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 estateisrepaired, 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.
