Chapter Thirteen

A nna couldn't sleep. She'd been wandering around her room listlessly the second she'd been able to beg off. She'd done her part, smiling and nodding, giving her brother all the attention she'd longed to give over the past three years, but the stress of it took its toll. After two hours in the drawing room, she couldn't stomach it any longer and had to say good night. It was self-preservation.

The roots of her hair ached. Anna had twisted the ends around her fingers for so long that there was no longer a hint of curl. Did Phillip approve of her hair? He'd noticed it, she was certain. During dinner, she'd caught him watching her with that old gleam in his eye. Immediately, it transported her back in time. She was that girl again, preening for his attention. The side of his mouth would arch up, a knowing smile. Anna's body had gone from cold to hot in a flash, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. At any other time, it would have felt like a warning.

As she wore out the carpet in her room, the knock on the door didn't surprise her, though who might be on the other side of it was a mystery. With her heart in her throat, she walked tentatively to the door, trying for some semblance of composure. Her sweaty palms slipped on the doorknob twice before she could twist it open.

Her father chuckled at her expression. "I think I understand why you're disappointed to see me," he said lightly, edging himself past the door into the room. "But I hope you don't truly mind that I'm here."

Anna shook her head, digging herself out of her stupor. "Not at all, Father. Never."

He ambled around her space, making the tracks that Anna had created on the floor even deeper. "Should I be worried that you are still up at this hour?"

Anna shrugged. "It was such an exciting day. It's hard to wind down after such a surprise."

"Indeed," Sir John said. After a moment's pause, he sighed and sat down on the bed. Giving Anna a fatherly look, he patted the spot next to him.

Anna's slippers shuffled on the floor. She didn't have the energy to pick up her feet. "I know why you're here," she grumbled, plopping down. Sir John threw his arm around her shoulders in a half-hug. "You don't have to worry."

"I'm your father," he said, kissing the side of her head. "I'll always worry. Until my dying breath. It's my lot in life."

Anna's laugh was harsh and distinctly bitter. "Then I suppose I should be grateful that I will never have children."

Her fists clenched in her lap as if she were withholding the urge to jump out and grab her words and stuff them back in her mouth. She'd never said them before, and she didn't know why she said them now. After the emotionally taxing day, her willpower was at its lowest.

Sir John's soft tone—even more than his words—brought fresh tears to her eyes. "The doctor didn't say you couldn't have children. Only that it was not likely."

"Not likely," she repeated.

"Your body suffered so much, my dear." Sir John's hand trembled on Anna's shoulder. It tickled her.

"I'm strong. You know that."

"I'm not worried about your body, Anna. I'm worried about your heart."

This was foreign territory for both of them. Their relationship was the kind that normal fathers and daughters in the ton couldn't dream of. Their openness and acceptance weren't built in a day but rather forged by years of trial and error. Sir John had never balked at trying to understand his children's individuality and giving them what they needed despite what society dictated.

But in the three years since Anna had been ill, he'd never once mentioned Phillip. Not since the night he almost lost his daughter.

Anna wiped her nose with the back of her hand. The time for propriety was long gone. "My heart is strong too," she said.

"He should have come back before."

"He couldn't leave his post," Anna said, frowning at her father. "He had to complete his duty. I wish you hadn't written him that letter. He didn't need to know I was ill."

"I had to tell your brother… and him."

Anna raised her head. Rivulets of tears ran down her face. "But why? I didn't die. It probably caused him unnecessary worry—" Anna blanched. "You didn't tell him the real reason I was ill, did you, Father? Please don't tell me you did."

"Of course I didn't," Sir John huffed, shifting his weight on the bed. "I told you that I wouldn't, and I didn't. But if the man truly cared for you—like he told you he did—he would have come back for you. Done the honorable thing."

"We were young, Father."

"And that's an excuse?"

"No. But it is all I can say."

Sir John leaned toward Anna, both hands on her shoulders now, forcing her to hold his gaze. "Just promise me that you will be careful. I don't know why he's here. I don't know what he wants."

You don't think he wants me?

Anna couldn't form the words in her mouth. The embarrassment and shame were too strong.

"He's just the boy we used to know," she said, placing her hand over her father's arm. "He's David's friend."

Sir John closed his eyes, shaking his head. "He's a man, my dear. And since his older brother died last year, he's his father's heir now."

"What does that matter?"

Reluctantly, Sir John released his daughter. "It means his priorities have changed."

Later, after her father had left her room, Anna stood in front of her full-length mirror, her pointer fingers and thumbs touching as she laid her hands on her abdomen. The last few years had been filled with tears, but she surprised herself by spilling more.

How could life be so unfair? Why did someone always want something the moment they could no longer have it?

*

Anna waited at the edge of the lawn, her fists on her hips. "Oh, so now everyone wants to play cricket."

The afternoon was windy and cool, but the clouds had remained thin enough to allow the sun's rays to streak over the grounds, giving the day a feel of spring even with winter close on the horizon. Knowing that months of gloomy days were ahead sparked another venture outside, with blankets and chairs for those who wanted to watch and cricket bats and balls for those intrepid few who wanted to take part in the game. Unlike the day when Anna had headed the event, the aunts and Beatrice were the first ones out on the makeshift pitch, bright-eyed and hungry for information regarding the sport. The only sour tones to be heard were from Anna.

"What are you complaining about?" David asked as he sailed by his sister, jogging out to the center of the lawn. He spun around to face her, his grin infectious as he ran backward. "It's the best sport in the world. Who doesn't love to play cricket all the time?"

"You'd be surprised," Anna muttered. She searched around for Jacob, but he was mysteriously absent again. She hadn't glimpsed hide nor hair of him in the two days since David's return. She missed their bantering and adventures. She missed other things as well. Anna had searched for him around the house but couldn't figure out where he was hiding. And he was hiding—she was sure of it.

"You remember how to hold a bat, don't you, sister dear?" David called from his end. To Beatrice's glee, he'd decided that he would bowl, giving the others a chance to work on their batting skills.

Anna rolled her eyes at his patronizing tone, bending over to retrieve the cricket bat. "I think I can manage."

David tossed the red ball up in the air, catching it behind his back. Such a show-off. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on you. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Yes, we wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, Anna," Iris scoffed as she meandered toward the wicket.

"Women are so very delicate, you know," Violet chimed in. From the invisible sidelines she was busy contorting her hips this way and that, stretching before it was her turn. She stopped to scratch her head, her eyes dreamily cast toward the field. "I have to say, though, if I were you, I think I would miss the ball every time if it meant Phillip might come up next to me to show me how it's done ."

Anna blushed beet red. "Oh, stop," she said over Iris's guffaws. "It's not like that… between us."

Violet reached for her toes and only made it halfway. "Maybe not to you, but your sister doesn't seem to mind." She straightened and pointed her fleshy chin down the field, where Beatrice was quite happily engaged in a batting tutorial with Phillip. Their conversation was too low to hear over the breeze, though her giggling wasn't. Anna's stomach knotted as she watched Phillip position himself behind Beatrice, folding his arms around hers to place them on the bat's skinny handle.

"That's ridiculous," she said to herself, lost in the scene. A headache began to take root smack in the middle of her eyes. "Beatrice already knows how to hold the bat. She's an expert batswoman."

Violet snorted. "Looks like she forgot that fact."

Iris moved to Anna's side. "Attractive, helpful men like that tend to make that happen," she quipped.

Anna inflated her lungs. The aunts were like the angel and devil perched on her shoulders, constantly providing their opinions.

Phillip stepped away from Beatrice, giving her room for a practice swing. It was so terrible she almost fell over. At the last second, he lunged forward to pluck her elbows before they went crashing into the grass.

Violet clicked her tongue, stretching her arms high over her head, her bountiful chest wedging under her chin so aggressively that her voice came out muffled. "All we're saying, Anna dear, is if your memory becomes a little faulty today, we won't blame you. Shame to let your sister win. That young beauty has years of conquests ahead of her."

Anna averted her gaze, focusing once more on her bat. She wrapped her palms around the handle, strangling its poor neck like a starving man with his last chicken. "He's not a conquest," she replied, wincing at the irritation in her tone. She lowered her voice, but the irritation was still apparent. "Phillip is like her older brother."

From the corner of her eye, she saw the aunts give each other a look. Such nosy women!

Iris whistled. "Well, we don't have a brother. So perhaps we don't know about these things."

"Yes, perhaps," Anna said. She flashed the ladies a smile, hoping it would put a period on the ridiculous conversation. "But as I was saying, I don't plan on missing any balls, so it doesn't matter."

"Hey! Are we going to play or gossip?" David yelled, his tanned face becoming mottled in frustration. "Honestly, this is why women don't play sports. You wouldn't be able to get in a whole match with all their talking—"

"I'm ready, David!" Anna barked back, taking her place in front of the stumps. "You're the only one talking now!" She turned back to the aunts. "Watch and learn, ladies, because I'm about to show these boys how to play cricket."

*

"Three years? You've only been playing for three years?" David asked, rubbing his upper arm as he walked with Anna off the lawn. A table of refreshments had been set out near Sir John and Mrs. Wright, who were, as always, seated in their chairs and lost in a deep exchange.

Anna would be too embarrassed to admit it to her cricket club teammates, but her ego soared from her brother's astonished praise. "Well, I watched you all those years playing at home. That helped."

David squinted as if he'd never seen her before. "I doubt that could have done much. I just can't believe it. I leave for India, and I come back to find my sister is better at cricket than I am. Now we just have to work on Beatrice."

"Oh, I don't know," Anna said, shooting Beatrice a reproachful glare. Her little sister ducked her head to avoid her. "I think Beatrice was just having a bad day. She's usually much better when I practice with her." Anna accepted a glass of punch from the servant. She drank it like a conquering hero. "In any event, don't be so hard on yourself. I doubt you had much time to play while you were in India—more important things to do and all that. Keeping safe."

David's chuckle was awkward. "You'd be surprised," he said, his expression mired in chagrin. He shared a look with Phillip, who sidled up behind her. Anna didn't have time to question the odd exchange. The moment Phillip came near, all her thoughts and senses centered on him. He swayed back and forth, his arm casually brushing hers. It was an unnecessary touch and threw her off balance.

She blinked rapidly as if something were in her eye. But it was his smell. Minty and citrusy, like an exotic tea. The scent was as significant to Phillip as his name. It was Phillip.

"S-sorry," Anna stammered. "Why would I be surprised?"

Phillip laughed, causing her to blanch. Surely her question wasn't that funny, not enough for Phillip to laugh so loud that the entire party stopped to stare at them?

"Oh, Anna," he said breathlessly, placing his hand on the middle of her back. Her entire body froze at the intimacy—and audacity, considering they were not alone. "We played cricket more than we worked in the offices," he said, not moving his hand an inch. It had a proprietary feel to it, like he were re-staking an old claim. Anna didn't know what to make of her nerves. She used to melt into that hand, twist and contort her body so that she could always fit. Now, she could barely breathe. The act felt intrusive.

Phillip went on, his voice assured and loud. It was the voice of a man who always assumed that everyone wanted to hear him. "We came to India too late; it's quite subdued now. After the last skirmish, the Indians had learned their lesson. There were a few issues here and there… You know, some middling maharaja getting a few hundred followers worked into a state over ridiculous claims about taxes and injustice. Can you imagine that? Those people should be kissing the ground we walk on. That place was a barbaric wasteland before we came to it. If it wasn't for the empire dictating how those people should live, they'd still be living in caves and huts."

Those people. Anna flinched each time Phillip spat the words.

"Surely there's no harm in living differently than we do in England," she said. Phillip's hand dropped from her back. "If people are not content under English rule, then perhaps it is best to let them go. It's like any relationship, really. If it only benefits one partner, if it takes so much effort to cohabitate, maybe it's not meant to be."

"I'm sorry, Anna, I don't think you were paying attention," Phillip said, arching an amused brow at David. Luckily, her brother didn't chuckle in response. By the cautious look he gave Anna, he surely knew better. "It's fine. This sort of politics is not for women's ears. It is simply too much to understand. Because I am an old friend, I will sum it up for you, though. Those people love us there. They look up to us like children look up to their parents, and we act as benevolently as we should. But every place has bad apples that must be dealt with. And we dealt with them"—he slapped David on the shoulder—"when we weren't playing cricket."

"I'm just glad you're safe," Anna said to her brother.

"And those people weren't completely without favor," Phillip went on, missing the siblings' exchange. "Damn fine cricket players. They don't have the respectability and inner restraint of British players, no class, obviously—however, they are an energetic people. Willing, as it were."

"I wish you could have seen it, sister," David added. "Some of the Indian players were extraordinary. I don't know how to explain it… the way they can whip the ball. It's explosive—joyful, even."

"Ha!" Iris guffawed from the refreshment table. "Well, no one could ever accuse the English of being joyful."

Phillip pressed his lips thin. "As I said, they're childlike. Games come easy to them."

Beatrice huddled close to Iris, picking out a square of pale yellow cheese. "Well, that must have been exciting. Playing with people from the other side of the world. How small the world can seem sometimes. You don't even speak the same language as the Indians, and yet you both know the rules of cricket."

Anna's annoyance with Beatrice vanished. Every once in a while, her younger sister said something so poignant and beyond her years. Anna wished she wouldn't temper that intelligence whenever an attractive man walked by. She made a mental to mention that to her.

Phillip's top lip curled away from his teeth. Anna had never seen him look so harsh before. He'd always been such a carefree boy. "Oh, we don't play with them… we play against them."

David's tone hinted at frustration when he explained, "The British have their teams, and the Indians have theirs. We don't mix."

"Why not?" Anna asked.

"Why not?" Phillip repeated. He cast an incredulous, dramatic expression around the group. "Because we just don't, that's why. They're different."

"And different is bad?" Anna asked weakly.

Phillip huffed in exasperation. "Isn't it always?"