Caroline looked at her brother, who shrugged.
“Very well,” Caroline said, putting her gloved hand in Dickie’s.
He kissed it gently, while Percy observed the interaction, remembering the soft touch of Anna’s kid glove against his lips. And as he glanced at Anna, he saw her looking at that chaste kiss too. Her gaze lifted to Percy, and sharply turned away.
What an odd creature you are.
Returning his attention to Dickie, and watching Caroline relish in his interest, Percy wondered if he should have dedicated more time to learning Dickie’s talents with women instead of learning how to ride well. If so, he would not have been stuck with the only woman in England who could not stand the sight of him.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Before Percy could even think of striking up a conversation with the young lady he had formerly considered for his bride, Dickie had taken hold of the reins and was walking along at Caroline’s side, talking amiably and easily about her experience of her first season. Daniel’s horse trotted alongside, leaving Percy and Anna to walk behind.
“Do not envy him too much,” Anna said quietly. “Everyone has their gifts—his just happens to be wooing every lady he encounters, accidentally or deliberately. It is more of a curse, in truth.”
Percy had not expected Anna to initiate conversation, nor in such an amenable tone. It proved to be a not unwelcome surprise.
“I am not envious. I have no reason to be, when I already have you pursuing my match on my behalf.” He gestured around himself. “But I do find myself compelled to ask—where is she?”
“Who?”
“My bride.”
“I am not a sorceress, Percival. I cannot pull a bride out of thin air.” She sighed. “However, thereisa house party at the Countess of Grayling’s residence in a few days’ time. That is where my hunt shall begin properly, for everyone who is anyone will be in attendance. You must have received your invitation this morning.”
Percy stiffened. “I received no invitation.”
“But there was a letter for you on the post tray.”
“It was not an invitation. It was… something else, and I would urge you not to intrude on my privacy by looking at my personal letters.” Discomfort pinched down his spine, his palms clammy.
She flashed him a pointed look. “You have become an authority on invading the privacy of others? Might I remind you that it took me hours to put everything back the way it was, and that is without mentioning the worst part, which cannot be put back as it was.”
“I… apologize,” he said tightly. “Butyouare prone to eavesdropping. That could also be considered an invasion of privacy.”
Anna pursed her lips. “I was also taught that if a ‘but’ follows an apology, it is no apology at all.”
“Very well. I apologize.” He paused. “It was… bad behavior.”
She eyed him as if he had something on his face. “Are you feeling unwell? Shall I check you for a fever?”
“Most amusing,” he remarked drily. “There is nothing wrong with me.”
“I am not convinced, but I shall take your word for it.” The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her lip, and a strange shiver danced through his chest, as if he were close to winning some kind of prize. For he had never been able to make her smile before, not since they were both children.
“So,” she continued, “you are a passable horseman. I have seen your dancing, and that is also… adequate. What else do you do well? What are your likes and dislikes? What sort of bride do you have in mind?”
He cast her a sideways glance. “Are you not supposed to know this already?”
“I told you, I am not a sorceress. Nor am I a clairvoyant. I research, I gather information, and I use that to pair people,” she explained in a hushed, slightly impatient voice. “To match you, I must know more of you. And rather than go to the trouble of finding information about you, as I normally would, you are perhaps the only person I can simply ask.”
He nodded slowly. “I see.”
They walked on for a while in the most companionable silence they had ever shared, as Percy contemplated the question. He had not been asked such things before and, as such, he did not know how to answer. Indeed, he had to keep reminding himself that she was not actually interested in what he liked and disliked; it was all for her work, not mere conversation.
“I suppose I enjoy the theater, though I have only been a handful of times,” he began. “I can sing well enough. I like dogs, though I was never allowed one. I?—”
“Perfection!” Anna yelped, gripping onto his arm.
