“I donotthink 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. “Yourtrail 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 wasjustfiction, and could not be found in the real world. But then my dearest friends met their true loves, andthatis 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 offive-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.”
“Youbecome 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.
“Therehavebeen 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.Morselsof 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?
