“You cannot possibly be any son of mine, fawning over a flower like that,”his father had said, the day he had shown him that precious gift.“You are too like your mother—weak and feeble. I had hoped that, with time, you would prove yourself to be a decent son. I see now that you will never be anything but pathetic. Your mother weakened your blood, that is why. And that is why you are so afraid of your own brother that you seek to behave like a brother to anyonebuthim, because he will be strong and fearsome, and nothing like you.”
To make matters worse, Percy had fought to hold back his tears after hearing those cutting remarks. He was five-and-ten, and should have known better than to allow his emotions to get the better of him, but hearing his mother spoken about so coldly was more than he could bear. His father had beaten him for crying, and his stepmother had watched, delighted.
It was the last time he had cried, and every time he had wanted to be sweet to Anna, the memory had prevented him. The impact of that one moment had prevailed for almost twenty years and as Percy considered it, all he could think was,What a terrible waste of time.
He should have chosen to be better, to be kinder, to bemoregenerous with his compliments and good cheer. He should have decided to do as he pleased, the moment his father chose not to listen about the poisoning. He should have set a course for a brighter, happier future, the very second his father told him not to return and cast out the housekeeper for saving his life.
I should not still be living my life as if he is still alive, and will punish me for anything my stepmother does not like.
Hit with a sudden bolt of inspiration, he raised his fist and pounded it against the side of the carriage.
The driver pulled the horses to a halt and called down, “Is all well, Your Grace?”
“I—” Percy saw Anna’s wounded expression in his mind’s eye, as he had stepped away from her. “I thought we might… um… No, never mind. It is not important. Carry on.”
Anna would not welcome him if he raced back to the Grayling Estate, as fast as the carriage could go. And Max would assuredly demand a duel if he set foot in that manor again tonight. This time, his punishment for his weakness would be at his own hand, and he could think of no greater torment than having to go back to Granville House alone.
* * *
“She is still refusing to speak to me?” Anna said quietly, sipping from a small glass of port. Matilda had been pilfering Beatrice’s stores again, but as Beatrice was there in the private drawing room with the rest of the Spinsters’ Club, Anna guessed she did not mind.
Phoebe offered an apologetic smile. “Caro is young, Anna, and with youth comes stubbornness. I know that better than anyone. Goodness, my two sisters arestillthe most stubborn individuals I have ever met.” She paused. “But she will forgive you when she is ready. And I am sorry that I spoke to you that way earlier; it was unbecoming.”
“Even friends must disagree, sometimes,” Matilda interjected, as she went around the room, pouring more port for everyone. “In truth, I have found that it is from the disagreements, rather than the pleasantries, that people and bonds grow stronger.”
Beatrice nodded and sipped her drink. “Certainly, the most nutritious soil can be found inrespectfuldiscussions of differing opinions. Sometimes, two people must agree to disagree. Other times, one or both may learn something valuable.”
“Remind me of why we do not do this at least monthly, and why the countess is not one of our number?” Matilda asked, grinning. Even now, she still had not quite gotten over the awe of being in the Countess of Grayling’s company.
Beatrice arched an eyebrow. “Forgive me if I am mistaken, but I believe it has something to do with all of you divine ladies being so blissfully married and mothering your respective cherubs.”
“Matilda does not have any cherubs,” Olivia said. “We have been desperately awaiting news, more for the book that will undoubtedly follow, so we can all read it and realize that we are not mad, and we have all endured the same things.”
The countess nodded. “Yes, theremustbe a book. I cannot imagine a more necessary book, in truth, than one regarding the details of pregnancy. It would alleviate many fears, I am sure.”
It was no great secret that Beatrice had been the primary benefactor in Matilda’s publishing endeavors, for no one would have published or sold a book written by ‘Miss Terry’ if the famed countess had not worked some miracles. Had it been authored by a ‘Mrs. Terry,’ perhaps they would have been more obliging, but Matilda had insisted on ‘Miss,’ for otherwise the jest of a pseudonym was moot.
“Forgive me, Countess, but you have never had children, have you?” Leah said, peering shyly above the top of her fan.
Beatrice shook her head. “I was never blessed. I lost a few, though.Thatis something you must write about too, Matilda, for it is not spoken about enough, and I daresay it can make a lady feel as if she has gone quite mad. At the very least, it can make her feel terribly alone.” She waved a hand. “But let us speak of other things.”
“Like Lord Luminport, and how I should like to box his ears?” Phoebe said, pretending to strike at the air.
Anna shuddered. “Anything but Lord Luminport. The sooner I forget his name, the better.”
“What of your moment alone in the Orangery with the Duke of Granville?” Olivia suggested, with a sneaky sort of smile. “You always have the most fascinating arguments. What was it on this occasion? Is he still furious about his rather fetching bruise?”
Anna’s heart lurched into her throat as she recalled the moment that had halted their kiss. She had not meant to touch his bruise, for she had almost forgotten all about it. Ever since, she had been asking herself what might have happened if she had stroked his other cheek instead—would he still have ceased their kiss? Would he have called it a shameful mistake? Would he have stepped away from her, as if she had shocked him?
Probably…
“What is that look for?” Phoebe said, squinting. “I have seen that look before, but I doubt I have ever seen it uponyourface.”
Matilda came to stand behind Phoebe’s chair, also peering at Anna as if she were an exhibit in a museum. “I quite agree with you, Phoebe. Thatisa very odd look to see on sweet Anna’s face. And do you see a flush of pink in her cheeks, or is that merely the light of the room?”
“Idosee a flush of pink.” Phoebe nodded, tilting her head. “How peculiar.”
Anna downed the contents of her port glass. “I do not wish to speak of Percival either. In a way, it is because of him that Caro is not speaking to me, and it is assuredly because of him that my reputation was almost in tatters, and… and… I… Icannotspeak of him."
