The next morning brought an end to the rain and a general increase in Anthony’s surly spirits. Brand left immediately after breakfast, saying he had urgent business in Devonshire to attend to. Another amorous adventure, Anthony decided sourly. He supposed he could sympathize; there was something intriguing about an elusive woman. Especially one who managed to avoid him even while employed under the same roof.
Since their meeting yesterday, Anthony had seen no more of Anna than the trail of her skirt as she whisked around the corner, always just out of sight. Every time she eluded him, he became more determined to seek her out. He’d even attempted to visit her in the nursery, but she’d recognized his tread on the stairs and had escaped out the narrow servants’ passage, leaving her teacup still gently steaming on a table, and a red-faced Lily stammering unintelligibly.
This morning had been no better—he’d ridden after the children who’d left for their morning ride, thinking to catch her there, only to discover two harassed grooms and a footman in attendance rather than Miss Thraxton. Robbed of his quarry, Anthony had stormed home and closeted himself with Dalmapple for the rest of the morning, taking care of matters of the estate and immersing himself so completely that he only occasionally thought of Anna. Once every two minutes or so.
He was just finishing a particularly thistly problem concerning the purchase of a rundown estate in Lincolnshire as a potential future home for Desford once he reached his majority, when a noise drew Anthony to the window.
He pushed back the edge of the curtain and looked into the garden below. On a low bench by the path sat Anna, dressed in a gown of soft blue that made her look as cool and refreshing as a spring breeze. She seemed engaged on some needlepoint, her hands steadily drawing a needle and thread through a bit of cloth.
On the bench across from her sat Desford, a book lying open on the ground at his feet. The boy was obviously on the defensive, his narrow shoulders hunched.
Careful not to make a noise, Anthony opened the window just a bit.
“I don’t have to be here,” Desford said.
Anna calmly took another stitch. “Yes, you do. If you cannot complete your lessons in the morning like the rest of the children, then you will give up your free time and do them now.”
Desford mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Anna lifted her brows. “Pardon me?”
The boy turned bright red and burst out, “The last governess we had never made us finish anything. She was much nicer than you.”
“Then you shouldn’t have chased the poor woman away. I daresay she would be here still if you hadn’t put glue and feathers on her pillow.”
“She deserved worse,” Desford said darkly.
“I agree, especially if she allowed you to leave your lessons unfinished.” Anna slid the needle into the cloth once more. “But now I’m your governess and you must finish your work.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll sit there until you’ve finished. You’ve already missed your morning ride, and you are about to miss your lunch.”
As if on cue, the door from the morning room opened farther down the garden, and two footmen carried out a small table. Mrs. Stibbons followed with a maid and as soon as the table was in place, they draped a white cloth over it, fussing at the wind as they did so.
Anthony raised his brows. So the children were eating outside, were they? And in full view of Desford. Anthony had to give Anna credit—she was a formidable opponent.
Desford watched the preparations with a stubborn glare. Anthony could imagine what he was thinking—there was an almost festive air to the scene as the servants whisked about setting the table, the china clinked like chimes while the silver sparkled in the sun. Above, the swaying trees sprinkled sunlight over the whole.
Anthony shook his head at the grim look on the boy’s face. It was amazing, the amount of stubborn pride contained in that small body. In fact, there was a good deal about Desford’s expression that reminded Anthony of himself at that age. In a way, they were the same—both left alone at an early age, though Desford had no stepfather to guide him.
The thought held Anthony for a full moment and he frowned down at the boy’s bent head. He remembered his own struggle to feel accepted, even with a stepfather who had taken pains to make him feel included. Perhaps he’d been too harsh with Desford. It hurt to admit it, but perhaps Anna was right. Maybe he did owe the children more gentleness.
He grimaced. In another week, that blasted woman would have him playing the harp and wearing skirts.
Anna’s chuckle drifted up to the window. “Don’t look so glum, Desford. You’d better pick up your book. It’s almost noon and luncheon will be ready soon.” She turned her head. “Ah, here come the others now.”
The excited murmur of children’s voices grew near and Elizabeth burst onto the path, followed by Selena and Marian. Richard trailed in the rear, a faint smile on his now-tanned face. Every day the boy seemed taller, somehow.
“There you are.” Anna set her sewing aside and smiled. “How was your ride?”
“I falled off and hurted myself,” Selena said, rubbing her seat, her face puckered. “But I didn’t cry.”
Marian snorted. “Then who was it that made such a racket that Miss Tateham pulled over in her curricle and offered to get a doctor?”
“That’s because I screamed,” Selena said. “But I didn’t cry.” She sent a pleased look at Anna. “I screamed very, very loud. Lots of people came to see my hurted bottom. Would you like to see it?”
“I’m sure it has already been thoroughly examined by now. Are you feeling better?”
Selena nodded regretfully. “It only hurts if I sit.”
Mrs. Stibbons bustled up and clucked her tongue. “Poor thing! I’ll fetch a nice soft cushion for you to sit upon. You’ll be just like a princess.”
“Princesses have hurted bottoms, too?” Selena asked, impressed.
“All the time, on account of their being so delicate.” Mrs. Stibbons gathered the children. “Come and eat, loves.”
Elizabeth started to scamper off, then paused. “Are you coming, Miss Thraxton?”
“Not right now. Desford is still working on his morning lessons.”
“Des, you haven’t finished yet?” Marian asked, incredulous.
Desford straightened his thin shoulders. “No, and I told Miss Thraxton I’d be damned if I would.”
Elizabeth gasped. “You said ‘damned’ to Miss Thraxton? And she didn’t wash your mouth out?”
Desford smirked. “No.”
“That’s because I didn’t hear you say it,” Anna said calmly, pinning the child with a no-nonsense look that made Anthony grin. “Furthermore, you gave your word not to curse in front of your sisters. Have you forgotten?”
Desford flushed. “No.”
“Don’t forget again,” Anna said in a milder tone, as if recognizing the boy’s honesty. “Children, go ahead and eat. Desford will be along when he finishes.”
With Mrs. Stibbons leading the way, the children moved on down the path, chattering loudly and leaving Desford to glare after them.
The housekeeper settled them at the table, made sure everyone was served, then returned down the path to Anna. “What about you, miss? I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“Desford is, too. Perhaps you could bring us a tray in a few moments? We’ll just eat here.”
“Yes, miss,” Mrs. Stibbons said cheerfully. “I think you’re going to be very happy with lunch today. We have shepherd’s pie, one of Master Desford’s favorites.” She offered a warm smile to the boy, then bustled off.
Silence reigned once more, broken only by the low talking and the occasional outburst of laughter from the table on the terrace. Desford kicked at his fallen book, his mouth turned in a sullen frown. Anna sewed quietly, occasionally lifting her face to the gentle summer breeze.
Anthony watched her, aware of a deep ache of dissatisfaction. She was a conundrum, fire one moment, t
hen sitting contentedly in the sun the next, completely at peace with herself and her surroundings. He wondered what she would do if he joined her in the garden, sat with her on the bench, discussed the day’s events with her…A strange peace stole over him.
He wanted more than a short affaire de coeur with her. He wanted her all to himself—days, nights, afternoons, mornings…perhaps if he were patient, she would agree to take a house nearby. That would serve them all the better.
The door from the morning room opened once again and Mrs. Stibbons reappeared, followed by a swarm of servants that descended on the alcove where Anna sat with Desford. Within a short time, a small table had been placed on the flagstones, shaded by a huge oak tree. Two covers had been laid and large plates of food sat under shiny metal domes.
Anna thanked Mrs. Stibbons and waited for the last servant to leave before she rose and took a chair at the table, leaving her sewing on the bench. She opened her napkin and sighed happily. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”
Desford brightened and started to rise. “I—”
“No, Desford. After you’ve finished your lessons.”
He blinked, astounded, and sank back onto the bench. “You would withhold my lunch?”
“And your dinner. And your breakfast tomorrow morning. We both have jobs to do, Desford. Yours is your lessons, mine is to see to it that you do them.”
“I won’t do them.”
“Then you will go hungry.” She picked up a piece of bread and spread marmalade across it, then took a generous bite. “Hm. I do so love orange marmalade.”
Desford stared resentfully as his governess took a bite of shepherd’s pie, the savory scent reaching even Anthony in the window far above. Anna commented on each bite, whether it was about the tenderness of the meat, or the excellent sauce Cook had poured over the potatoes.
Anthony almost chuckled aloud when Desford wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
It was amazing the way Anna approached her charges. She never spoke to them as if they were children, but rather as if they were little adults, capable of understanding the most obscure reasoning. Anthony was suddenly a little jealous of Desford. Certainly Anna had never gone to such lengths of trouble for him. Not yet, at least.
Anna pulled the cover off a dish. “Rice pudding. Isn’t that your favorite?”
Desford looked at the rice pudding with a longing expression. “Does it have sultanas?”
“Lots,” Anna said, scooping up a huge bite and putting it in her mouth. She chewed slowly, such a blissful expression on her face that Anthony chuckled. “Mmmmm.” She swallowed. “I must tell Cook that she’s outdone herself.”
The gentle breeze lifted a tendril of Anna’s hair and wafted the scent of cinnamon through Anthony’s window. He leaned against the window casement and watched as Desford slowly, slowly reached for his book and paper.
Anna ignored the child, merely refilling her dish when she finished the rice pudding. “You’d best hurry,” she said, looking at the bowl thoughtfully. “There’s not much left.”
Desford swallowed, then looked down at his paper. His brow creased. Slowly, by degrees, he began to work. Anthony noticed that Anna didn’t eat anything else, but sat quietly, her face lifted to the sun, a slight smile on her face.
Moments passed and finally Desford shut his book. “There. I finished.”
“Excellent! Now come and eat. Here is some pie. And look, I saved two tarts for you.”
He stood by the table, but didn’t take his seat. “Don’t you want to look at my work?”
She appeared surprised. “Why?”
“To see if I did it correctly.”
“Did you try to do it wrong?”
“No, but…I don’t know. I just thought you’d want to see it.”
“Desford, if you said you did your work, then you did it. And if you made a mistake, I’m sure it was an honest one. We’ll look at it together, once we’ve eaten.” She flashed a smile. “I’m not sure I can vouch for the tarts if you don’t hurry. It was difficult enough to resist the rest of the rice pudding.”
A slow grin broke out on Desford’s face and he joined Anna at the table. Soon they were passing dishes back and forth. Anna said something in a low tone and Desford broke into a rusty laugh. Anthony leaned further out the window to hear their conversation and hit the casement with his shoulder. It creaked in an annoying fashion and Anna’s silver-gray gaze lifted to the window.
Instinct made Anthony step aside. He found himself pressed flat against the curtains, the wall at his back. Feeling like a fool, he stepped away and toyed briefly with the idea of closing the window, but the memory of Anna’s bright gaze made him hesitate. She wouldn’t appreciate any interference from him, not after the way he’d snapped at her yesterday.
The memory made him wince. He’d reacted like a beast, but he hadn’t liked to hear her say that he was wrong in his dealings with Lady Putney. That harridan was damned lucky he didn’t toss her out on her ear. Anna’s belief that he should actually be polite to such a constant thorn in his side was ludicrous.
Of course, he had been wrong to allow Lady Putney to believe that there was something more between him and Anna…he should have put a stop to that nonsense right away. But somehow, it had annoyed him the way Anna had immediately denied the association. She was the most insufferable female he’d ever met.
Desford’s laughter drifted through the window again and Anthony wondered if it was safe to look outside once more. He tiptoed to the window, then stopped.
Bloody hell, what was he doing hiding in his own library curtains like a thief? Greyley House was his, damn it, and if he wanted to look out of the windows, then he could.
He was still standing to one side of the window, debating the merits of joining Anna in the garden or sending a note for her to come to him, when a voice rang out from behind him. “Do you always make it a habit to spy on your employees?”
Anthony closed his eyes and sighed. “Only when they have red hair,” he said, before turning to face the very person he thought was still sitting in the garden below him.
But Anna was much closer than the garden; she stood in his library, arms crossed under her chest, a stern frown on her face. “Greyley, what are you doing?”
The prudent thing would be to retreat to his desk and tell Thraxton he’d talk to her another time. Neither of them were in any temper to discuss anything. Instead, he took the few steps it took to bring him to her. “I was watching the children, not you.”
Just to tease her further, he reached out and captured a tendril of her silky hair. “But if you want me to watch you…”
She pulled away and whisked herself behind a chair, an irritated flash in her eyes. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Greyley, you must stop this nonsense.”
“You, my love, are not nonsense. You are a passionate, caring woman. And I want you. What’s wrong with that?”
She sighed impatiently. “Damn it, Greyley! I cannot concentrate with you—” She bit her lip as if to stop her words.
Anthony raised his brows. She could protest all she wanted—he could see the truth in her eyes. “You like me, Thraxton. Admit it.”
“Of course I like you!” she burst out. “But this…this is highly inappropriate. Not only am I the governess, but you—you are engaged to another woman!”
Anthony hid a wince at the outrage in her voice. “If Charlotte doesn’t mind, why should you?”
“How do you know Miss Melton wouldn’t mind? Have you discussed it with her?”
“No, but she has no illusions about our marriage. It’s all part of the arrangement.”
Anna’s eyes widened. “Arrangement? You call your engagement an arrangement?”
“That’s exactly what it is. A contract. Come, Thraxton, you aren’t a naive child. It’s the way things are done every day.”
“Not in my family. And not in yours.”
“You seem to forget th
at I am not a St. John. When my mother married my father, my real father, they had met only once before. Their parents arranged it all. Later on, after my father died, my mother met my stepfather and she began again.”
“If you had your choice of which you’d rather follow, your father or your stepfather, which would you choose?”
“Anna, not one drop of St. John blood flows in my veins. However much I wish it otherwise, I am an Elliot.”
“And that gives you the right to sin at will.”
Was it sin to want to care for and protect a woman? Was it sin to yearn to discover what she thought about and why she laughed? To want to vanquish the shadows in her silver eyes and to provide her with the best of everything?
Everything, that is, but marriage. He’d made promises to the Meltons, to Charlotte, and he could not renege on them. The small part of him that longed to be a St. John refused to accept that possibility. “Thraxton, I don’t want to argue. Let’s talk about something pleasant.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw, watching her intently. “You are doing miracles with the children, especially Desford.”
“He’s a good child, which you would know if you would give him a chance.”
“Give him a chance? What about him giving me a chance? He’s been against me since the first day he arrived.”
“Yes, and your answer has been to bark orders at him like an ill-tempered general.”
“Bribery, cajolery, starvation,” he said, approaching the chair she hid behind. He set his knee in the seat and leaned closer. She smelled of the fresh breeze of the garden with just a hint of the cinnamon from the rice pudding. “Which of your methods do you suggest I use?”
She met his gaze evenly, her fingers turning white where they clutched the chair back. “How about respect, concern, and consideration? Any of those should do, I would think.”
Anthony thought he’d never seen such tantalizing lips. They were perfectly sloped, drawn by a master hand. “I respect Desford. He’s had a difficult time, losing his parents in such a way. I admire the way he’s tried to protect himself and the others.”
Anna placed a hand in the center of Anthony’s chest and pushed him away in a none-too-gentle manner. “Have you ever told him that?”