Dickie glanced at his sister. “What do you say we invite Percy to breakfast with us, Anna?”
“What?” Anna’s head jerked up to look at him.
“It seems as if he has had a rough sort of night. It would be too cruel of us to send him on his way without some eggs, at least,” Dickie replied, jostling his sister’s arm slightly.
Percy shook his head. “I could not trouble you.”
He immediately thought of the clothes-wrapped parcel under his arm, wondering if he would have the time and privacy to put them back. Taking them to read, to understand Anna better, had seemed like a good ideabeforethey returned, but he could not just steal them from under Anna’s nose. Nor could he ask if he might borrow them, not after last night.
“Nonsense. It is no trouble,” Dickie said decisively. “Come, let us retreat to the breakfast room. No need to change your attire, Percy—Max and I are in a similar state of disrepair.”
Dickie walked off without waiting for Max’s agreement, tugging Anna along with him. And as they headed down the hallway to the breakfast room, Max and Percy approached one another as if they were already in the midst of the duel that Max had promised.
“I thought I asked you to be gone,” Max said, wearily.
Percy nodded. “I truly intended to be, but I fell asleep. I promise, I will be gone directly after breakfast.”
“Very well.” Max clapped him on the shoulder. “When all is well at your estate, write to me and I will visit. In the meantime, I hope you can understand why meeting with you will not be possible for a while.”
Percy forced a smile. “Of course, Max.”
He would not tell his dearest friend that it was going to be the greatest loss he had ever endured, to lose both Max and Anna, and to some extent Dickie, in one fell swoop. In truth, he had not felt so despondent since he was a boy, being hoofed out of his own home by his father and stepmother, barely escaping with his life.
* * *
Is this a ploy to utterly torment me?Anna did her best to concentrate on her toast and marmalade, but with Percival sitting across from her, with his shirt unbuttoned, devoid of a cravat, it was a near-impossible task.
She had never seen skin more perfect, lightly browned by the summer sun, nor had she ever seen a neck more… distracting. She could have watched the way his throat bobbed as he ate and sipped weak coffee for hours and not grow bored. She could have spent an entire afternoon admiring the cords that stood out, and the freckles that dotted the column of his throat, and the hint of more that peeked out from the collar of his shirt when he moved. She could have spent a whole evening, fascinated by the lines of muscle that showed through the somewhat flimsy material of that flowing shirt.
Add to that the way he had rolled up his sleeves, revealing browned and muscular forearms, and she was doomed to never eat more than a few mouthfuls of her toast.
“Did you see the fireworks last night, or had you departed already?” Max asked, reminding Anna that her brothers were present.
Percy nearly choked on a mouthful of eggs. “I did. Most diverting.”
“Which fireworks are we referring to?” Dickie replied, with a wicked grin.
Max groaned. “Not now, Dickie. Have a day of rest from your unyielding witticisms, I beg of you.”
“Impossible, Brother. It is an incurable affliction. There are no days of rest from it,” Dickie replied.
“Well, mutter them quietly if you must,” Max said, chuckling despite himself.
Dickie opened his mouth, likely to explain why that would not be possible either, when the butler entered, carrying a silver tray. Upon it, Anna spotted the newspaper that would surely have the scandal sheets tucked inside. It took every shred of willpower she possessed not to leap up and grab it from the tray.
The butler presented the newspaper to Max, before pausing to pass a letter to Percival. Percival took it swiftly and slipped it beneath the table, making no move to open it.
A private matter, I suppose.Anna was almost more intrigued by the letter than whatever was lurking within the newspaper. At first, anyway.
“I suppose we ought to get this over with,” Max said, sliding the wretched scandal sheets out of the newspaper. “Perhaps, the Countess has managed to silence her guests. If anyone can, it is her.”
Dickie sipped his tea. “There is the power of the Countess, and then there is the power of gossip. I wish it were otherwise, dear Anna, but the latter is far more potent.” He smiled. “All will be well. Indeed, remember this—whatever is written about you, I guarantee that they have written far worse things about me.”
With a frown etched upon his brow, Max’s eyes skimmed the pamphlet of gossip and scandal, the furrows growing deeper with each slow movement from left to right.
“Max!” Dickie barked. “Do not keep us in suspense. You know I loathe suspense.”
Max looked up as if he, too, had only just remembered there were others present. “It is… not as grim as we might have thought.” He hesitated. “Actually, it is not all that unpleasant at all. Society will make their judgments, of course, but… I do wonder if this was written by someone who understands you, Anna.”
