He sipped his drink, but a tightness appeared around his eyes, as if he did not like what he had heard. It seemed Beatrice had been right—the only way to contend with arrogant, taunting men like this was to taunt them harder and with greater wit. She was no Matilda or Phoebe, quick with her tongue, but she was determined to do her best.
“The conversation bored me,” he said with a light shrug.
Anna sniffed. “In order to know if the conversation was dull, you would have to actually converse with your peers. Now that I think of it, I do not believe I have ever seen you do anything but trail my brother around at social occasions.” She paused, smiling. “Perhaps,youare the catchweed.”
“I see no reason to be the center of every conversation,” he replied, raising his eyebrow at her.
“Are you suggesting that I do?”
He smirked. “I would not dream of it, Buttercup.”
“Donotcall me that. Do not call me anything but my name and title, as is proper. If you cannot do that, I shall have to consider calling you ‘Barnacle.’ I find that more fitting for you than Catchweed.” She put on the voice that her governess used when she was being particularly stubborn, feeling more comfortable in her authority than she had in years. All thanks to Beatrice.
He laughed tightly in the back of his throat. “Can you and I never be civil?”
“That depends entirely upon you, Barnacle,” she replied. “You are the one who seems intent on antagonizing me. Maybe, you have forgotten that you are a grown man now, and ought to behave accordingly.”
Percival eyed her. “And you should learn not to carry grudges.”
“What grudges?” She folded her arms across her chest and looked outward, if only to avoid Percival’s green eyes.
She searched the emerald lawns, where fine ladies and gentlemen reclined on picnic blankets, beneath canvas awnings, in the warmth of early evening. Platters and baskets had been picked clean of delicacies, the bare sight making her stomach rumble. A lake shimmered in the distance, the landscape truly beautiful, though not nearly as comforting as Greenfield House.
“It matters not,” Percival said evenly. “Now, I know the reason for your ire.”
She glanced at him with cold eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I think everyone as far as London heard your stomach growl, just now.” Percival sipped his drink with a delight that rankled Anna. “Your brother was the same when we were at Eton—had a foul temper if he had not eaten. I suggest you scavenge for what is left before you say something truly unkind.”
It was rare for Anna to anger, and she could count on two hands the number of times she had actually lost her temper, but whenever she was around Percival, he seemed determined to increase that number. She was not even certain if he did it deliberately, or if he was just irritating and provoking by nature. Then again, he never behaved out of turn with Max or Dickie, so perhaps it was part of his nature that was aimed solely at the fairer sex.
“You are already much too thin,” he added. “You cannot afford to miss meals. I could venture inside and find?—”
“I did not ask for your opinion on my appearance,” Anna interrupted sharply. “Nor would I, even if you were the very last man in existence, every mirror had shattered, and every body of water had lost its ability to reflect.”
She stalked off without another word, fearful that if she lingered too much longer, she might do something that would cause a scandal. In her position, slapping a gentleman that society deemed ‘respectable’ was neither inhernature nor of any benefit to the matter of her spinsterhood.
* * *
It had never been Percy’s intention to be at constant odds with Anna. He knew when it had begun and why, and supposed he was too deep into the pattern of behavior to bother trying to change it now. Indeed, he did not know how he would even attempt to be friendly with her.
Or why I allow her to be so… uncouth in my presence.He supposed it was similar to why gentlemen enjoyed fencing: light entertainment, excellent practice for real quarrels with ladies who interested him, and most of the time, he left feeling a sense of triumph. That, and they had known one another forever. The precedent had, unfortunately, already been set.
“Is that you, Sinclair?” Max’s voice called out from the terrace.
The golden early evening had dimmed to a starry, moonlit night, still carrying some of the warmth of the day, though Percy had settled himself beside a brazier to keep away the incoming chill. The garden party had dispersed, with some guests leaving for home and some others taking to their guest chambers to sleep off the wine and the sun, but, for the most part, he had been enjoying having the gardens to himself.
“It is! Come and join me!” Percy called back.
His heart sank as Anna stepped down from the terrace with her two brothers, and seated herself decisively in the lawn chair opposite him. She had been absent from the rest of the party, allowing him to enjoy himself at his leisure, but he had evidently forgotten that she would be residing at Harewood Court for the foreseeable. At least until Dickie took possession of his earldom and returned to their family home.
Max glanced between his sister and his dearest friend. “Have the two of you been quarreling again?”
“I do not know what you mean.” Anna smiled sweetly. “Percival and I are perfectly civil.”
Max laughed. “I believe England and France like one another more than the two of you do.”
“I did think it turned rather chilly when you arrived, Anna,” Dickie teased, throwing down a blanket and laying upon it. “But it soon thawed, and now we must enjoy this beautiful night together. It might be the last I spend with you all as a bachelor.”
