An Affair to Remember

by Karen Hawkins

  Anthony rose and splashed his face with water from the basin on his nightstand. “Which is why I have employed Miss Thraxton.”

  Brand appeared impressed. “Ah, the delectable Thraxton.”

  Anthony turned to his brother. “Delectable?”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t looked at that woman. She’s all leg and bosom, and that hair…” Brand placed his hands over his heart and sighed. “Delectable doesn’t even begin to describe such beauty.”

  Anthony scowled. “I’d thank you to remember that Miss Thraxton is in my employ. I won’t have you troubling her.”

  Every vestige of humor vanished from Brand’s face. “I’ve never forced my attentions on any woman, much less one under your roof.”

  A strained silence filled the room and Anthony grimaced. “I’m sorry, Brand. I’m just a bit worn around the edges.”

  “Thanks to Miss Thraxton?”

  “She’s the most argumentative female I’ve ever met,” Anthony said honestly, wondering why he also found himself wanting to grin. He ruthlessly suppressed the urge. “She’s very forthright, as is her grandfather.”

  “That must be the elderly gentleman I spoke with in the breakfast room. He tried to convince me to purchase two hundred French sheaths.”

  Anthony frowned. “Damn it, I thought I had put a stop to that.”

  “According to Jenkins, he has been hawking them to the upstairs maids. Apparently they didn’t know exactly what they were and thought they were caps of some sort.” Brand chuckled. “Lord, I would have loved to have seen that.”

  “It’s a wonder he hasn’t begun advertising in the Post.”

  A soft knock came at the door. At Anthony’s call, his valet entered the room, a coat carefully folded over his thin arm. “Your coat, my lord,” Ledbetter said. “I took the liberty of brushing it.” He deposited it on the edge of the bed, then stepped into the dressing room and came out with a deep red waistcoat.

  Made of watered silk, it was heavily embroidered with black and gold thread. Anthony frowned. “Where the hell did that come from?”

  “You purchased it last month, while in London.”

  “I must have been drunk.” Anthony waved a hand. “Take it away.”

  Ledbetter managed a pained smile. “I believe you were a trifle to let, sir. However, it is still a very well made garment.”

  “I’ll wear the blue waistcoat.”

  “But my lord, this is very fashionable—”

  “I don’t want fashion; I want comfort. Besides, I’ll be damned if I wear something that sparkles. I’d feel like a Bartholomew boy.” He glanced at the red waistcoat, then grimaced. “While you are fetching a new one, toss that one in the fire.”

  Ledbetter all but gaped. “My lord, the gold threading was very expensive! And the buttons are made of—”

  “I don’t care, just get rid of it.”

  Brand tsked. “Ledbetter, I apologize for my brother. He has no sense of fashion.”

  “No, all of the dandyism in our family settled on you, didn’t it?” Anthony returned, casting a caustic eye over his brother. It was amazing, really, but Brand was never anything other than perfectly dressed. Anthony had seen him at five in the morning, completely besotted with drink, and yet he still managed to appear as if he’d just stepped from his dressing room.

  “My lord,” Ledbetter said in an imploring tone, “please do not ask me to destroy this garment. It is far too fine for such an ignoble end.”

  “Then give it to one of the footmen.”

  “But I—”

  “I don’t care what you do with it, just get it out of my wardrobe. It offends me.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Ledbetter carefully picked up the waistcoat and disappeared into the dressing room. He returned very shortly with two more waistcoats, one a rather plain blue, the other an extravagant green creation.

  He held out the green waistcoat. “If the red one is too uncomfortable, then perhaps you should try this one, my lord. It is quite fetching.”

  Brand sat up. “Good God, are those mother-of-pearl buttons?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Anthony said. “I’ll take the blue one, Ledbetter. Put that other one away.”

  “But sir, I thought perhaps—”

  “The blue one.”

  “Better listen to him, Ledbetter,” Brand said. “He’s in the devil of a temper this morning.”

  The valet hesitated, then glanced at his employer and nodded. “As you wish, my lord.” He laid the blue waistcoat on the bed and then slowly left the room, his shoulders bent, his head down.

  Brand watched him go. “I may attempt to steal Ledbetter from you. He’d get a good deal more joy from dressing a man of fashion than a country squire.”

  “Steal him, if you can. He won’t go.”

  Brand’s blue eyes turned his way. “Paying him through the nose, are you?”

  “You wouldn’t be enough of a challenge. Ledbetter has devoted his life to trying to improve me.” Anthony took a cravat from the pile and carelessly knotted it about his neck. “I think he’s vowed to reform me or die trying.”

  Brand winced. “At least attempt a decent knot.” He indicated his own neckcloth, which was an intricate concoction of knots and ties that defied description.

  “What the hell do you call that?” Anthony demanded.

  “The St. John. It’s my own creation.”

  “How long did it take you to tie it?”

  “Two hours.”

  “That’s half a day!”

  “You know, Anthony, it would do you a world of good to get out more, see some of the world.” Brand carefully smoothed his perfectly pressed cuff. “Might put some polish on you.”

  There were many in society who thought Brandon St. John was a useless fribble, more interested in fashion than else. Anthony suspected Brand’s attachment to the cut of his new waistcoat and the turn of his cuff was simply his way to redirect attention from his private affairs.

  And those, whatever they were, engrossed him an unusual amount of time. “When do you leave?”

  “Don’t you like my company?”

  “Of course I do. Behind that outlandish waistcoat is a man I’m proud to call brother.”

  “My waistcoat is all the crack.”

  “I’m sure it is. Or it will be, once you flash yourself about town. I’m merely surprised you haven’t raced off into the night as you so frequently do.”

  “One must play. And when one has a particularly succulent lady friend who also likes to play…well, the possibilities are endless.”

  Anthony wondered briefly if the reason Brand kept his lady friend such a secret was that she possessed a husband and thus they were required to be discreet. It was a possibility, for Brand had certainly been secretive of late. “Whatever you do, be cautious. I don’t want to have to explain to Marcus how you got your head blown off.”

  “Marcus would draw my claret if I kicked up so much as a breath of scandal. He’s gotten rather peculiar about that lately.”

  “That’s because our youngest brother has been giving him trouble.”

  “Chase has been kicking at the traces again, has he?”

  “And more seriously this time. Marcus wouldn’t give me the details, but he was far from pleased.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have such problems. You and Marcus can run your families any way you wish—I like my freedom.”

  “If you came here to gloat, then be gone.”

  “Actually, I wanted to know if you wished to go for a ride this morning. It’s a lovely day.”

  Anthony glanced at the window. Bright sunlight crept through the curtains and brightened the whole room. A brisk ride might clear his head, too. “I would—”

  Ledbetter burst into the room. “Pardon me, my lord, but your shoes!” He stopped and pressed a hand to his chest, panting heavily. “They cannot be—but they are! I cannot believe—”

  “Damn it, Ledbetter! What about my shoes?”


  “They have gone missing.”

  Brandon frowned. “Missing?”

  The valet nodded. “All of them.”

  “Perhaps they have been misplaced,” Brand offered.

  “No, my lord. They were all there last night. I polish His Lordship’s boots every night, and last night, when I brought them back, all of his shoes were right where they were required to be. I fear someone has stolen them.”

  “That’s odd.” Brand glanced at Anthony. “Who could possibly want your shoes?”

  Anthony knew of at least five little somebodies who might think it amusing to steal his shoes. “I’ll strangle every one of those little monsters.”

  “Ah, the children. I’ll wager you are right. Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless it was Miss Thraxton. Perhaps she harbors a secret passion for you and has taken your shoes and has built a shrine with them in some obscure part of this moldy house.”

  Anthony shot him a dark glance. “Aren’t you needed in London?”

  “No. And even if I were, I wouldn’t miss this little play for the world.”

  Anthony made an exasperated noise. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times that I—” He caught sight of Ledbetter’s averted gaze. “Damn it, we’ll discuss this later. Ledbetter, are there any shoes left at all?”

  “Yes, my lord. One pair, but—”

  “Bring them out.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Now.”

  His mouth pinched with disapproval, the valet bowed and disappeared back into the dressing room.

  “Why do you think they stole your shoes?” Brand asked, still looking annoyingly amused.

  “To irritate me to death.”

  “You are quite red. Be careful or they will succeed.”

  “I’ll be damned if I let a bunch of ill-mannered hoydens get the best of me. When I see them, I will calmly demand they return my shoes or—” Anthony bit off his thoughts.

  “Or?” Brand prompted.

  Or what? What could he take from them? The rides they enjoyed with their governess? He suddenly had a picture of Anna returning to the house, her hair tumbling from her pins, that ridiculous hat with the long white feather caressing her cheek. By God, that’s exactly what he’d do. Maybe then she’d ride with him instead.

  Ledbetter returned carrying a pair of red velvet slippers, ostentatiously embroidered with purple and gilt thread. The tips were slightly pointed and large gold tassels adorned the sides.

  Brand choked. “Bloody hell!”

  “They’re from our beloved Aunt Delphi,” Anthony said, eyeing the shoes with distaste. “She assured me they were all the rage in France.”

  “And to think I complained when she bought me that pair of spangled stockings,” Brand said. “Pray tell me you aren’t going to wear those monstrosities.”

  “I don’t have a choice. I’m going to find Miss Thraxton and show her how remiss she’s been at her position.” Anthony yanked the slippers from Ledbetter’s hand and threw them onto the floor, then rammed his feet into them. His heels hung a good inch over the backs. “Damn it!”

  Brand winced. “I can’t watch this. I’m on my way to the stables to see to Satan. Come and join me if you find your riding boots.” Casting a last, laughing glance at his brother’s feet, Brand left.

  As soon as the door closed, Ledbetter sniffed. “If you don’t mind my saying so, this isn’t a matter for levity. Footwear is an important part of one’s attire.” He glanced at Anthony’s feet and shuddered. “I will be waiting to hear what has occurred to your shoes. I only hope they have not been left in a moldy, damp place.”

  Anthony didn’t answer, but turned and tromped out, gold tassels swinging with each step.

  Chapter 16

  The problem with gambling, whether it be for sport or profit, is that one rarely wins without also losing.

  Mrs. Kemble to Lord Alvaney, commiserating with each other at the annual Huntington Charity Ball

  “Elizabeth, will you read the next section? I wonder if our poor knight will ever find his way home,” Anna said, her face tilted to the sun. It was a lovely morning—warm and sparkling, not a cloud in sight. In fact, it had been the lure of the endless blue sky that had drawn her forth with the children, a blanket, and a book.

  Yesterday had been a complete waste. After Lady Putney and Lord Greyley had descended on the nursery, neither she nor the children had been able to refocus their efforts. Anna had been forced to end their session early.

  But today would be different, she told herself. Today she would not spend a single minute thinking about Anthony Elliot. Not one, she vowed.

  After settling the children on a large blanket on the velvety lawn, Anna leaned back on her hands and let the morning breeze ease her heart. The sun shimmered in the midmorning sky, the grass was green and lush beneath her toes. Above, the tree branches swayed and birds sang. The only jarring note in an otherwise perfect summer day was the stern, stark outline of Greyley House.

  It was just like Anthony Elliot to own a house that cast a dark shade over the surrounding countryside. It reminded her far too much of his overbearing personality.

  Normally, Anna would have been in more agreement with the earl on the need for a routine in the nursery. But for some reason she felt that the Elliot children needed something more than a routine—they needed warmth and sunshine and life. It was as if they were frozen, unable to be children. And she had a strong suspicion that much of the damage had occurred when their parents were alive.

  In a way, that was a relief, for it meant that there was a chance that Greyley could find a way into the children’s affections if he desired. It had surprised her to realize that the earl held the children in some affection already, though he denied it by calling them “devil’s spawn” at every available opportunity.

  She glanced beneath her lashes at the silent Richard, who sat on the very edge of the huge blanket, staring intently at Elizabeth as she read. It was amazing, really, the way he watched her form each sound, almost as if he were attempting to memorize them. Anna watched him for a while, satisfied that he was engaged with the story.

  Elizabeth turned the page, her brow furrowed as she attempted to figure out some of the larger words, her childish lisp comforting. When she came to a word she couldn’t decipher, she would glance at Anna. But Anna patiently waited for her to sound it out.

  Selena and Marian hung anxiously on Elizabeth’s every word while Desford sat staring out across the fields. To a casual observer he didn’t appear to be listening, but Anna noticed the flicker of impatience that crossed his face every time Elizabeth’s reading skill stumbled to a halt.

  Anna stretched her legs to one side, keeping her skirts about her ankles. The sun warmed her shoulders, and she wished she had a morning dress made of lilac muslin. Or perhaps a lovely mint color, one that would bring out just a hint of green in her eyes. She sighed. She so loved pretty clothing. As soon as she received her payment, she’d—

  A small, warm hand settled into Anna’s, and she smiled down at Selena as the child climbed into her lap. Though Desford scowled at the action, Anna settled her chin in Selena’s soft curls, and they sat comfortably as Elizabeth continued with the story. As peaceful as the scene about her was, Anna knew better than to trust it.

  More than once this morning, she had caught Desford whispering to the others. They had immediately stepped apart when they noticed Anna watching. She rubbed her cheek against Selena’s tumbled curls and thought about simply asking the small sprite what was afoot, but she abandoned the idea as soon as she thought it—she wouldn’t set the children against one another. It would destroy what little peace of mind they had.

  Selena squirmed around to a more comfortable position, her chubby cheek resting against Anna’s arm. She remained there all of two seconds before she sat upright, her gaze fixed across the lawn toward Greyley House.

  Anna glanced in the direction the child was st
aring. Stalking across the lawn was Greyley himself, broad shouldered and moving with a lethal, deadly intent. Judging by the dark cast of his expression, something was seriously amiss.

  Elizabeth’s voice trailed into silence, and all the children shifted uncomfortably as the earl came to a stop at the edge of the blanket.

  Then Anna noticed his slippers. She had to bite her lip before she could speak. “I see that you’re still wearing your slippers. Did you forget your shoes?”

  “No,” he said in a voice straining to find patience. “I have not forgotten anything. My shoes are missing.”

  “All of them?”

  “Every damned one.”

  Anna clamped her hands over Selena’s tender ears. “Please don’t use such words in front of the children.”

  Desford snorted. “Why the hell not?”

  “Desford!” Anna said, sending him a frown. “You may forget you are a gentleman when in the presence of your guardian, but not in front of your sisters, if you please.”

  He reddened. “Very well. But only if he’ll do the same.” He jerked his thumb toward Greyley.

  Anna raised her brows. The earl sent her a withering glare, but she did not waver.

  His mouth grew white at the corners, as if it took all of his self-control to keep from saying what he really thought. Finally he took a long, slow breath, then flicked a glance at Desford. “It’s a bargain. I’ll refrain if you will refrain.”

  Desford blinked. “You will?”

  Greyley held out his hand. Desford looked from his guardian’s face to the hand stretched before him. Anna held her breath, wondering if Greyley realized how important this moment was.

  When Desford didn’t move, Anna said softly, “It is only fair for the other children, Desford. They should not be subjected to such language.”

  After a long silence, Desford took Greyley’s hand and managed a manful shake. “Done. I’ll watch my language and so will you.”

  Greyley’s expression softened slightly. “Done.”

  Anna had to give the earl credit. Before last week, he would have blasted them all with a spate of ill temper designed to cow them into obedience. But today he had met Desford on his own terms and they had both walked away the better for it. What was even more amazing was the fact that Greyley, even standing in silly-looking slippers in his own front lawn, his pride a tiny bit tattered, still managed to appear the prince.