It perplexed Percy that Anna did not mind being teased by her brothers, but when he attempted to do so, he was met with simmering fury and barbed words. Other ladies welcomed his attention and light teasing, too. Although, he supposed it made a difference to previous years, when Anna had refused to speak to him at all, beyond a cursory greeting.
“You have found a wife already?” Anna smiled. “That was rather swift. You only just announced that you were in pursuit of one.”
Dickie grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “There is a reason my charm is so famous.”
“Infamous,” Anna corrected, her laughter rippling above the crackle of the fire.
Percy watched her, surprised to find she was quite pretty in the bronzed glow of the firelight. She had always been a strange creature—small in stature, rake thin, with blue eyes that seemed too big for her petite face, light blonde hair that washed any color from her skin, and a few moles dotted across that too pale skin.
He used to say—when she was in earshot—that he thought she had been found beside a fairy mound when she was a baby, cast out by some unnatural, elfin beings, but in that moment, her strangeness was more of an otherworldly beauty, albeit fleeting.
“Alas, I am notthatgifted.” Dickie sighed and flopped onto his back. “My search begins at Westyork, I think. There is bound to be a fine young lady there who will make an excellent countess—do you not think so, Max?”
Max rolled his eyes. “The petition is already with the Royal Court, and I see no reason why it might be denied, so you can cease mentioning it every two minutes.”
“Ah, but Imustmention it constantly. Not for a title, but for inspiration. Otherwise, how will you ever follow my lead and find a bride for yourself?” Dickie replied, wearing a smug expression. “You are two-and-thirty soon, Brother, and I noticed a few silver hairs poking through that great mane of yours. Best be quick about it before your bones begin to ache and you lack the vigor to be a good husband and father. Perhaps, the Matchmaker will take pity on you and find you a bride.”
Percy doubted that a well-positioned gentleman such as Max would need a matchmaker to help him, though it seemed that everyone had been discussing matchmakers of late. He did not know why, for that was usually a private matter.
Max fixed his attention on Percy. “What of you, Sinclair? It is high time there was a Duchess of Granville, no?”
“A weak diversion, Brother,” Dickie remarked, laughing.
Max smiled. “Not a diversion, merely a transition to a more interesting subject.”
“Well, the moment any woman sees Percy’s estate, they would sever their engagement,” Dickie said, tilting his head back to look at Percy. “I mean no offense, but you should know that ladies can be fickle about such things.”
Anna frowned, pulling a blanket tighter around herself. “Why, what is the matter with Percival’s estate?”
“He did not tell you?” Max replied.
“Evidently not.” The temperaturediddrop slightly at the sound of Anna’s grim tone.
But Percy reminded himself that she was a tiny woman who could be felled by a strong breeze, not someone to find remotely intimidating. She had already decided that she could not abide him, even when he did not say something to antagonize her, so no matter what came out of his mouth, she was not going to like it.
“My estate is in disrepair,” he replied stiffly. “I had not visited in a while, and when I returned, with the hopes of residing there, I found it…”
Something lodged in his throat, robbing him of the ability to continue. He simply did not have the words for what seeing his childhood home and rightful seat had done to him.
“Disrepair, my good man?” Dickie turned over onto his stomach. “If your estate is in disrepair, then I have misinterpreted the meaning of the word ‘ruin’ for the entirety of my life.”
A bristle of hurt skittered across Percy’s chest and up into his clogged throat. He swallowed it down quickly, cursing the brazier under his breath for sending ash and smoke in his direction, drying out his throat. It licked higher in protest, resenting the false accusation.
Max clicked his tongue. “It is not that bad, Dickie. I thought you had made a promise to improve your behavior—that begins with tact and empathy.” He offered a smile to Percy. “I apologize for my brother. Why, by this time next season, it will be restored to its former grandeur. Until then, my home is yours, and do not let any of Dickie’s silly remarks make you think otherwise.”
But it was not Dickie they should have been worrying about.
“I beg your pardon?” Anna said breathlessly, sitting rigid in her chair. “He is to residehereuntilnextseason.”
Even in the warming glow of the firelight, and with a complexion already as milk-pale as hers, she had drained of any remaining color. Her big blue eyes seemed impossibly large as they widened in horror, to the point where Percy could neither look away nor keep looking at her.
“It should be no more than a few months. In the meantime, it shall be like one long—verylong—summer, Catchweed,” he said, somewhat curious as to just how far those huge blue pools could widen.
Anna’s eyes quickly narrowed, turning black as the firelight shadows danced across her, making her seem like she might be the offspring of a breed of menacing fairies after all. “I would rather spend my life in perpetual winter, Barnacle. At least in the bitter cold, there is the promise of sanctuary by the fireplace. In the summer, there is no escape.”
He heard the words she did not say—“from you”—loud and clear. Rather than make him feel awkward and unwelcome, however, it brought acid to his tongue and that overpowering impulse to tease her some more.
Meanwhile, Max seemed oblivious to the rising tension, while Dickie watched the exchange with a gleeful grin upon his face, kicking his legs up and down, no doubt wondering who would explode first. If there had been a betting table, he would assuredly have placed a wager.
