Chapter 7 #3
It was usually up to Anna to try and intervene and call peace between the two, who had been fighting like brother and sister for years.
Silas’s response was to throw up his hands and remind her that they would usually make up or move past it within a few hours, and Beatrice would be teasing Giovanni about his accent or racing on horseback across the fields.
Yet today, as Anna began to hear the words being exchanged between them, she didn’t feel like this was a normal fight.
“You cannot keep scaring my suitors away!” Beatrice shouted, hands balled into fists—a sure sign of heightened rage.
“It is not my fault if he is a coward,,” Giovanni retorted, his accent thicker than usual, an equally sure sign of his own raised passion.
“He is no coward, just too much of a gentleman to call you out on your poor behavior, and too much of a man to stay and stand it,” Beatrice snapped back. “You are behaving like a perfect brute!”
“Oh really? And here I thought I was the only one being sensible!” Giovanni yelled back. “Whose idea was it that he call you Beatrice?”
“Mine!”
“Are you out of your mind?” Giovanni shouted, throwing his hands up in fury. “You allow him to call you by your first name and you walk with him unchaperoned? Why would you even consider that?”
Like other men with his Italian blood, Giovanni’s instinct was always to pace and gesture when he was enraged. Beatrice, on the other hand, became still and furious, a tall statue of white-hot, flaming anger.
Anna didn’t know how to intervene to bring their tempers down.
In fact, she was not even sure they had noticed she had returned to the garden.
They weren’t speaking like brother and sister, rowing in a family home for all to see and hear.
In fact, Anna felt like this was a private argument between a man and a woman; perhaps, she realized with a jolt, even a man and woman who were more than friends.
“I was not unchaperoned,” Beatrice snapped, pulling herself up to her full height and glaring at him angrily. “Jasper and I?—”
“Oh, Jasper, is it?” Giovanni growled angrily enough to deter anyone but Beatrice. That girl was not afraid of anything and carried on yelling at Giovanni with her chin held high, as if he had not made a sound.
“Silas was here, and Anna was here,” Beatrice shouted. “And it’s my decision if I allow a suitor the intimacy of my first name, not yours! You’ve made that abundantly clear already.”
“Oh, have I?” Giovanni was glaring at Beatrice with such intensity, such dark fury, that Anna felt like she finally had to step in.
“Giovanni, eccoti,” Anna said, hoping that speaking in Italian would bring Giovanni back down to earth and out of his rage. “Silas wants to see you, immediatamente.”
The words had the desired effect. Giovanni pulled his dark gaze away from Beatrice, who was staring him down and breathing heavily, and looked at Anna.
“Of course,” he said, trying his best to slip back into the unflappable right-hand man persona.
He tugged his waistcoat and ran his fingers through his hair.
It was clear to Anna that unlike other disagreements the two had been through, this one was not easy for Giovanni to shake off.
He nodded to Anna politely, refused to look at Beatrice, and walked into the house.
As soon as he left, Beatrice visibly deflated. Her stance wilted, her firm back and fiery eyes disappeared and she sat on a nearby bench, fiddling with her gloves.
Anna watched her carefully. As much as Beatrice had clearly been angry, almost apoplectic with Giovanni, Anna thought that she had also seemed the most invigorated and alive that she had been that day.
It was as if Giovanni brought out a spark in her that the kind viscount couldn’t.
Perhaps it was simply all their shared history and familiarity, or perhaps it was something else.
Anna decided to probe and gently sat down beside her sister.
“What on earth was the cause of all that?” She asked, holding Beatrice’s hand. “You never fight like that.”
“Of course, we do,” Beatrice shook her head, tossing her curls. “Giovanni drives me to distraction with his meddling! We always fight.”
“Not like that,” Anna shook her head, denying Beatrice’s excuse. “What is going on between the two of you lately? What did you mean when you said he had made something abundantly clear?”
Anna thought she saw a flash of something in Beatrice’s eyes, but then it was gone. A dark veil covered them, and Beatrice stood up and pulled her hand away.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, it was simply something said in the heat of the moment,” Beatrice said dismissively. “Nothing is going on. Do not worry, sister.”
Then Beatrice kissed her cheek and went back inside. Anna watched her go, lost in her own contemplations. To her, it seemed there was perhaps much to be worried about. For if her suspicions were right, then there was more going on between Beatrice and Giovanni than perhaps even they knew.
“I shall have to see what I can do to help them figure it out,” Anna mused quietly.