The conversation flowed the opposite way during the first course. Philip was presented with a bowl of creamy white soup to eat and an older baroness to speak with. Lady Hartle was an average-looking woman, who was tactful enough not to ask about his scar. But by Jove, could the woman talk.
They somehow ended up on the topic of her summer home in Italy—a palazzo that her husband purchased to celebrate their marriage forty years ago. She was hard of hearing in one ear, which made Philip’s end of the conversation a pain to conduct. He wondered, as she asked him to repeat himself for the third time, whether he could use it to his advantage later with Anna.
In the meantime, he smiled and nodded, interjecting with “Hmm” and “I see” when the moment called for his participation. But he was more focused on the whisper of Anna’s voice beside him, engaged in her own conversation with an aging lord. If she was as distracted by Philip as he was by her, she was doing a good job of not showing it.
Despite George having called her an outcast, Anna seemed perfectly well-equipped to entertain her older companion, discussing books with him and skirting an invitation to a literary salon in Bath to be held over the upcoming summer.
It must have been easy for a woman in her position to impress an older gentleman. From what he had overheard, she was funny in a self-deprecating sort of way, genuinely interested in what he had to say, studious and not afraid to show it—and beautiful too, of course.
That last thought took him by surprise.
Since Philip had been back in England, he hadn’t thought twice about a woman’s beauty. Simon and George had wanted him to think about Alicia in that way, but it had been impossible. She was renowned for her good looks. Yet they had never had an effect on him.
But Anna…
Anna was beautiful in a way that struck him. Beautiful like a hardy wildflower that grew regardless of the attention it managed to attract.
He grew uncomfortably warm as the next course was served, and he was forced to face her with the thought of her stubborn beauty in his head.
She was reluctant to speak at first, avoiding his gaze while she sliced into her fish in its dill and cream sauce. He watched her hands work her cutlery, finding himself hoping that she would speak to him, rather than forcing him to make the first move.
Taking a sip of his wine, he scanned the dinner table to see whether any other couples were struggling for words. Instead, he caught the wandering eye of Anna’s father, staring at her while he spoke to George, who was seated beside him.
If she refuses to speak with me, her father will notice and presume that I’ve deemed her unworthy of my attention. I cannot let that pass. The last thing I want is to be embroiled in someone else’s familial drama. Oh Anna, how already you test my pride and patience.
“Good fish?”
Philip shocked himself with that. He doubted he could have asked a more pathetic question.
Anna turned toward him, pausing her meal. Her throat bobbed as she paused, obviously looking for something to say.
“I do not like fish,” she murmured, before taking another bite.
“Then you do not have to eat it.” Philip frowned. He leaned into her a little, then pointed discretely at the woman opposite them. “You could do as the lady over there is doing and hide your plaice under your spinach.”
Her lips twisted as she tried and failed to hide her smile.
She was an obstinate little thing, forcing down a meal she didn’t like just to please those around her.
“I doubt the lady has quite so many eyes on her as I do,” Anna replied, wiping her mouth on her napkin and reaching for her wine.
She did not sip so much as chug it. For her father’s benefit, perhaps?
“You needn’t speak to me just because George told you to, Your Grace. I am flattered—honored—that you are making the effort?—”
“Do you truly believe it is an effort to speak with you?” Philip reached over for the bottle of wine nearby and refilled her glass. “Or perhaps you feel that it is an effort insomuch as I am a poor, or reluctant, conversationalist.”
“I would not dream of judging you so quickly, nor so harshly.” She licked a bead of wine from her lips after taking another sip, seemingly pleased with his attention. She was not quite so timid anymore, the wine having brought a gentle flush to her face. “In fact… everything you have shown of yourself has surprised me, Your Grace. Your quick mind. Your tact. Your discretion…”
She was aware that he had lied about having met her, and had continued to lie into the night. George may have been an aspiring puppeteer, but Philip did not believe that Anna was using him like that. She seemed genuinely grateful that he was keeping her secret. And what a relief that was. He did not need her telling anyone about their encounter.
“Discretion is a virtue that is long lost on this generation of men, I fear. A person’s secrets are no longer his own. Everybody seeks to know them, and exploit them.” He wasn’t just saying this for her benefit. Privacy was something he valued dearly, his own past liaisons kept close to his chest. “If I were to discover another person’s secret and saw no good reason to expose it, then it would follow me to the grave.”
Anna was quiet for a moment, allowing him to taste his meal. He relaxed now that she had addressed him properly. The double servings of wine probably helped in that regard too.
“To you… what would constitute a good reason for exposing someone’s secret, if you were in the possession of one?” she asked, masking her real question behind ambiguities. “Or maybe you are waiting for an opportunity to use it, to gain some sort of advantage.”
“Had I any need of advantages in society, I would not gain them immorally by trading secrets,” he was quick to explain. “And let us be clear. I am not in need of anything but being a decent human being. Which is challenging enough.”
