“Large mice, perhaps?” Nick murmured, his gaze on the ceiling, a wry twist to his lips. “Or a pack of demons. Must be one or the other.”
Jenkins politely did not answer and Sara wished Mrs. Stibbons was about. The talkative housekeeper would have given her all the information any one could want. As it was, Sara barely waited for the door to click shut behind the stoic butler before she whirled on her husband. “Anthony has gotten in over his head.” As if to validate her words, a huge crash sounded, followed by a deadly silence.
Nick’s blue eyes lit with mischief. “You know, my dear, this visit may actually afford us some amusement.”
The sound of booted footsteps approaching the door stopped any reply Sara might have made. The door flung open and Anthony entered the room. Tall and broad-shouldered, he made the generous chamber seem small.
Unlike her other brothers who were all made on more elegant lines, Anthony was roughly masculine, his hands large and powerful, his face seemingly hewn from rock. The Elliot blood showed in the straightness of his brows and the sardonic curve of his lips, making him appear cold and impersonal to those who didn’t know him.
“Sara!” he said, a frown resting on his brow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Nick and I were passing through on our way home and thought to see how you fared.”
To Sara’s chagrin, her brother didn’t appear the least gratified to see her. “How long are you staying?”
Sara frowned. “Only for an hour. But if we’re not welcome, we can leave—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m always glad to have you visit,” Anthony said briskly. Normally, that would have been true. But now…
Six weeks ago, his life had been perfectly ordered, his goals to reestablish the Elliot name firmly in place. Anthony rubbed the back of his neck and tried to ease some of the tension that tightened his shoulders. Perhaps he should purchase an estate in America; he could send the children there. If that didn’t work, there was always India. Anthony suddenly realized Sara was talking.
“—she just stomped off. I cannot believe a governess would behave—”
“Wait.” A sinking feeling weighted his stomach. “Not Miss Turner?”
“Weren’t you listening?” At his blank gaze, Sara made a disgusted sound and came to stand in front of him, tilting her head back to stare directly in his eyes. “We ran into your governess as she was leaving.”
“Bloody hell!” He’d paid a fortune for her and for almost three days, he’d experienced some semblance of peace.
Unaware of his turmoil, or perhaps in spite of it, Sara continued, “Miss Turner is gone. It appeared as if her hair and her fat dog had experienced some sort of accident involving feathers and catnip.”
Damn it to hell! He turned to the door and yanked it open. “Desford!”
Sara’s eyes lit with curiosity. “Who is Desford?”
“The eldest of my troublesome wards,” Anthony said grimly. “He thinks to force me into letting him and the rest of the children live with their grandmother, but he is mistaken. I’ll be damned if I let an eleven-year-old dictate to me inside my own home.”
Rushed footsteps sounded in the hallway and Jenkins appeared. “My lord?”
“Find Master Desford and bring him here,” Anthony ordered.
“Yes, my lord.”
Anthony watched the butler climb the stairs before slamming the door closed. He caught sight of his brother-in-law’s amused gaze. “Don’t say a word.”
“Leave Nick alone.” Sara crossed toward the settee. “Perhaps if you showed a bit more patience, the children would not—” She looked down at her foot. A piece of paper had somehow glued itself to the bottom of her shoe. Frowning, she lifted her foot and yanked the paper free, resting her hand on a small escritoire as she did so.
Anthony started to call out a warning, but it was too late. Her slender hand already rested on the edge.
Releasing the desk, she turned back toward the settee, absently smoothing her gown as she went. “Those poor children are probably frightened to death—”
“Sara,” Nick interrupted, his gaze fastened on her skirt. “Perhaps the children have been more difficult than you realize.”
“You have no idea,” Anthony muttered, watching with dark amusement as Sara stared in horror at the inkstains marring her silk gown.
“How did—” She looked at her hand, black streaked from where she’d held onto the escritoire. “Those little devils! Nick just bought this gown for me in London.”
Anthony smiled grimly. “It is their favorite trick. They coated the edge of my dresser the first day they were here and I lost two good cravats before I realized what had happened. They’ve also smeared butter on the seats of chairs and the stems of the wineglasses, not to mention the step railing. Yesterday, for a change, one of them poured honey into my best boots.”
Blinking dazedly, Sara sank onto the settee. “That’s unthinkable!”
Bridgeton chuckled. “’Tis war.”
“So it seems,” Anthony agreed. “The children’s mother was a believer in the freethinking line of child rearing. They have had no rules and little discipline. And now Lady Putney encourages them to excess.”
Sara turned a questioning gaze on her brother. “Lady Putney? Not James’s mother? How could she…Is she here?”
Anthony’s jaw tightened. That was yet another problem. “She demanded to stay until the children had settled. I had thought it would help, since she is a familiar face.” And at first, it had seemed that she’d done just that. But lately it had become more and more clear that she was actively urging the children to new heights of impropriety.
Only the thought of the children’s reaction if he evicted their doting grandmother made Anthony tolerate her presence. Thank God she’d gone to London for the afternoon. At least he was spared that much misery today.
“She’s a horrible, horrible woman,” Sara said.
“To me. However, the children seem fond of her.” Anthony settled into a chair across from Sara’s, but only after he carefully checked the surface and then tilted it over to peer at the fastenings. “Meanwhile, they hate me.”
“But you’ve been so good to them.”
Anthony shrugged. He was used to that reaction from the Elliot family, though it was somehow more difficult to stomach when coming from a four-year-old with soft brown ringlets and wide blue eyes. “The children want far more than I’m willing to give. Sweets for dinner, no bedtime, fewer baths, and the right to live with their grandmother. I told them I would die before I’d allow such nonsense, and I think they took me at my word.”
Nick glanced at the ink-smeared escritoire. “Who is winning?”
“I will,” Anthony said coldly. “One way or another.”
“Hm,” Sara said, though she didn’t look as impressed with Anthony’s pronouncement as her husband. “Anthony, perhaps this has happened for a reason. It is time you married. This problem with the children is simply proof of that fact.”
Anthony shot her a hard glance. “I cannot, in all good conscience, bring a new bride into this household until I have managed to restore at least a little of its former tranquility.”
Sara’s mouth dropped open for a full moment before she managed to ask, “You sound as if you were already planning…To whom?”
“Charlotte Melton.”
“Melton. I believe I’ve heard the name, but I cannot place her.”
“That’s because she hasn’t been presented yet.”
Nick’s smothered laugh irritated Anthony almost as much as Sara’s incredulous expression. “Trust me, she’s very mature for her age,” Anthony said in a stiff voice.
Anthony had known since the day he first met Charlotte that she was exactly the type of wife he needed to reestablish the Elliot name. She was well bred, quiet, and demure—the exact opposite of the Elliots. With a little training, he was certain he could mold her into an outstanding countess and a charming companion.
> “Good God, Anthony,” Sara said faintly. “Just how old is this girl?”
His jaw began to ache. “Eighteen. She was not able to take her season in London due to the death of her grandmother. I had thought to have the wedding this spring, but I cannot ask her to come here without settling my affairs.”
“No,” Sara agreed, her mouth pinched with disapproval. “You couldn’t launch your problems on a chit right out of the schoolroom. Had you chosen a woman, one capable of dealing with life’s little foibles—”
“I would hardly call five misbehaved children ‘foibles.’”
“Devils?” murmured Bridgeton. “Imps? Fiends?”
Anthony had used all those names and more, but he refused to admit it.
A knock on the door heralded the entrance of Jenkins. He opened the door wide and stood to one side. “Master Desford and Miss Selena.”
A boy walked into the room. Thin and pale, with brown hair that proclaimed his Elliot ancestry, he was tall for his eleven years. A pugnacious tilt lined his jaw.
Anthony looked from Desford to the little girl who stood at his side. Selena was the youngest of the hellions. Only four, she was deeply under the influence of her brothers and sisters. She stood, dressed in a pink gown, sucking on one of her fingers, her face framed by soft brown ringlets, her blue eyes wide and unblinking. No angel could have appeared more innocent.
Anthony frowned at Desford. “Why did you bring her?”
“She wanted to come.”
Sensing a trap, but unable to fathom what it could be, Anthony nodded shortly and gestured to Sara and Nick. “Allow me to present my sister and her husband, the Earl and Countess of Bridgeton.”
Desford bowed just enough to show his indifference. Selena stared with wide eyes, but said nothing.
Anthony stifled a sigh and turned to Sara. “This is Desford and Selena. Or, as I like to call them, The Bane and The Baby.”
Nick grinned while Sara smiled gently at the children. “How do you do?”
Desford looked past Sara to the window beyond, too unimpressed to pretend interest.
Anthony’s jaw tightened. “Enough pleasantries. Desford, I wish to speak with you about the ink on the escritoire.”
“Oh? Is that why you were yelling like a common drayman?” A flash sharpened Desford’s brown eyes.
“Don’t act surprised; you knew of it.”
“Of course I knew of it.” A slow curve touched Desford’s mouth. “Selena put the ink on there this morning.”
Anthony looked at the little girl. She stared back with wide eyes, still sucking on her finger. “You must be joking.”
The boy gave his sister a look. “Tell them, Selena. Tell them it was you.”
She removed her finger from her mouth and lisped dutifully, “It was me.” She beamed at everyone while Anthony glared at Desford.
The boy’s expression shimmered with triumph. “Do you want anything else? We were getting ready to play cricket.”
Anthony stood staring down at the boy and the tiny girl, his hands curling and uncurling. He couldn’t very well visit punishment on a four-year-old child who looked uncomfortably like a cherub, and Desford knew it. This new strategy was brilliant, and Anthony wondered wearily how many more confessions he was to hear from Selena over the course of the next few months.
Frustrated, he snapped at Desford, “You and I both know that Selena did not think of this little trick by herself.”
“Yes, I did,” Selena said, suddenly indignant. “All by myself.”
Anthony grit his teeth, aware of Sara’s interested gaze. “We will discuss this later. Return to the nursery.”
Desford shrugged, then bent and picked up his sister, who glared at Anthony over her brother’s shoulder. Jenkins quietly followed the two and closed the door.
Sara turned to Anthony, her eyes dark with understanding. “Oh dear!”
Anthony rubbed his eyes wearily. It was always like this. The children would do something wrong and he would be forced to become a yelling boor in an effort to control them. At first it had worked and they had capitulated before the force of his anger, but they had swiftly banded together until he was outnumbered. Now they not only didn’t care when he was angry, they worked hard to keep him in that state.
Anthony was not used to feeling like a tyrant, especially in his own house. He rubbed a hand over his face. Bloody hell, but what had happened to his well-ordered plans?
“There is only one answer,” Sara said into the silence.
Anthony didn’t open his eyes. He already knew what she was going to say.
She said it anyway. “Anna Thraxton.”
“No.”
“But Anthony, she is the only one who could—”
“You are exaggerating. She’s only been a governess for a year or so. Surely there are better trained—”
“Anna only takes the most difficult positions; I daresay because she can charge higher fees. And she is always successful. She even tamed Lord Radcliffe’s twins and you remember what horrors they were.”
That gave Anthony pause. He’d once had the misfortune of being trapped in a conversation with Radcliffe while the man was taking his sons for a walk. Though Anthony had excused himself with all possible speed, the meeting had confirmed his beliefs that children were best left in the nursery until they were of a more advanced age…like twenty. “She transformed both of Radcliffe’s brats into better-behaved children?”
“In four months. She never takes a position for much longer as she trains her successor while she reorganizes the nursery. Everyone wants to secure her services.”
Everyone but Anthony. “I don’t care how good she is. Anna Thraxton is the last woman I would allow in my house. She’s stubborn, interfering, and impossibly bossy. I’d rather live in my own cellar than have her under my roof.”
“Such fervor,” Nick said, his smile wicked, “but I suppose I can understand. She’s an unforgettable woman. That rich auburn hair implies a very passionate nature.”
“Bridgeton, if you have nothing of value to contribute, then pray leave.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Sara stood, stopping only when her skirt stuck to the edge of the settee. Making a disgusted sound, she pulled the material free, then stared down at a dark splotch on the back of her skirt. “Glue.”
“Glue,” Anthony answered dully. His whole house was a series of traps and countertraps, all arranged by a set of impossible brats wanting to live elsewhere. He was tempted to let them. But the hope that he could, somehow and some way, save these few children and prove that the Elliot curse was nothing more than an illusion, kept him bound to his course. He would save them just as he himself had been saved. And by God, they’d be thankful, the whole lot of them, or he’d have something to say about it.
“Anthony,” Sara said, “Anna is the only one who can turn this mess about, and you know it.”
That was the most damnable part of it—he did know it. But he also knew what Anna Thraxton would do if she were allowed under his roof. Before she’d become a governess, forced by necessity to seek employment, she had been Sara’s best friend since boarding school. Anna had taken advantage of that relationship to tell Anthony what she thought about everything—including him. It was not an experience he desired to repeat.
Peace was all he craved, now more than ever, and Anna Thraxton was the equivalent of a twenty-four-hour display of fireworks—colorful but exhausting. Why, he wondered, did London’s finest governess have to also be London’s most irritating female? It was a damned shame.
Sara went to the door, Bridgeton following. “There is nothing I can do for you if you won’t listen to reason,” she said over her shoulder.
“Well, I won’t listen to crackbrained ideas like that. But thank you for coming, anyway.”
That put her nose out of joint. And it was with a very haughty air that Sara finally took her leave, her husband trailing in her wake, his eyes glowing with suppressed mirth.
&nbs
p; Anthony stood at the window and watched the carriage rumble down the drive. Sara was his favorite sibling—he’d been attached to her since his stepfather had first laid the tiny bundle of baby in his arms. But her marriage to Bridgeton had changed her—happy with her wedded state, Sara was now determined to see as many of her brothers leg shackled as possible. Anthony snorted. If she thought Anna Thraxton was the answer to that problem, she was sadly mistaken.
Unbidden, an image of Thraxton came to mind—tall, auburn-haired, and elegant with a Roman nose and the audacious attitude of a born princess. The last time he’d seen her, they had argued over Bridgeton’s courtship of Sara, and Anna had used the opportunity to inform Anthony that she thought him a complete idiot.
The words rankled still. No one treated him that way. It was insufferable and a perfect example of the discord that would cloud the pristine airs of Greyley House if he allowed her into his life. The last thing he needed was an argumentative woman. That decided, he closed the curtain. He would prevail on his own terms, by God.
Overhead came the rushed footsteps of scattering children. From the sound of it, they were headed down the hallway toward the back stairs, their favorite route of escape.
Anthony held his breath, waiting. Seconds later a scream arose, followed by the hysterical gibbering of the housekeeper. He tilted his head to one side, trying to distinguish sensible words from the loud screeching. Something about a mouse…and a bedpan.
Shaking his head, he crossed the room, remembering that he was supposed to visit the tenant cottages today. Well, he didn’t have time now—he had other fish to fry. Five annoying little minnows, to be exact.
This time he’d hire two governesses. Surely with two of them, the children would finally be under some sort of control. And if that didn’t work…there was always Thraxton. The idea made him wince. Thank God he wasn’t that desperate. Not yet, anyway. More determined to succeed than ever before, Anthony went to discover what new havoc his charges had wrought.