything she had said, there was no way she would risk her accomplishments as The Matchmaker for the sake of a small sum of money.

With a slight grimace, she took his hand and shook it.

He held on a moment longer, saying quietly, “I look forward to being five pounds and a wife richer, Catchweed.”

But it would cost him in other ways, as he realized he had just undone all of the progress they had made toward civility. He saw it in her eyes, the moment he called her that name.