Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(15)
Percy, however, was glowering. So was the long-nosed older man beside him, the one who had grabbed Marjorie’s hand earlier. Byron. “Someone needs to put a stop to this,” Percy demanded. His expression was so severe that Signa thought to slink back into the safety of her room, knowing she shouldn’t get involved. But still no one had noticed her, and curiosity kept her grounded, pressing closer to the shadows to observe.
“It will be worse if either of us makes a spectacle,” said the man, his lips thinning as Percy stepped out of his reach.
“How many months must we stand by and watch? How long must we allow him to play at this fantasy? My father is no child, and this house is no circus! It’s been half a year, Uncle.” Percy’s fist was balled so tightly that if he hadn’t slammed his crystal flute to the floor at that moment, it might have shattered in his hand. The dark-haired man sighed and drew back several paces while Percy surged forward, demanding the attention of every eye that turned curiously toward him, including that of the man on the chair—who, Signa now understood, was Elijah Hawthorne.
He was rosy cheeked and glossy eyed, with a tall, willowy frame and a head of blond waves. There was a grandness to him, an air of exuberance that said he was someone who could crack the world open with his smile. Someone who kept company with earls and princes, and somehow seemed even grander than them.
“Given how much time they’ve been spending in our home, I thought it only polite to say some words to your guests, Father.” Percy’s smile was thin as he glanced past Elijah to a roomful of guests who looked entirely disinterested in having to observe anything so serious. “I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for coming for this continued celebration of my dead mother.”
Elijah stepped down from the chair as the music quieted, eyes tight on his son, who did not falter amid surprised gasps.
“Seeing as my mother could not eat, dance, be merry, or so much as breathe in her final days, I’m sure she would have appreciated how you all do so endlessly.” Percy squared his shoulders. “And thank you to my father, for continuing to throw these soirees in her honor, so that we may continue to celebrate her death together.” He raised his champagne flute for the toast.
No one dared to move, waiting for the lord of Thorn Grove to speak. To punish his son for his outburst, or somehow mend this disgraceful situation. But instead, Elijah found a platter with a miniature cake upon it and took the plate in his hands. Removing one of his gloves, he plucked the dessert up with his fingers, taking a bite as he approached his son. So quickly that anyone who blinked would have missed it, Elijah shoved the rest of it into Percy’s mouth.
“Come, Percy.” Elijah laughed. “You’re too uptight. Would it be so bad to relax for a single night?”
A crowd Signa could not see gasped as Percy stumbled, spitting the cake out and wiping pink frosting from his lips with a snarl. She couldn’t hear what Percy said to his father; could see only that his mouth moved to spit the words before he shoved away from Elijah.
Laughter rose as Percy reeled back and Elijah stretched his hand out for another flute of champagne. “Now,” he said as he stepped back onto the chair—the music swelling again, as though it had never missed a beat—“where were we?”
Percy stormed out of the room, bolting toward the stairs even as Byron reached for him. He was so quick that Signa hardly had time to stand, unable to retreat to the shadows before he noticed her. Percy’s bitter eyes landed upon Signa’s.
“Nice to see you again, cousin.” He spoke through clenched teeth, trying to still his shaking fists as he looked over the black dress Signa had yet to change out of. “Come to enjoy the party?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve never seen a ball before, and I… I thought… I just wanted to see what it was like.” Signa didn’t have the heart to tell him that frosting smudged his chin. She barely had a voice at all; it felt as though anything above a whisper might break him.
Percy didn’t share the same issue. His voice was a loaded pistol, ready to strike anyone in its path. “Well, now you know. My mother died months ago, and he’s been throwing these ridiculous parties ever since. They last for days, sometimes. Or hours if he gets into one of his moods and has everyone escorted out. I’d wonder why people keep bothering to show up, if not for the fact that these social-climbing deviants have nothing better to do with their time.”
Signa couldn’t tell if talking was helping him blow off steam or was building up even more of it. Either way, she didn’t think it fit to stop him. “I’m sorry—” she began, cut off as he held up a hand.
“It’s no matter, cousin.” Wiping the frosting from his chin, he pushed past her and up the stairs. “Think of it as your welcome to Thorn Grove.”
SEVEN
IT WAS A RELIEF THAT PERCY HADN’T LINGERED. CLUELESS AS TO how to console him, Signa had only watched as he climbed the stairs, muttering that he needed to clear his head. Having decided it best not to loiter—lest she be caught snooping by anyone else—Signa left her hiding place in the shadows. She had every intention of returning to her room to try to clear her own head of the bizarre situation she’d witnessed. Only, the moment she stepped upon the landing, a wash of glowing white flashed in the corners of her eyes.