An Affair to Remember (2 page)

“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.

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.

Dandridge House, London
August 3, 1816

H
er silk dress rustling delicately, Anna Thraxton pulled off her left glove and tossed the entire contents of her glass of orgeat directly into Viscount Northland’s leering face.

To her immense satisfaction, the pudgy lord reeled back, tripped over his own feet, and landed against a tall potted plant—the very one he’d cornered her behind. Leafy plant and damp viscount went sprawling onto the edge of the dance floor, dirt sliding across the polished floor as the music in the ballroom came to an abrupt halt.

Anna set her empty glass back on the table and replaced her glove. “Oh, dear!” she said loudly. “Poor Lord Northland has tangled his feet and fallen!”

A loud snicker met this statement, for everyone knew Northland was a bumbling fool. A few even knew he was
also an insistent letch who believed the word “no” meant “make me yours, my lusty lord.”

Within moments, His Lordship’s anxious mother had rushed to her son’s side, a servant had righted the upset plant and brushed away the loose dirt, and the music had resumed. Once again, dancers swirled across the floor, and no one was the wiser that Anna Thraxton had efficiently dealt with one of London’s most irritating toadstools.

“Bloody fool,” Anna muttered behind her false smile, picking up her skirts and stepping over the dazed lord as his fretful mother patted his wet face with her handkerchief. That was the problem with being an unprotected female—and a poor one, at that. She was a walking target for every dandy with the desire to embark on a senseless flirtation, and she was getting deuced tired of it.

She shouldn’t have come, and she knew it. But she had been unable to turn away from what had promised to be a truly magical event as the Dandridges’ soirée. Lucinda Dandridge was a particular friend of hers, and Anna had allowed herself to be swayed by protestations of friendship into forgetting one, unavoidable fact—the Thraxtons were no longer sworn members of the
ton
.

Her throat tightened, though she managed to keep her smile rigidly in place. She had once belonged in gatherings such as this; her name and position secured, her bloodlines as pure as anyone else’s. But all that had changed last year when Anna had been forced to accept employment as a governess.

Two circumstances had smoothed the way for Anna in her quest to support herself. First, though she had never been the sort of woman given to cooing over babies or collecting stray dogs and cats, she discovered, to her surprise, that she actually
liked
working with children, especially the older ones. They understood her, and she understood them.

Secondly, since Anna had very little experience in being a governess, the only positions she could find were for the more troublesome charges. But most of the children that had been labeled thusly were nothing compared to Grandpapa and his scheming ways.

Anna knew that her burgeoning reputation was based on only a very few successes—five, to be exact. It would take only one failure and the very members of the
ton
who had spread the word that she was a governess beyond compare would just as quickly condemn her. The thought made her chest tighten.

She impulsively smoothed her silk gown, her heartache easing somewhat at the feel of the rich silk beneath her fingertips. It was a pity she possessed the family weakness. Despite enjoying the most pragmatic of characters, she was sadly addicted to fashion, and heaven knew, she did not have the money to support her addiction. In fact, the blue gown was far more dear than she could afford. French by design and cut of fabulous watered silk, it looked wonderful on her tall frame, and she knew it. Still, that did not excuse her for spending money that should have gone for a new chair for the morning room. A chair that did not have a ripped cover or a sagging seat like all the others.

But somehow, as Lucinda Dandridge’s pleas for her friend’s presence at the soirée increased, the need for a new gown became imminently pressing. Anna had finally succumbed, reasoning that she could buy a new chair with the income from her next position—a hazy bit of logic that she was sure she would find faulty once she examined it in the glaring light of day and away from the mesmerizing effects of blue watered silk.

She looked down at the new satin slippers she’d bought to go with the gown and sighed. No wonder their family was
nigh destitute. Of course, she wasn’t totally at fault. A good deal of the problem lay in Grandpapa’s tendency to disburse their funds on every “guaranteed” investment that came along. Between Grandfather’s spendthrift investments and Anna’s inability to stay within budget, they had found themselves in dire straits.

Anna had been forced to make a decision—debtors’ prison or employment. The decision hadn’t been difficult, but it
had
hurt, especially the realization that the second she became a governess, her old way of life was lost forever.

Of course Grandpapa didn’t see it that way. He firmly believed that their bloodlines protected them from all harm, though Anna knew better. She straightened her shoulders, aware that people had begun to stare covertly. Damn Northland for drawing attention to her; she’d been careful not to put herself forward, but now…

She lifted her chin. Perhaps it was time to leave. She’d make her apologies to Lucinda and—a commotion stirred to life at the door. The crowd parted to reveal Anthony Elliot, the Earl of Greyley, looking devastatingly handsome in his formal black attire.

An older woman dressed in the most atrocious pink flounce tittered excitedly, then said to no one in particular, “Oh, look! ’Tis the Earl of Greyley. I didn’t expect to see
him
here.”

Neither had Anna. The earl was on her list of “people one should avoid at all costs.” He was the half brother of Anna’s best friend, Sara, but there’d been an instant antipathy between Anna and the earl—the kind that made her neck tingle as if she were standing in a violent storm, in immediate danger of being struck by lightning. They’d had more run-ins than she could count, and none had left them on speaking terms.

She watched him stop to greet their host. Tall and broad-
shouldered, he looked like a giant among ants, his tawny hair the color of a lion’s mane—amber shot with streaks of gold. His eyes were the deepest chocolate brown, fringed by such thick lashes that he appeared half asleep.

But Anna knew that air of sleepy watchfulness was a thin guise. Beneath that lazy facade was a mind strong as steel and as sharp as an arrow’s tip. Her gaze flickered past Greyley’s mouth to his firm jaw, and then slid down to where his powerful thighs showed to advantage beneath the snug black fabric of his trousers. It was a good thing she disliked him so much, she thought with a faint stir of approval. She was very susceptible to men with strong thighs.

“Wealthy, titled, and handsome.” The matron in pink flounce leaned toward the younger dab of a female who stood at her side. “Straighten up, Mary! He might look this way. He’s a good catch, even with all those children.”

“Children?” Mary said, unconsciously echoing Anna’s own thoughts. “What children? Mama, I thought the earl was still a bachelor.”

“Lud, child, where have you been? Greyley inherited an entire brood of children. And now that he’s awash with responsibility, speculation is rife that he will wish to marry. I’ve heard it said that he’s worth twenty thousand a year, too.”

Anna barely refrained from snorting aloud. Greyley might be worth twenty thousand a year, but he was also the most arrogant, most insufferable, and most obstinate man to walk the earth.

Mary gasped. “Look, Mama! He’s coming this way.”

Anna followed the girl’s gaze, and sure enough, Greyley was bearing down on them, but his dark eyes were not fastened on the woman in pink flounce, but on Anna. A trill of uncertainty touched her, and her shoulders lifted of their own accord.

Why on earth would Anthony Elliot wish to see
her
? Perhaps he wanted to speak about Sara. Or maybe—

Dear God,
the children
. Anna whirled on her heel and slipped through the crowd, weaving through a crush of people by inserting an elbow here, a polite smile there. She circumvented the earl altogether and reached the foyer as if pursued by the devil himself. Despite the fact that Greyley was a commanding presence, Anna knew it would be some time before he extricated himself from that crowd of milling mamas and their dangling daughters.

She reached the safety of the foyer in what must have been record time, glancing over her shoulder and sighing in relief when she saw no sign of the earl. She called for her carriage, waiting impatiently until it rumbled up.

Anna was just lifting her foot to climb inside when a warm hand closed over her elbow. A hot jolt of sensation trembled up her arm and made her jerk away. Off balance, she reeled backward, her shoe falling from the foot she held aloft and landing with a clack on the cobblestone.

Still wobbling, she was caught in a firm embrace and unceremoniously righted. “Running away?” said a deep, masculine voice. “I would never have thought it of you.”

The warm, smoky timbre of Greyley’s voice made Anna stiffen and she was immediately released. She placed an unsteady hand on the side of the coach and turned to face her accuser. It was very difficult to be dignified when one had to hold one’s stocking-clad foot above the muddy cobblestones, but she thought she managed quite well.

Or she thought she had until she found herself staring into Anthony Elliot’s darkly lashed eyes. Pools of melted chocolate, they made her heart race, her skin heat. Fascinated, she found she could not look away. “I am not running anywhere.”

He gave the carriage a pointed stare.

“I was just, ah, going home. But slowly. I really wasn’t running.”

Amusement softened the hard line of his mouth. He waved the waiting footman away before turning the full force of his heated gaze back on Anna. “Leaving without your shoe, Miss Thraxton?”

Anna followed his gaze to where her shoe lay on its side, looking forlorn and alone on the curb. “I suppose I will need that.”

He picked it up, then turned to her, his eyes almost black in the faint light. “Get into the carriage. If you attempt to put your shoe on here, you’ll drag your hem in the muck.”

The street
was
dirty. And they
were
blocking the entry, not that anyone else was leaving the ball this early. Plus it was her new gown, and it would be a long time before she could afford another. Anna allowed Greyley to help her into the low slung coach, his long fingers resting lightly on her arm. Agonizingly aware of his presence, she found herself savoring his warm, masculine scent. She settled on the seat and deliberately leaned away. “Thank you, Greyley. If you’ll just hand me my shoe, I’ll—”

A warm hand encircled her ankle. Anna was too shocked to do more than stare. Compared to the size of his huge hand, her stocking-clad foot actually looked…small. Even dainty. It was a heady experience for a woman used to hiding her large feet beneath the edge of her skirts.

Greyley slipped the satin slipper over her toes and pushed her heel into place. It really was a pretty foot, Anthony noted with something akin to surprise. Long and delicately made, it said volumes about the fact that this was not an ordinary governess, but a lady of quality. And that was what Anna Thraxton was—a lady of quality reduced by her circumstances to take on employment.

But that apparently hadn’t prevented her from mingling with her peers. It was something of a shock to see her after so long, looking coolly elegant in pale blue silk that made her eyes seem an even lighter silver than usual, her vivid hair attracting his gaze as surely as a lit flame.

Beneath Anthony’s fingers, the warmth of her skin seeped through her silk stockings. Entranced, he slowly slid his thumb across the slope of her foot, relishing the contact. A slow, low heat began to build, brushing over him and leaving a trail of delicate fire.

“I believe my shoe is on.” Anna pulled her foot free, arranging her skirts so that they hid her feet. “Lord Greyley, thank you very much for your assistance, but—”

“I must speak with you,” he said, struggling to regain his senses. Good God, but the children had indeed driven him to distraction. He was dizzy with relief at finally finding a capable governess. “It’s urgent.” He rammed his hands into his pockets, ignoring the call from the driver of another carriage that had pulled up behind them. “We can’t discuss this here. I will call on you tomorrow and we will talk then.”

Her creamy skin touched with pink. “Lord Greyley, I’m afraid I cannot—”

“I wish to hire you and I will pay well.”

To his chagrin, he thought he caught a hint of something like hurt in her eyes as she said, “I’m afraid I’ve already accepted another position with Lord Allencott. I’m leaving this week.”

“Thraxton, just hear me out. That’s all I ask.” He saw her hesitate, and he added softly, “If not for me, then for Sara. I need your help.”

Her generous mouth turned down at the edges. “It is very unscrupulous of you to use my friendship with your sister.”

It was true; he was shamelessly trading on his sister’s
friendship just to get an interview with London’s best governess. In the month since Sara’s visit, things had spiraled even more out of control. His life had well and truly become a hell, and here before him, her chin tilted at a mutinous angle, her luxurious red hair curling over one white shoulder, sat his salvation. “Miss Thraxton…” He grit his teeth. “Please.”

Her eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“So I did.” A mischievous twinkle lit her gray eyes. “Would you mind repeating it? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”

Anthony scowled. “You’re determined to make this difficult, aren’t you?”

“Greyley, I cannot accept your offer, so there’s no more to be said.” She tilted her head to one side, a thick curl of her hair swinging forward to rest on the curve of her breast. “Still…I may know of someone who could help. After all, it had to be quite galling for you to seek me out at all. And the fact that you said please—things must be dire indeed.”