Page 3 of The Play’s the Thing (The Cricket Club #2)
E ven if he hadn’t written such a rude and outlandishly untrue and foul article, Anna would have disliked the man. In fact, everything about the viscount was unlikeable, including the way he ate his food in such a perfunctory, hurried fashion, as if the taste was something to be tolerated and not enjoyed. She disliked the way he sat, all tall and grand, as if his spine would bend for no one. She disliked the way he spoke, with such monosyllabic, bland answers that others, presumably, should be grateful for. But Anna intensely disliked the way he looked at her. Jacob Wright—she refused to call him Lord Newton in her head—had a terrible way of casting his gray eye upon her, as if he were a sponge soaking up everything, as if all her fibers and sinew and atoms and muscle were on display, there for his taking, there for his probing. Like, if he concentrated enough, he would be able to identify where her bone ended, and her spirit began.
Yes, Anna hated the way he looked at her, but especially how that searing intensity made her feel. Hot and fiery inside. Desirous to act.
It had thrown her, how jarring it was, how invasive. Anna had barely had a moment to contain herself during their introductions before the families were whisked around the dining room table and she was left to sense his gaze as it wandered back to her again and again. Like she was the Rosetta Stone, Jacob was searching for answers, trying to decipher her code.
Anna hadn’t expected the viscount to be so mindful… or attractive. He certainly didn’t look like a newspaperman, whatever that meant. Jacob was tall and lean, with midnight-black hair and a long, confident chin. His nose was straight and noble, his forehead high. It confounded (and annoyed) Anna, but he was the picture-perfect version of a viscount, down to his arrogant behavior. She’d predicted that he would continue his dismissiveness at dinner and be as boorish as he’d been when he left his mother to fend for herself that morning with the guests.
But Jacob wasn’t dismissive, sitting at the head of his lovely oak table, surrounded by his fine crystal goblets and sumptuous food. Curt, maybe. Terse, most definitely. Rude, undeniably. But not aloof. From the angle of his pointy, pronounced jaw, the way his head cocked this way and that, the way his sharp eyebrows twitched after someone spoke, Jacob Wright was all too aware. All too perceptive.
And Anna didn’t like being on his receiving end of such scrutiny. She had a distinct feeling in the pit of her stomach that nothing good could come of it. And yet she was drawn to him. Drawn to the way her skin prickled whenever his attention fell on her; the way her temperature rose as his silence hung in the air, almost lying on top of her like a blanket of snow. Uncomfortable, but also so very satisfying.
Anna didn’t know what had come over her. She couldn’t explain it. Those types of intimate, alarming sensations hadn’t hounded her in years. She’d made sure of that.
Thank goodness for his aunts. Iris and Violet Sherman were two people that one had to experience to believe. Quick to laugh, poking constant fun at one another and their older sister, Rose, they salvaged the awkwardness of the night with a steady stream of lively chatter. Thanks to Jacob, Anna found it difficult to follow their giggles and inside jokes; however, the sound of their voices—high and mellifluous—kept her in a relative state of ease.
The sisters had no qualms amusing the newcomers with their life stories, informing the guests that neither of them had ever married. At a young age, they’d begun a life of service for a neighboring gentry family but had moved on to working in the kitchen of Rose’s home, feeding the needy boarders. They stated all of this in such a matter-of-fact tone that Anna was too caught off guard to be embarrassed by the topic. The Sherman sisters discussed money and hardship as naturally as if it were the weather, something to be dealt with on an everyday basis, but nothing to cry over. To the sisters, every situation in life could be handled with either despair or hope, and it was obvious to all what they chose.
“Of course, all that is over now,” Violet finished, wiping a dab of horseradish cream off the side of her mouth with her napkin. The oldest of the girls, she was a portly woman, tall and robust with an ample chest that appeared to settle on the edge of the table whenever she leaned over. “Our working days are behind us, or so our nephew keeps telling us.”
“Do you have any brothers?” Beatrice asked. Not as adept at hiding her emotions as Anna, her adoration and curiosity for the sisters were written all over her face. Anna wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Unfortunately, she would have to wait and see.
Iris laughed before taking a rather long drink from her goblet. The footman came to her shoulder, filling the glass with wine without being asked. “It’s always just been us,” she said cheerfully, two spots of red warming her high cheekbones. Like Violet, Iris was a big woman—big bones, big voice, big personality. With their dark blonde hair and matching plain features, Anna would have mistaken the sisters for twins if they hadn’t pointed out the ten-month age gap between them. Although, on closer inspection, Violet’s chin was long like Rose’s, making her face not as round as Iris’s.
All the girls were named after flowers, and yet Anna couldn’t find anything dainty or delicate about them other than Rose’s tiny size. They were plain and riddled with thorns; however, that was what made them so charming.
“Our father, bless his soul, never cared about that, though,” Iris went on. “He treated us well and never stood in our way when we wanted to learn anything,” She motioned her goblet toward Jacob. “He was a good, decent man, the very best… just like Jacob. But like our poor nephew, he was destined to be surrounded by women.”
Anna spied Jacob and caught the corner of his mouth inching up, surprising her with a distinct dimple in his cheek. He shook his head, not so much annoyed at the attention as amused by it. Even he wasn’t immune to his aunts’ cheerful antics.
“He won’t be alone for long,” Beatrice piped in. “Our brother is coming home soon. How fortuitous that he will be back before the wedding—” She stopped, glancing anxiously around the table, her gaze landing on the severe viscount. Everyone in the dining room understood why the baronet’s family was visiting, although no one had mentioned the wedding or proposal. It was as if they were all tiptoeing around it, hoping someone else would do the dirty work and bring it into conversation.
Anna glared at Jacob, hoping her anger would pierce through that obstinate head of his. How dare he put such a damper on a momentous occasion? She nudged Beatrice. “Go on, dearest,” she said soothingly. “What were you saying about David and the wedding ?” She stressed the word strongly, knowing that Jacob would redirect his irritation to her. She was not disappointed. The gaze was so acute it almost took her breath away. Again, something inside of Anna tingled when his full attention latched on to her, something hot and deep pinging insistently against her ribcage like a dinner bell. His brow furrowed in consternation as he rubbed the back of his hand across his jaw, back and forth, back and forth, like a clock counting down to an execution.
Beatrice’s stammering brought Anna back to the conversation. “I… I was just saying that we’re all very lucky that David will be back in time.” She lowered her head, her voice coming out strangled and low. “For the wedding.”
“Yes, the wedding!” Violet sang, brandishing her wine glass in the air like a musketeer with his trusty sword. “We cannot wait!” She lunged forward, her chest back on the table. “We always knew these two would find their way back to each other. Didn’t we?” she asked Iris.
Rose tittered adorably from her end, sharing shy, youthful blushes with Sir John. “Stop it, V,” she said. “No one wants to hear those old stories.”
“I do!” Beatrice replied.
Rose covered her face with her hand, the blue-green veins spidering from her skin juxtaposing brilliantly with her pink cheeks. However, it was telling when her protests fell off quickly. Not a word was heard from Sir John either. Anna couldn’t believe how positively smitten her father sat as he watched Rose flush and laugh at her sister’s teasing. At that moment, Anna’s heart felt four sizes too large, gloriously unhindered by the flesh.
“Please? Tell us more,” Beatrice pleaded. “I don’t know anything about Father as a young man. What was he like? Was he dashing?”
Violet’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, the most dashing. All the girls were infatuated with him.”
“Hardly all,” Sir John cut in.
Violet disregarded him with a mischievous smile. “ All of them.”
Beatrice was practically hanging over her dessert plate. “And was he gallant and kind?”
“He was a regular prince from a fairy tale,” Violet answered wistfully. “All the girls in the village did everything they could to gain his attention whenever he rode by. They primped and fluffed their hair, pinched their cheeks, wore their newest dresses, but none of it mattered.” Violet took a sip of her drink, her smile faltering along the lip of the glass. “He only had eyes for one.”
The words lingered in the air, hanging and roving around from ear to ear as if they had a life of their own. When they finally fell, they didn’t seem to land, like they were traveling down a deep, dark well with no bottom. And as they drifted, the joviality of the table morphed into something more somber. Digging up the past might be fun at first, but one’s hands inevitably came away with cuts and bruises.
Oddly enough, it was Jacob who recovered first.
“Oh, come now,” the viscount said, sliding his seat away from the table. Casually, he slung one leg over the other. “Call me a bore, but I’d much rather hear about David and his exploits in India. How long has he been gone?”
Sir John, who had been lost in thought, staring at his untouched raspberry blancmange, perked at the mention of his only son. “Um… yes… David… He’s been gone”—he squinted at Anna—“three years now?”
She nodded. “He sailed right after my sixteenth birthday,” she added.
Jacob tsked , and the sound felt like lashes on her back, each one opening old wounds. “Not the best birthday gift, I take it?” he replied, picking a piece of lint off his knee and flicking it to the side. “India is an odd choice for a peer to make, isn’t it? Especially a first son set on inheriting. I must commend you, Sir John. If my only son told me he was escaping to India, my first thought would have been to chain him to his bed until he got over the idea.” Jacob chuckled to himself, and while the remainder of the guests tried to echo him, the effect came off paltry and cautious.
Anna curled her fingers into the tablecloth. Where was he going with this?
Her father’s grin was forced. He shook his head in a self-deprecating manner. “You got me, my lord,” he replied. “I am soft when it comes to my children. Always have been, I’m afraid. I wanted to chain my son to his bed, believe me, I did. But a man must make his own decisions in life.”
Jacob smiled. His teeth reminded Anna of something feral, an animal playing with its meal before killing it. “I know all about men and the bad choices they make. But surely… India?” He slapped his knee and shrugged his shoulders, playing up his confusion. “From what I’ve heard from my colleagues, many men make the voyage, but not many make it back. It can be a dangerous place for those who aren’t used to the environment and customs. You must have great confidence in your son.”
Sir John’s neck straightened, all sense of levity gone from his countenance. “I have the utmost confidence—”
Jacob cut him off. “And he’s coming home after three years? I thought the company required at least ten before they allowed their workers to visit their homes again. That’s rather odd.”
“You are incredibly informed, Lord Newton,” Sir John said. “In his last letter, David explained that his friend, Phillip, wished to return to England, as his brother passed. He asked David to leave with him.”
“That’s a large request.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Williams replied. “I agree, but they are the closest of friends—”
Jacob continued, “I’m told there are only two types of peers who go to India, and neither of them are adept at surviving.” He locked eyes with Sir John as he leaned toward the table. His long fingers closed around the stem of his wine glass while he swirled it round and round. “The first type has squandered his fortune and is in want of a new one. And the other is the man who has shamed his family so greatly he needs to hide before they accept him back.”
“Jacob!” his mother said. Everyone swiveled their necks toward Rose—everyone except Jacob. His entire being was centered on the baronet.
Anna willed her father to stand up to this brutish tyrant, to put this false viscount in his place. Make him cower, make him apologize, make him rue all his ridiculous hints and insulting innuendos.
Then, suddenly, it came to her, why they’d been called there in the first place. Jacob Wright had no interest in getting to know her father or their family. He only wanted Sir John under his roof so he could embarrass him, demolish his character in front of Rose—ruin any hopes of the couple rekindling the love that had clung to its thin roots all these years. He planned to snuff out the fire before it had a chance to spread. It was so obvious. Anna should have known the second he’d deserted them on his doorstep.
As if she didn’t dislike Jacob enough already, she had a completely new and valid reason.
Over the heady silence, Sir John choked out an anemic laugh, desperately attempting to recover the mood. Jacob didn’t know him at all, Anna noted. If he was expecting an outburst, he wouldn’t get it. The baronet had been raised on restraint and force-fed forbearance at every meal.
Her father opened his mouth to speak, but Anna beat him to it. “It’s funny you only mention two sorts of men, my lord,” she said coolly, as if this conversation’s intent wasn’t to embarrass her entire family. A shiver ran up her spine as Jacob switched his focus to her. She wasn’t cold. If anything, her blood was blazing. “I’ve heard of another type.”
“Oh, have you?”
Anna’s smile was sickeningly sweet. “Oh yes, I have.”
“Please”—Jacob raised his hands—“enlighten us.”
“Thank you, I will.” Anna lifted her goblet and encouraged the party to do the same. When everyone’s crystal was in the air, she continued. “There’s a third sort of man who travels where others are too afraid to go, who forges a path that benefits others more than himself.” She turned to Sir John, granting him a true smile before zeroing in on Jacob. “It is this man who chooses duty above self, chooses obligation over want, chooses service over selfishness. David is a good, decent man, the very best”—her lips were pulled so wide she worried they might crack—“just like his father.”
“I think we can all toast to that,” Iris exclaimed, clinking her crystal with her sisters’. Soon, Anna was kissing glasses with everyone around the table—everyone except Jacob. He’d never lifted his glass. The only thing he lifted was the corner of his mouth—in amusement or annoyance, this time Anna didn’t know.