Chapter 9

Anna could not believe her foolishness, cursing herself for the rest of the journey to Beatrice’s estate. She could not even blame Percival for the entrapment, for she had been the one who had barreled forward with the wager, so convinced of his future unhappiness that she had forgotten that his happiness rested on her shoulders.

“My goodness,” Max gasped, staring out of the carriage window.

It was enough to rouse Anna from her sullenness, leaning toward the other window to see what had amazed her brother. She grinned at the sight that lay ahead of her, for Beatrice never did anything by halves.

All along the winding driveway were male and female statues draped in cloth, posed with various items: one held a vase that gave the illusion of pouring water, one held surprisingly fresh-looking grapes, another held a sheaf of wheat, and another was blindfolded with a sword in one hand and scales in the other.

But those statues had not been there on Anna’s last visit to Beatrice’s estate, and upon closer inspection, it was clear that they were not statues at all. Not in the sculpted, inanimate sense. They were living statues, dedicated to the task of not moving a muscle, their skin painted to resemble marble and pale gray stone.

Even Dickie seemed impressed. “I do not know whether to close my eyes or stare longer.”

“It is art, Dickie,” Anna said, delighted by Beatrice’s constant ingenuity. “You can stare as long as you like. They are clothed, after all.”

Percival, meanwhile, gazed down into his lap. “I think it is vulgar to be so boastful with one’s wealth.”

“But if she were a gentleman, you would be marveling,” Anna replied, refusing to let anyone say a bad word against her friend. “Why, if you were to ask me to pay her a compliment on your behalf, I am certain she would have your crumbling rafters fixed by the end of the week.”

Percival met her gaze, unamused. “When my estate is repaired, I do not plan to host any such gatherings. I see no need for them after one is married.”

“Your wife might disagree,” Anna pointed out. “Gatherings and parties are important for one’s social standing. Twice as important for beginning endeavors of business. Even I know that, and I did not need the Earl of Westyork to tell me.”

Once again, Percival seemed pensive, daring to steal a glance at the statue they were passing. “How is it possible for them to be so still?” he mumbled under his breath.

At the end of the driveway, the countess’s residence was nothing short of palatial. A majestic feat of architecture, crafted from golden sandstone, with a towering portico at the front that reached all the way up to the flat roof. There, a beautiful dome protruded, with a gold statue of Venus at its very top, echoed by two smaller belvedere domes at either end of the vast building.

Although Anna visited it at least monthly, Beatrice’s residence never failed to take her breath away.

“It is just the Countess, alone here?” Percival gaped in astonishment.

“Alone, yes, but never lonely,” Anna replied.

Once the carriage reached the front steps, they were greeted by young men dressed in Roman togas, their heads adorned by olive wreaths. Anna put out her hand to let one of them help her down from the carriage, as she recognized them as Beatrice’s footmen, but Percival squeezed past her and ushered the men away.

“It is unseemly for you to take their hand,” he muttered, putting out his own.

Anna hesitated, but decided to take it instead of reprimanding him for his rudeness—he would not have listened anyway. Even through her silk gloves, she could feel how warm his hand was, and thought she felt the slightest tremor as he closed his fingers around hers. He would not meet her gaze as he helped her down.

“May I take your cloak, Lady Anna?” one of the footmen asked.

Anna took a deep breath, suddenly nervous about the attire that Beatrice had chosen for her. “Certainly.”

“Max,” Percival said curtly, shooting a look at the footman, “perhaps you should take your sister’s cloak.”

Max seemed puzzled but shrugged and stepped forward. “Let us all be surprised, then.”

With shaky hands, Anna unfastened the tie at her throat and slipped the cloak off her shoulders. Max took it and threw it into the carriage, while Anna waited for the teasing to come.

Instead, she was greeted with a shocked silence. Even the footmen had frozen, and a few of the other guests, who had made it to the front door, turned in astonishment. A moment later, the ladies among that other party immediately began to applaud, and an embarrassed sort of pleasure rushed into Anna’s cheeks.

“Who is she?” someone asked.

“I do not know, but I adore her! How brave!” someone replied.

“What a beauty,” a third person, a gentleman this time, declared.

The gown was unusual, but Beatrice had assured her that it would be befitting of the occasion. More complicated than the fashion of the day, it was constructed from floaty layers of coral and red muslin, chiffon, and silk that draped her figure in a manner that gave the illusion of curves. Gold, patterned trimming and exquisite beading made her shimmer in the sunlight, while carefully placed ribbons made the gown more structured than most. It had originally had no sleeves, but Beatrice had included some chiffon to use as sleeves if Anna did not feel bold enough to go without.

“Get it over with,” Anna said shyly, turning to Percival and her brothers.

Dickie merely grinned. “I am afraid I do not know you well enough to tease you, whoever you are. Though, I would ask what you have done with my sister.”

“You look beautiful,” Max agreed, offering his arm.

Anna looked to Percival, waiting for his cutting remark or damning mockery. But he just stared, as if he could not look away. His mouth had fallen open, his eyes wide, as frozen as the statues lining the driveway. An act before the mockery began? She could not be certain.

“Anna!” a voice cried from the entrance of the grand manor house. “It is as perfect as I hoped! Oh, you are majestic! A princess among frogs!”

Anna whirled around, smiling from ear to ear as she saw Beatrice running down the steps toward her. The older woman swept her into a fierce embrace, and Anna hugged her back in kind, Beatrice’s enthusiasm chasing away any fears that still bristled within her.

For once, she did feel beautiful.

* * *

It seemed that all anyone could talk about was Anna and that dress, even as the guests were all seated for dinner at the longest dinner table Percy had ever seen. Between courses—which seemed never ending—there was a constant stream of people coming over to compliment Anna on her attire, though he could not understand the interest. Yes, she looked radiant, ethereal, otherworldly, magnificent, but now that everyone had seen the gown, he had assumed the fascination would die down.

I thought Max said she retreated into herself among strangers. But Percy had been watching her from his seat opposite her, and she did not seem at all shy and retiring.

“All of the plaudits should go to the countess,” Anna said to the latest round of curious guests. “She asked me to wear it, and I could not refuse.”

“Well, you look remarkable,” said a woman that Percy did not know, hanging onto the arm of an equally unfamiliar gentleman. “Does she not, Brother?”

The man smiled. “She does.”

The arrival of the next course—some manner of fish, decorated with thin lemon slices—ushered the pair back to their own seats. Percy opened his mouth to add his own opinion to the occasion, when a different voice got in ahead of him.

“If you do not wish to be bothered anymore, let me know, and I shall begin a song or I shall spill something as a diversion.”

Percy’s eyes darted to the gentleman seated beside Anna. He knew the man in passing as Simon Lockhart, the Earl of Luminport. They had both been to Eton together, but Simon had been a few years below him, so he could not profess to know him well.

Anna’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I could not ask you to embarrass yourself on my behalf, My Lord.”

“Ah, so you haveheard of my infamous singing abilities?” Simon replied, his cheeks as pink as hers.

To Percy’s shock, Anna hid her mouth behind her hand and laughed. “I was referring to the spillage, of course. Believe me, no one could sing as badly as me. You are likely operatic in comparison.”

“I have been likened to angry goats and warring cats,” Simon said, his eyes admiring Anna’s face.

She laughed again, the sound stirring up the most peculiar feeling in Percy’s chest—something between envy and disapproval.

“My singing tutor lasted a week before she marched out, declaring she had never encountered anyone who could so consistently hit the opposite of every note,” Anna insisted, the radiance of her gown somehow transferring to her very being.

Simon chuckled, though his posture was awkward. “How can it be that we have never met before?”

“I am a master of disguise.” Anna smiled, her eyes so bright that Percy wondered how Simon had not lost himself in them. “The next time we meet, you will ask me that again, for you will not recognize me.”

Simon shook his head. “Impossible, Lady Anna.”

Concentrating on the fish course, though he lacked much appetite, Percy blocked out the conversations of those around him. It was no business of his what Anna and Simon talked about, and he figured it could only be a good thing if she was finding her confidence among strangers at last. Max would certainly be pleased if she found herself a husband, at last.

That second course is disagreeing with me, nothing more, he told himself, applying what logic he could to the unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He managed to get through two more courses while indulging in banal conversation with the guests seated on either side of him, paying no attention whatsoever to the near-constant chatter that was coming from Anna and Simon. He would have been content to continue that way, had he not heard Simon mention something.

“I think this matchmaker ought to be rewarded by the Royal Court for their services,” Simon said, sipping his drink. “I am a good friend of Viscount Marchmont, and I have never seen him so happy.”

Percy did not know what had begun that avenue of conversation, but he leaned into it, curious to hear another gentleman’s perspective.

“We all thought he would never be happy again, in truth, so I am, perhaps, biased,” Simon continued. “That being said, my friend is not the only one to have found joy because of this matchmaker. More of that, I say—more of joy and love in society.”

Anna beamed with delight. “You are not averse to the Matchmaker’s methods, then?”

Percy could not be certain, but he had a feeling that comment was aimed at him.

“Goodness, no.” Simon put some buttery, herby potatoes onto Anna’s plate. “I think they must be a very interesting individual, and it is clear that their methods are fruitful. The notion and the mystery are certainly very romantic, and why not? If it is a success, it is a success.”

Percy cleared his throat. “You do not think there is an element of manipulation in what the Matchmaker does?”

The other man turned, apparently surprised by the interjection. “Manipulation? In what respect?”

“Well, at this point the Matchmaker could put anyone together, and they would believe they were destined to be, simply because the Matchmaker says so.” Percy sipped his drink and felt the burn of Anna’s eyes upon him.

Simon laughed nervously. “I doubt that is their intention. Whoever they are, they seem to care very much about who they pair together. My friend and Lady Emily, for example. They are besotted with one another.”

“And might have found one another anyway, if The Matchmaker had not intervened. Yet, it makes it appear like it was all The Matchmaker’s doing,” Percy pressed. “I would also suggest that, for someone who seems so interested in romance, The Matchmaker makes a lot of arrogant presumptions about other people’s feelings.”

Simon frowned. “What you consider presumptions, I would consider intuitive. There is no harm in it, in my opinion, and I think you presume ill intentions, but as The Matchmaker asks for no money, I do not see how that can be possible. They are a Samaritan of love.”

Anna’s hand clenched around her fork, her knuckles whitening. Yet, she smiled so warmly at Simon for his weak, sentimental remarks. It was quite the thing to watch her torn between two emotions—anger and gratitude, shivering inside one small body.

“The way I see it,” she said, concentrating on Simon, “no one has to follow The Matchmaker’s advice, but they must be doing something right if they are, at present, always right. I would call it gentle influence, not manipulation. The kind of gentle influence one might receive from a friend in a time of need, or when one cannot find the answer themselves.”

Simon nodded, clearly entranced by the beauty beside him. “I could not have phrased it better myself.”

“But what makes the Matchmaker qualified at all?” Percy argued, not quite understanding why.

It would have been easier to let the matter lie, especially as he still needed her help. But the way she was smiling and laughing and indulging Simon in abundant conversation, without a hint of a mean remark, had brought something strange out of Percy. A bitter feeling he could not put a name to.

What could possibly entertain you? He is so… dull. Listening to the drone of the man’s chatter over the past few courses had been evidence enough of that. It had almost sent him to sleep several times.

“Come now, Your Grace, the evidence speaks for itself,” Simon insisted.

Percy tilted his head. “Does it, though? Lord Luminport, do you think the Matchmaker is married? If not, do you believe people would put so much faith in this figure?”

“To have such experience, I would think they are married,” Simon confirmed. “However, I do not necessarily see the need to know who this person is If it were the Countess, for example, there would be no qualms about her lack of husband.”

“I disagree,” Percy replied.

Anna set her napkin down on the table and stood up. “Then, I shall let you argue as you please.” She gazed at Simon with one of those warm, encouraging smiles. “Apologies, but I must be excused for a moment.”

He got to his feet and bowed his head. “Of course, Lady Anna.”

Percy also stood up, feeling the sudden impulse to go after her. But with so many people watching, he reasoned against it.

The argument did not continue once they sat back down, however, as Simon turned his attention to the gentleman seated on the other side of him, and Percy was left to rejoin a tedious discussion about the price of horseshoes.

Nevertheless, he waited for Anna’s return, eager to pick up where they had left off. He compiled a list of things he would say about The Matchmaker, and questions that warranted answers, but as the minutes wore on and the next course was served, her chair remained empty.

It stayed that way for the rest of the evening, and every time he looked in its vacant direction, he became more and more certain that he had made a terrible mistake. For she was a candle and, this time, he had been the one to snuff her out.