“When you were thirteen…maybe fourteen.”
“You didn’t know me when I was thirteen or fourteen.”
“No, but your sister did, and she told some very interesting stories.”
“Stories?” Selena’s blue eyes brightened. “I like stories.”
“So do I,” Elizabeth said.
Maid Marian wiped her nose on her sleeve, her brown eyes hopeful. “Are they funny stories?”
“Some of them are most amusing,” Anna said in a sun-drenched voice, noting how the earl’s eyes had darkened to black.
“I wager they’re boring,” Desford said, wrinkling his nose.
“No one wants to hear any stories about me,” Greyley stated in an implacable tone.
“Not even about…oh, what was her name?” Anna tapped her chin, frowning. “What was—ah! Matilda.”
His face darkened, a slow touch of red climbing his cheeks. “Sara did not tell you about Matilda.”
“Oh, but she did,” Anna said gently. “She even brought some of the sonnets you wrote. We even memorized some of the more humorous passages.”
“Who was Matilda?” Elizabeth asked eagerly.
“A milkmaid that Lord Greyley once knew. A lovely, red-cheeked milkmaid.”
“That sounds romantic,” Elizabeth said with a satisfied air. “I want to hear the story.”
“Matilda was not a milkmaid,” the earl growled.
Anna tapped her chin. “How did that sonnet go? I seem to remember…oh yes! ‘Eyes as bright as coal—’”
“Thraxton,” Greyley said in an ominous voice.
“Yes, my lord?” she said, trying hard not to grin and failing miserably. They were wretched sonnets and she could tell he remembered them all too well.
His gaze glinted. “You are incorrigible.”
“Only if forced.”
Lady Putney’s plump face pinched into a frown. “Greyley, who is this Matilda and why don’t you wish the children to know about her?”
“There was no Matilda. Miss Thraxton is merely offering to make up a story,” he returned shortly. He glinted at Anna. “I shouldn’t let you go, but…” His gaze drifted to Lady Putney. “I suppose I shall.”
“Excellent.”
He didn’t seem at all pleased. “You are the most annoying woman I’ve ever met.”
“It’s a gift, my lord.”
“It’s more a curse.” He looked at her for a long moment, then waved an impatient hand. “Oh, very well. Since this is your first day, you may take the children riding. But as soon as you return, I wish to discuss that damned schedule.”
“Of course.” It would be a very short discussion, indeed. There would be no schedule, not while she was the governess. She smiled at Elizabeth, who watched with an anxious expression. “How long will it take you to get ready?”
Elizabeth clasped her hands together. “No time at all!”
Lady Putney stepped forward. “But dearest, I have candy—”
“No, thank you,” Elizabeth said politely. “I want to ride with Miss Thraxton.”
Marian nodded. “Me, too!” She tugged on Anna’s sleeve. “My pony’s name is Friar Tuck. He’s a piebald and he’s very fat.”
To Anthony’s surprise, the comment seemed to open the door, for soon all of the children except Desford were clamoring to speak about their mounts.
Lady Putney watched it all with a fulminating expression. Stiff with disapproval, she finally drew herself up and left, announcing once more that she’d be in her room with the candy.
The children did not pay her the slightest heed. Anthony’s feeling of satisfaction wiped away his irritation. It had been a masterful stroke to secure Anna Thraxton’s service—although he would have to discover exactly how much she knew about the almost forgotten Matilda. Damn Sara for spreading tales.
He’d been nothing but a green one, still wet behind the ears and head over heels in love with the downstairs maid, who’d had the good sense not to return his declared affections. He’d done what any other young male of his station had done at one time or another—moped about the house until his parents were driven to distraction, lost his appetite for almost two entire days, and written an excessive amount of very bad poetry. What a fool he’d been. He hadn’t thought of the curvaceous Matilda in years.
Miss Thraxton pulled her gloves from a pocket and tugged them on. “I so love to ride,” she told the children. “I named my first horse Sweetums, but I had to change it when I found out she was a he.”
Elizabeth giggled. “Didn’t you know how to tell?”
“Not then. I was only five.”
Selena’s smooth brow puckered. “How can you tell if a horse is a boy horse or a girl horse?”
“What a good question,” Anna said, sending Anthony a look so filled with mischief that an alarm sounded deep in his head. “Why don’t you ask Lord Greyley? He knows all about horses.”
Selena obediently turned her wide, innocent blue gaze toward him, effectively freezing his voice. Good God, what do I say now?
Selena tugged on his coat. “Lord Greyley, how do you tell a boy horse from—”
“There isn’t time,” he choked out. He reached to one side and yanked the bellpull. Jenkins appeared immediately.
“Have the head groom ready the children’s horses and the new mare for Miss Thraxton.”
“Yes, my lord. Is there anything else?”
“See the children to the nursery, will you? They have to change.” He was careful to avoid Selena’s inquiring gaze. “I assume all of you are going?”
They nodded except Desford.
“Well?” Anthony asked.
The boy shrugged, his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders rounded. “I suppose I’ll go. There’s nothing else to do.”
“Excellent,” Anna said. “You are in charge, Desford. Once everyone has changed, gather them together and meet me in the stables. I’ll wait for you there.”
To Anthony’s surprise, Desford gave a sullen nod. Jenkins held the door open and the children filed out.
Anthony barely waited for the door to close before he sent a glare at Thraxton. “You don’t play fair. How the hell was I supposed to answer a question like that?”
She pursed her lips. “Perhaps you could make a sketch.”
“A sketch? You expect me to draw—” He broke off at her grin. “Damn you, Thraxton. This isn’t funny.”
“Nonsense. You need to get used to such questions; they are your children now.”
“More’s the pity.”
“Don’t tell me that. You care for them; I can tell.”
“Of course I care for them,” he said stiffly. “They are my flesh and blood.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. I have tons of relatives and there are several I quite often wish to perdition.”
“I was raised differently. I was raised to believe that my family is my responsibility. I do not take my responsibilities lightly.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed that. If we’re going to discuss responsibilities, there is one thing…”
“What?”
She hesitated, then said, “It isn’t my place to make suggestions, but—”
“No, it isn’t.”
“—you really must watch your temper. How can you expect Desford to refrain from cursing when you do it all of the time?” She shook her head. “You are setting a poor example.”
Anthony was astounded. No one had told him how to act for years. No one. And yet here was a governess—a governess, for the love of God. It was not to be borne.
Worse was the realization that she was right. He did need to be more careful how he spoke in front of the children. The admission was galling, and he glared down at her. She met his gaze with a frank one of her own, uncowed by his scowls, her figure outlined in that damnable riding habit, a faint dimple resting beside her delectable mouth, one strand of lush red hair curling over her ear. She appeared calm and proud and damnably impudent, a
nd he was assailed with the desire to shake her from her certainty.
But he knew where that would lead—to another kiss, just as hot and passionate as before. He’d be damned if he made that mistake again. He turned and strode to the safety of his desk. “I don’t need any advice from you, Thraxton. You are here to see to the children and nothing else.”
“That’s too bad, for I daresay I could do you a great deal of good.”
What the hell did she mean by that? But before he could ask, she was sailing toward the door, her hips swaying gently beneath her skirts.
He watched, mesmerized by the thoughts of the long legs that the skirts hinted at. For the fortieth time that day, he remembered the feel of her long, firm body against his when he’d kissed her. He’d wager his best stallion her legs were nearly as long as his. The thought settled into his groin and heated him thoroughly.
Unaware of the torments he was facing, Thraxton reached the door and turned to toss a gay wave in his direction. “I’m off to the stables to see this horse you have for me. I do hope she has some spirit, Greyley, or I will have to make them saddle another.” With an impudent wiggle of her fingers, she disappeared out the door.
Chapter 10
A man in possession of five unruly children must be in want of a good wife. Either that or a very fast horse.
Mrs. Oglethorpe-White to Lord Bristol during the second intermission of the new play
Anthony stared at the door and then slowly sank back in his chair. Good God, what force had he unleashed on Greyley House? It was true Thraxton had temporarily vanquished Lady Putney, and far more quickly than he’d hoped, but that she would dare assume she could correct him?
Worse was the realization that she had no intention of adhering to the schedule. And that simply could not be borne. He mulled over all the things he should and could say to her, yet none of them seemed forceful enough. Perhaps she’d follow written instructions better. Yes, that was a possibility. He pulled out a sheet of starched vellum and started to write a pithy note outlining Miss Thraxton’s duties, when he realized he was wasting his time.
Miss Thraxton was a woman who would appreciate only direct, face-to-face confrontation. He doubted she’d comprehend anything so subtle as a list of her duties, no matter how plainly written out.
A pounding on the steps told him that the children were now tramping down the stairs on their way to the stables. As their excited voices faded, he was assailed with the unmistakable sounds of peace and quiet.
Perhaps…perhaps she was right and there were benefits to allowing the children to ride more often. For one thing, it would keep them out of the house and away from Lady Putney’s odious presence. And perhaps, if Anthony was willing to concede this point, he could win some concessions in some other areas. He might even allow Thraxton to set her own schedule for her charges…
After a moment, he realized he was staring blankly into the air, his mind not mulling over his recalcitrant governess, but rather that damnable dimple that appeared in her cheek when she was trying not to grin.
“I’m wasting my time,” he muttered, picking up an imposing stack of correspondence. He flipped through it for some moments, though his mind kept returning to the image of Lady Putney’s face when the children chose to ride with their new governess rather than eat her candy and listen to her spew her poison.
He had to admit that Thraxton was already making a difference. Perhaps he had done the right thing in securing her services. Now all he had to do was keep her firmly under control and everything would work for the best. The children’s behavior would indeed improve and the world would know that being an Elliot did not necessarily mean one possessed the morals of an ill bred barn cat.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Anthony had spent most of his life since he’d turned seventeen managing the Elliots. He’d turned his back on the usual enjoyments favored by a young man of fashion, refusing the invitations from his school chums to prizefights and other delightfully vulgar amusements. He’d walked away from them all in order to bring the rancid ranks of Elliots to heel. And he’d succeeded, for the most part. But the cost had been high. He hadn’t had the time to pursue the usual entertainments.
Not that he’d been a monk, by any means. Over the years he’d warmed his bed with a number of liaisons, each carefully conducted with an eye toward society’s rather ridiculous rules. Anthony had been careful to end any affair where it appeared the woman in question was getting more attached than necessary, which happened far too often for his peace of mind. He’d followed the dictates of society and had escaped even a breath of scandal.
All in all, he’d been gifted with an exemplary life. Oh, he occasionally wondered what it would have been like if his youth had been spent on something more frivolous, and there were times when he looked at the charmed lives his half brothers lived and envied their carefree attitudes. But Anthony had more to prove than they. They had been born St. Johns, while he had only the borrowed mantle, one he was determined to earn. He would show the Elliots the error of their lives and prove to all the world that though he’d not been born a St. John, he’d learned the St. John lessons well.
Anthony pushed the stack of letters away and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. If he had one regret, it was that his stepfather hadn’t lived to see his successes. The Elliot fortune was reestablished and the family was no longer the social pariahs they had been. All Anthony needed to do now was to set his own household more firmly in the realms of respectability. And he was about to do that with his marriage.
For some reason, instead of Charlotte’s gentle mien, Anthony saw Anna Thraxton’s saucy smile. What was it about Thraxton that irritated him so? He didn’t know if she was the best governess in London, but she was certainly the most disrespectful. She had no concern for her conduct, other than to win her own stubborn way in every argument. It was maddening, to say the least. But Anthony was not about to let a slip of a governess disrupt his carefully ordered household.
Suddenly too restless to sit still, he rang for Jenkins and ordered a fresh mount brought up from the stables. He’d go and visit his intended. He hadn’t seen Charlotte or her parents since last week, when they’d left for a brief visit to London. That would take his mind off the intractable Miss Thraxton.
Within ten minutes, Anthony was riding down the lane. He told himself he was glad that he didn’t see his incorrigible governess or the children, though he caught himself looking for them even after he turned onto the main road where they would not have gone.
Twenty minutes passed before he reached his destination—a pleasant stone manor house that sat behind a line of trees. He dismounted and handed his reins to a waiting footman, then approached the front door. The air was just cooling with the approach of evening, and he admired the tasteful arrangement of the flowers that lined the front step. The door was opened by a round-faced butler, who immediately bowed him into a sitting room and left to announce his arrival.
He didn’t have to wait long. Moments later, he was joined by a slender, older woman dressed in the height of fashion in an elegant gray dress. Though her brown hair was shot through with silver, her smooth face seemed to belie this one sign of age. She smiled pleasantly at Anthony and held out her hand. “Lord Greyley. What a pleasant surprise.”
He took her hand and bowed. “Lady Melton. How do you do?”
“I’m a bit tired from our journey to London. We just returned last night. I’m afraid you just missed Sir Melton. He’s gone to visit the colonel.”
“I’m sorry I missed him. I hope you don’t mind my coming unannounced, but I was impatient to see how you progressed.”
She gave a quizzical lift of her brows. “More correctly, you were impatient to see Charlotte.”
He bowed again and she laughed. “I never thought to see you so impetuous. Charlotte will be down shortly. Will you have a seat?”
He took the chair she indicated, and a servant brought in a tea tray. For sever
al moments they engaged in desultory small talk, though Greyley listened with only half an ear. His mind was far too occupied with thinking of ways to contain the overly inquisitive Miss Thraxton.
He’d lost ground today, allowing her to sweep the children off for a ride. Had Lady Putney not been present and so obviously wanting the children to herself, he would never have agreed. As soon as he had the opportunity, he would make certain that Miss Thraxton knew he, and not she, was the ultimate authority over the children and everything else at Greyley. He was certain she would disagree, but he was more than ready to deal with her this very moment and would, in fact, welcome the opportunity. A faint sense of surprise made him pause; he was looking forward to the upcoming confrontation.
Anthony wasn’t a man who normally welcomed disputes. He liked things and people to know their places and to stay within those confines. It had always been thus with him; everything in its place, and a place for everything. Since the day he’d stepped foot in Greyley House, he’d determined exactly how he’d wanted it to look. And he’d meticulously worked to make it all it should be. Yet still, the house lacked something. Something…intrinsic. He stared blankly into his cup of tea and wondered what it could be.
Lady Melton set down her cup. “Lord Greyley, I cannot help but feel that there is some other reason you’ve come.”
“There is,” he said. “Perhaps we should move up the wedding date.”
A moment of silence greeted this statement and he was uncertain who was more surprised, Lady Melton or him. What the hell am I thinking? As if in answer, a picture of Anna Thraxton flew to the fore, sending him that mischievous smile when she’d told Selena to ask him her impertinent question.
He frowned at the memory. Perhaps it was time for him to marry, especially if Thraxton was able to restore the nursery to some sort of calm. “Greyley House is in need of a mistress and Charlotte will soon be out of mourning. Perhaps we can marry then.”
“It would have to be a quiet ceremony,” Lady Melton said in her usual calm voice. “We’ll still be in half mourning for six more months.”
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