An Affair to Remember (14 page)

“The children think you the most horrid-tempered man.”

“They do not.”

“Shall we ask them?”

Anthony glanced inside the door to where the children sat doing their work. Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to get close to them. Or anyone, in fact. It was strange, but when he’d come to the Elliots, he’d lost something. Some facet of his personality. A pleasantness, perhaps.

The thought did not sit well, and he glowered. Elizabeth glanced up and caught his gaze. She flushed a bright red and hurriedly lowered her gaze back to her desk. Anthony frowned. Good God, did they actually
fear
him?

“Did you wish to ask the children or not?”

“I’m certain they believe me an ogre. They haven’t given me much chance to show them anything else.”

“True. But then
they
are children.
You
are not.”

“I am the head of my family, Thraxton. I do what I must.”

“Yes, you do. And from what I hear, you meet your responsibilities head on. I was just commenting on the fact that you could do it without growling quite so much. Look around you, Greyley. They are not pieces of bad pottery, but people.” She offered him a friendly smile as if she hadn’t just mortally offended him. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.” With a pleasant nod, she turned back to the room and took her place beside Richard and began helping the boy with his math.

Anthony stood where he was, flexing and unflexing his hands. She expected him to do something, he just knew it. Anna Thraxton was like that, meddling in other people’s affairs and trying to change things. But by God, he would have
none of it. His life had been perfect before the children had arrived. They would conform to his expectations and so would Thraxton, no matter how saucy she’d become.

He turned on his heel and left, heading for his library and the waiting bottle of port. As he went, he caught sight of the new maid hired to replace the one the children had chased off. She was trotting down the hallway carrying a bucket, humming off-key. She skid to a halt on seeing Anthony, then glanced around her like a wild animal looking for somewhere to hide. Before he could say a word, she saw an open door and scuttled through it as if afraid for her life, the bucket sloshing against her leg as she went.

Anthony’s footsteps slowed to a stop. Good God, could Thraxton be right? Had he become so immersed in his own concerns that he was no longer aware of others? Had he become so grim and unapproachable that he was…an ogre?

The thought was as unpalatable as it was unwelcome. Still, Anthony prided himself on being fair. If he had begun to display a severe demeanor, he was certain he’d been provoked. First by the Elliots and now by his charges. Damn them all.

For some reason, knowing he was justified did not help one iota. And it was with a very heavy sigh that he went into his library and closed the door.

“T
his will not do at all,” Sir Phineas told the smirk-faced Elliot ancestors who looked down from their painted prisons on the east wing gallery wall. Greyley’s interest in Anna was not progressing at all as it should. Oh, it had begun strongly enough and there was enough tension in the air whenever they were together that it was quite possible the house might erupt into flames. But for the last week, things had changed.

The problem was Anna. She was simply not cooperating and had forced the earl to avoid her like the plague.

“Give the gal the chance of a lifetime and what does she do with it?” Sir Phineas asked the portraits. “Nothing. Not a blasted thing.”

He walked a little farther down the corridor, then glanced over his shoulder. Seeing no one about, he pulled his last, lone cigarillo from his pocket. He reverently sniffed it, the fragrant scent sending a shiver of anticipation down his
spine. After a long, silent moment, he put the cigarillo back in his pocket with a regretful sigh, and continued on his way.

As awkward as it was, he was going to have to take a hand in the matter. The longer he stayed at Greyley, the more certain he was that this was where his granddaughter should be. It wasn’t just the imposing manor house or the wealth of servants. Rather it was the sense of stern formality that permeated every corner of the house, leaving it as musty and molded as a sepulcher. Someone needed to throw open the curtains and stir the dust into a shower of golden motes. And Anna was very good at stirring things up.

The thunk of his cane on the marble flooring echoed loudly down the hall and made him grimace. This wing was as welcoming as a tomb. And even worse was Greyley himself. He wasn’t much more lively than the frozen pictures that hung overhead. Except when embroiled in an argument. He livened up very nicely then.

For the most part, the earl spent each day holed up in the library with Dalmapple, his man of business, where they tended to the matters of the estate. Afterwards Greyley would take an hour or two to survey the planting of the fields, the construction of the new stables, or some other item. Then he would return to the library and bury himself once more.

Sir Phineas shook his head sadly. The library was the very room he had imagined himself ensconced in, feet on the desk, a box of fresh cigarillos at his elbow and a glass of port in hand. Someway, somehow, he had to get the Earl of Greyley
out
of the library and closer to Anna. But how?

The earl was expending his time on items better left to his minions. Delegation was the answer. That was how Sir Phineas had run his estate, after all.

To be fair, he’d lost that estate, though that had been due more to poor investments than to mismanagement. But he’d learned quite a lot about investing and once he was back on his feet financially…He smiled, leaning on his cane as he left the east wing.

He soon reached the library. The door opened and Dalmapple appeared. Neatly dressed, with a pinched mouth and a pasty complexion beneath a shock of thick, black hair, the earl’s man of business reminded Sir Phineas of a sickly cat.

Dalmapple paused on seeing Phineas, managing a faint, condescending smile. “Good afternoon, Sir Phineas. Were you waiting to see His Lordship?”

“Just on my way in,” Phineas said.

“I’m afraid he’s engaged. Perhaps you could return at a later time—”

“Oh, I won’t keep him a moment.” Phineas hurriedly limped toward the door. He closed it on Dalmapple’s protests and then leaned against the panel in case the imbecile had the poor manners to chase him. After a moment’s silence, Phineas heard the gratifying sound of Dalmapple’s receding footsteps.

Greyley looked up from where he sat at Sir Phineas’s future desk. “May I assist you?”

“Oh no. Just looking for a book to read to while away the afternoon.” He limped to the shelf nearest the desk and pretended to mull over some titles. “Hope I’m not intruding.”

The earl offered a brief smile. “Not at all.” He returned to the papers before him.

Sir Phineas pulled first one, then another book from the shelf. “I daresay you haven’t read
Tales of Woe
by Lord Stanwich, have you?”

“Yes, I have. It’s about an exploration journey to India in 1767.”

Sir Phineas put the book back on the shelf. “What about
Lavinia
by Emma Jenkins?”

“I don’t believe I’ve read that one. It’s a novel of some sort.”

“A novel, eh?” Sir Phineas tucked the book under his arm, and cast an oh-so-casual glance at the desk. “What are you working on, Greyley?”

The earl sent him a glance from beneath his brows, then sighed and replaced his pen in the well. “I hope you have found your stay at Greyley House pleasant.”

“Oh yes. Very pleasant.” Sir Phineas pursed his lips thoughtfully. “But I must say that I am worried about my granddaughter.”

Anna Thraxton was the last thing Anthony wanted to talk about. Not only had she flouted him on their last meeting, but she hadn’t delivered the children’s schedule as he had requested. And now, after their last conversation, he felt awkward even asking for it, as if he were being unreasonable or demanding. It wasn’t a feeling he relished. In fact, the whole affair was making him very irritable indeed. He made a point of sending Dalmapple to visit the nursery every day, and he was pleasantly surprised to hear how well the children were taking to her instruction. Even Mrs. Stibbons had remarked several times that Miss Thraxton was an outstanding governess.

Still, he wanted that damned schedule. And he wanted Thraxton to bring it to him, neatly written, as any good governess would. When it was not forthcoming, he found himself peering out the windows, looking for her and the children, jotting down notes in a vain effort to see what activities were scheduled in the morning, and which in the evening. So far, he could see no sign that there was a schedule of any kind, and the thought irked him all the more. “Your granddaughter is quite unorthodox in her methods.”

“That’s why her fee is so high,” Sir Phineas said with an agreeable nod. “If she were like everyone else, she couldn’t charge such outrageous sums.”

“For what I’m paying, I would expect more than just unusual methods.”

Sir Phineas’s white brows rose. “You sound disgruntled. Is something wrong?”

“I asked her to make a schedule for the children. She won’t do it.”

“Not one for the formalities, my Anna.”

“No. But I have my hopes that she will soon see reason.” One way or another.

“I wouldn’t count on it myself. Stubborn woman. Takes after her grandmother, you know.”

Anthony didn’t reply. Just this morning he’d written a note to the stubborn Miss Thraxton, asking for a copy of the schedule by noon. Anthony cast a dour glance at the corner of his desk where her answer rested.

He’d read that damned note three times already. Just what did she mean by “sticking” it somewhere? Had the note come from one of his brothers, Anthony would have known for certain. Surely Thraxton didn’t mean—

“Ah, I hear Anna now.” Sir Phineas walked to the library window and looked out.

Anthony came to stand beside Sir Phineas. Anna sat in the middle of the garden, the children about her, all except Desford, who stood bouncing a ball a good ten feet away. She was reading aloud. If he leaned toward the glass, he could hear her velvety voice as she told the story of a princess, a gallant knight, and a horrible three-headed dragon.

Tucked in Anna’s lap, Selena sat mesmerized, her doll clutched to her as Anna read of a marvelous battle. Marian stood to one side, a metal tray tied over her chest with a rope, a wooden sword clutched in her hand. Her skirts were tucked into her pockets, and every time Anna read a particularly horrifying description of the battle, Marian would mime the action, her face as fierce as any warrior’s. Elizabeth seemed content just to sit at Anna’s feet, her arms clasped about her knees, her eyes wide. Even Richard sat listening a short distance away, his gaze seemingly glued to Miss Thraxton’s face as she read.

Sir Phineas gave a complacent smile. “Pretty picture, eh?”

“They seem content,” Anthony said grudgingly. “They weren’t so well behaved with the last governess.

“Oh, this is just a lull in the storm. There’s still some fire
in them. Just yesterday young Desford put a snake in Anna’s chamber pot.”

Anthony lifted a brow. “I daresay she put one in his in retaliation.”

“She probably would have, if she’d found it. But I took the liberty to intercede on her behalf. Desford didn’t know what hit him.” Sir Phineas chuckled.

“Up to every row and rig in town, are you?”

“And then some. Still, I have to admire his spunk. Energetic young man. Never stops trying, though he has been more careful since Anna fell and bruised her arm.”

Anthony frowned. “Perhaps I should speak to him.”

“No, no, there’s no need. Besides, Anna would see it as an insult. Daresay she just needs a few more weeks to settle them down a bit.” The old man pursed his lips. “I worry about her, though. She seems a little wan, don’t you think?”

Anthony looked at Anna once more. Sunlight dappled from the trees above, spilling a golden grid across her hair and touching lightly on the line of her nose and cheek. She read with great fervor, every line of her body engaged in the telling of the story, energy radiating from her in an almost visible glow. It was a pleasure just to watch her.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “She looks healthy to me.” Better than healthy. Radiant, even.

Sir Phineas sighed sadly. “She spends far too much time with the children. Even eats her meals with them, which is a mistake. We all need some time on our own.”

That was true. Anthony himself knew how wearing the children could be. Yet Anna seemed to have cast some magic over them, for there had been remarkably little trouble since she’d arrived. Oh, there’d been one or two skirmishes—Anthony’s shoehorn had disappeared and with it two of his best cravats, which later turned up hanging from a tree, made
into a doll hammock of some sort. But nothing more daunting than that had occurred—at least, not to him.

“Poor Anna,” Sir Phineas said, sending a sidelong glance at Anthony. “Daresay you haven’t had the chance to see it yet, but she has a tendency to overdo things.”

“I’ve noticed,” Anthony replied shortly, his gaze falling on her missive once again. There was something to her grandfather’s concerns. It could not be healthy for Anna to overextend herself with the children.

He flicked a careful glance at Sir Phineas. “Perhaps you should say something to Miss Thraxton about pacing herself.”

“She won’t listen to me.” Sir Phineas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But she might listen to you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Nonsense. All you need to do is tell her the way things are, and don’t let her argue. That’s fatal.”

Anthony eyed the old man uncertainly. “From what I’ve seen of Miss Thraxton, being confrontational only makes her argue louder.”

“But she’ll be listening, won’t she? And that, my friend, is half the battle.”

“Hm,” Anthony said. It was an intriguing proposition, confronting Thraxton and winning his way. Very intriguing, now that he’d thought about it.

“If you want my advice,” Sir Phineas continued in an expansive tone, “I’ve always found women more approachable outdoors. When riding, for instance. I don’t know if it’s the sunlight, or the benign effects of exercise, but women seem to be more receptive when you approach them in a natural element.”

That was the silliest thing Anthony had ever heard. Still…he remembered Anna’s frosty demeanor on his few trips to the nursery in the last few days and decided that Sir
Phineas was right; the sunlight and the ease of the situation might serve him very well indeed. If he managed to convince the infuriatingly reticent Miss Thraxton to go riding—just once—he might be able to discover how she was faring in addition to getting that damned schedule out of her. “Miss Thraxton seems to enjoy the mare.”

“Lud, yes. She’d ride for days on end if she could arrange it.”

Anthony hesitated. “If I invited Miss Thraxton to join me for a ride, she might refuse.”

“She might,” Sir Phineas said mildly. “Though I shouldn’t think she’d pass up the opportunity to give her opinion on…your vestibule, for example.” He leaned forward. “She thinks it needs a mural. Mentions it every time she walks through.” The old man’s gaze landed on a wooden box that lay on the surface of the desk, and he brightened. “I say, are those—”

Anthony flipped open the lid and held out the cigarillos. “Have one. My brother Brand gave them to me as a belated birthday present, and I fear they are going to waste.”

“You don’t smoke?”

“No.”

Sir Phineas’s hand disappeared into the box. “Thank you. You are quite generous.” A moment later he headed for the door with a wave over his shoulder. “Until later, Greyley.”

Anthony looked down at the box of cigarillos. Almost half of them were gone.
That trickster
. He grinned reluctantly and then closed the box and set it on the desk. But Sir Phineas was right about one thing: He did need to keep a closer eye on both Anna and the children.

He found himself back at the window, the garden now empty. He stayed where he was, watching the retreating sun spill across the flowers to warm the bench where she’d sat, until Dalmapple returned with more matters to attend to.