An Affair to Remember

by Karen Hawkins

  He bit the end of his cigarillo and stared morosely out the window for a long moment, mulling over the unsatisfying aspects of his life and wondering what he could do to fix things. After a moment, he shook himself out of his brown reverie. By God, he was a Thraxton; something would occur to right things. He was certain of it.

  Anna’s quick tread sounded in the hallway. Sir Phineas took two final puffs, then tossed the cigarillo out the window, closed it, and then hurriedly limped to a chair by the cold fireplace and dropped into it. He’d barely managed to pull a nearby lap rug across his knees before the door opened and Anna walked in.

  Tall, auburn-haired, and elegant, with a nose as bold as her spirit, she was a true Thraxton. Every blessed inch of her.

  “There you are,” she said, her smile warming the whole room. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to.”

  “I’m sitting here, dying of thirst.”

  “More likely you were smoking one of your nasty cigarillos.”

  He almost returned her smile, but caught himself in time. Thank God his granddaughter wasn’t a prude. He wouldn’t live with anyone who spouted mealymouthed morality. If he had any complaints, it was that Anna had inherited his own outspoken tenacity along with her grandmother’s overly generous heart. As a result, once his granddaughter took it into her head to help someone, neither heaven nor high water would turn her from her mark.

  Sir Phineas wished she’d find someone more worthy than he for the focus of her astounding efforts. It would help if it were someone well established. Perhaps even wealthy.

  He folded his mouth in what he hoped was a hurt expression. “How can you accuse me of smoking? Didn’t I promise I would quit last Christmas?”

  “So you did, although you were quite careful not to tell me exactly when you were going to quit. I’ve caught you doing it a total of seventeen times since.”

  “Unfeeling, disrespectful girl.”

  “Rude, bamboozling grandpapa,” she said, taking the seat opposite his with a grin.

  “Don’t try to cozen me,” he said, though he was more than a little pleased that she was in such good spirits. “I might look old, but I’m as sharp as a quill.”

  “So you keep telling me.” She eyed him from head to toe. “I vow, but you look fresh this morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Like a rock. Didn’t even hear you return. Tell me, how was the soirée last night? You didn’t stop by to see me when you returned, as you usually do.”

  Her gaze shuttered immediately. “It was lovely.”

  Was it, indeed? Sir Phineas leaned back in his chair. “Any interesting gossip to be heard at the refreshment table?”

  She shrugged, but volunteered no more information.

  Sir Phineas waited patiently. When his granddaughter did nothing more than stare down at the tips of her slippers, he said, “Come, child. I want the latest gossip, descriptions of which women wore the most diaphanous gowns, and which men made asses of themselves. It’s the least you can do since I was unable to attend myself.”

  Anna stood and went to wind the clock that graced the mantel, her face carefully averted. “There was one thing…”

  “Yes?”

  “Lord Northland. He tripped and spilled my orgeat.”

  Sir Phineas looked at Anna’s hand, which was bunched about the clock key so tightly that her knuckles shone white. Damn it all, he should have been with his granddaughter and not tucked into bed like an invalid. “I hope you drew his cork.”

  The air of tension eased a bit, and she turned to smile at him over her shoulder, a look of great satisfaction softening her face. “Nothing so dire as that. Just a little orgeat up his nose. I think I made my point rather nicely.”

  It was a pity he hadn’t been present to defend his granddaughter. “Wish I could have done the honors for you,” he said sourly.

  “I handled him quite well myself.” She set the clock key back on the mantel, a quiver of some emotion lurking in her gray eyes. “It was a lesson to me. I should never have gone to the Dandridges’. I stepped out of my station by doing so, and Lord Northland’s behavior reminded me of that fact.”

  Sir Phineas had to grind his teeth to keep a scowl from his face. In over seven hundred years no Thraxton had done more than dally in trade, and it was a demmed shame to see it start now. Not that he was averse to hard work; he understood the benefits of using one’s own hands to assist those in need. But the Thraxtons were not common laborers. In fact, there was nothing common about any of them. And seeing his granddaughter slaving for a few pence like a mill worker was heartbreaking.

  Anna’s gaze suddenly flickered past his shoulder. “Grandpapa, you were smoking, weren’t you?”

  “Heavens, no. Wouldn’t think of it. Nasty habit, smoking. Often thought they should ban cigarillos and—”

  “Someone was smoking. And they caught the shrubbery on fire.”

  Phineas turned to see a thick column of smoke rising in front of the window. “Damnation, I thought I had extinguished that blasted—” He caught his granddaughter’s amused gaze and added hastily, “Don’t just stand there, yammering away! Tell Hawkes to put it out before the whole house goes up in smoke. As ramshackle as this place is, it would spark like a tinderbox.”

  Her gaze narrowed on him a moment, but she obediently left, and Sir Phineas could hear her talking to the butler. A few moments later the smoke gulped, then turned to steam. Cursing the ill fates that hounded him, Phineas pulled himself from his chair and crossed to the window, where he watched Hawkes pour more water on the blackened bush at the bottom of the stairs.

  It was almost too much to bear, he thought sulkily. And now he was going to be subjected to yet another lecture on the hazards of smoking. Sir Phineas muttered noisily, hurrying to resume his seat before Anna returned.

  She entered the room while he was trying to think of a safer topic than his beloved cigarillos. He cleared his throat. “I say, m’dear, is that a new gown?”

  Sir Phineas wasn’t conversant with his granddaughter’s wardrobe, other than to note that she seemed to have a lot of it. But his innocent remark caused an astonishing reaction; a slow blush crept across Anna’s face. Sir Phineas sat up straighter. His granddaughter never blushed.

  She gave an uncertain laugh. “This old gown? I’ve had it for months. I am expecting a visitor this morning, and I thought I should…I ought to perhaps…” She sank into her chair, her cheeks still pink. “I don’t want anyone to think I cannot afford to dress.”

  Well! This was something, indeed. “Is this visitor anyone I know?”

  Anna fixed him with a hard stare. “Grandpapa, you are not to have anything to do with him.”

  Oh ho! So it was a “him”? Phineas assumed a wounded expression. “As if I would meddle in your affairs.”

  Anna stared at him without blinking.

  Phineas tried to wait it out, but her gaze reminded him a tad too much of his dearly departed wife. “Oh, very well,” he finally said in a testy tone. “I suppose you’re old enough to take care of your own business.”

  “Exactly.” She smoothed her skirts, her coloring returning to normal. “For your information, the Earl of Greyley is coming to see me this morning.”

  An earl, eh? Phineas squinted at the ceiling, trying to recall everything he knew about the earl. He was a man of fortune, if the gossips were to be believed. And an honorable man, too. And there had been some nattering about estates in Derbyshire and farther north. Hm. This could be just the thing.

  Still, it wouldn’t do to appear too excited. Anna was a contrary woman, much like her grandmother. So instead of grinning, Sir Phineas snorted. “Greyley’s a bastard.”

  Anna blinked. “You don’t even know him!”

  “Don’t need to. Heard all about him from Lady Pedalshem. She says he’s a ne’er-do-well.”

  “Lord Greyley is many things, but I’d never call him a ne’er-do-well.”

  “If he’s not a ne’er-do-well, then what is he?�
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  “He’s arrogant, pompous, overly concerned with being right at all costs, and—” Anna clamped her mouth closed.

  Sir Phineas waited, but Anna showed no sign of continuing. He moved restlessly. “At least admit you think he’s a bastard.”

  She turned her fine gray eyes his way. “I will agree to nothing of the kind. I will, however, admit that he is a difficult person. And unscrupulous. And I daresay he has never had a care in his life. Still, I cannot allow you to malign him for no reason other than hearing a bit of unfavorable gossip.”

  The rumbling of a carriage sounded outside. Anna stood so suddenly that it appeared she’d been propelled out of her chair by a forceful boot. Her gaze locked on the open window, her lips parted as if her breath struggled for release. The carriage lumbered to the front of the house and then passed by, the sound fading as quickly as it had arisen.

  Anna sank back into her chair, her face pink as she self-consciously rearranged her skirts. “He’s late, you know. But then he would be.”

  Demme, but something was going on. Anna wasn’t a nervy kind of chit, full of palpitations and silly airs, but she acted like a fluffhead waiting on a beau. This was getting better and better.

  Sir Phineas put his hand into his pocket and carefully smoothed his last remaining cigarillos. While he wasn’t one to hold with the concept of nobility, he had to admit that Greyley’s wealth almost made up for the unfortunate fact that he possessed a title.

  Sir Phineas didn’t believe in titles, not even his own, although he was quick enough to use it when it served him. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to have an earl in one’s pocket. “I’m glad Greyley is stopping by. I’d like to discuss a few things with him, and—”

  “You are not going to meet him.”

  “Why not? I make it a point to meet any man who comes calling—”

  “This isn’t a social visit. He wants to employ my services as governess.”

  Sir Phineas would bet his last shilling that Greyley’s library was stocked with the finest of everything from port to cigars. For a marvelous instant, he pictured himself in that luxuriously imagined library, feet on a wide mahogany desk, a glass of prime port in one hand, a freshly rolled cigarillo in the other.

  Perhaps even a few great-grandchildren scampering about the room.

  The picture warmed him as he cocked a brow at his recalcitrant granddaughter. “Will you accept Greyley’s offer of employment?”

  “No,” she said, her jaw set.

  “Won’t pay a decent wage, eh?” Sir Phineas shook his head, though he kept his gaze on Anna. “A bastard and a nip farthing.”

  “It has nothing to do with money,” she replied hotly. “It’s just that I refuse to contribute to Lord Greyley’s avoidance of his responsibilities.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I daresay you aren’t aware of it, but Lord Greyley inherited some children from his cousin.”

  “Five of’em, last I heard.”

  Anna’s mouth thinned. “You knew about that?”

  Since his retirement from society, Phineas had cultivated a network of elderly ladies whom he met during his stroll in the park each and every morning. Due to their unceasing efforts, no word of gossip, true or otherwise, ever escaped his willing ears. “Everyone knows about Greyley and those children.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I’d have told you if I’d realized you had a fancy for the man.”

  That lit the fires. She blazed at him with such a ferocious look that he had to bite his lip to keep from grinning.

  “I do not have a ‘fancy’ for Greyley. Or any man, for that matter.”

  Sir Phineas didn’t at all care for the way she was speaking through her clenched teeth. “I daresay that’s for the best. I’m not sure I approve of this fellow.” Phineas stood and limped to the window and peered down into the street. “I believe Hawkes has managed to put out the fire.”

  “Until you throw another cigarillo out the window.”

  “I wasn’t smoking, I tell you.” As he stood watching the butler, a large, well-sprung travel coach lumbered down the road. Wide and luxuriously appointed with leather curtains and brass trim, it slowed to a stop at the steps. A footman climbed down from the perch and went to open the carriage door.

  Anna was once again standing. “Has he come?”

  “Lud, no. It’s a coal cart, nothing more.” The sumptuous travel coach seemed very out of place among the shabby-genteel buildings that surrounded it. But even more out of place was the large and elegantly turned Earl of Greyley, just now descending the steps. Dressed in the height of fashion, but with a quiet style that immediately won Sir Phineas’s approval, the earl stood on the front walk and murmured instructions to his footman. Phineas supposed that the earl was a handsome enough man, one who might appeal to Anna’s overly fastidious tastes.

  “If it’s just a coal cart, then why are you staring?”

  “What? Oh, the man looks familiar, that’s all. I think he’s the same scoundrel who tried to sell Hawkes painted rocks for coal just last month.” Phineas dropped the curtain and rubbed his eyes. “Anna, could you fetch my eyeglasses? I believe I left them on the stand beside my bed.”

  Suspicion darkened her gaze, but she went to the door. “Try not to catch the house on fire while I’m gone.”

  Sir Phineas waited for her footsteps to fade up the stairs before he hobbled to the door. “Hawkes!”

  Dressed in a black coat that had seen better days, Hawkes was the only manservant left in the Thraxton household. As such, he was called on to serve as footman, coachman, valet, and butler, all of which he did with so much enthusiasm that Sir Phineas thought him rather simpleminded.

  “My lord?” he asked now, looking annoyingly eager to be of service.

  “Someone is about to knock on the door. Please open it before they do so.”

  Hawkes was gone in an instant and Sir Thraxton hobbled back to his chair.

  Moments later, Hawkes stood in the doorway and said in an irritatingly grand manner, “The Earl of Greyley, my lord. He has come to see Miss Thraxton.”

  Sir Phineas waved the earl to his side. “My granddaughter just left to fetch something. She should be back in a moment. Come and have a seat, Greyley, while we wait for her.”

  Once Hawkes quit the room, Sir Phineas confirmed his first opinions of the earl as he crossed the room toward him. The earl moved with a grace that belied his large size, and Sir Phineas shrewdly guessed there was solid muscle beneath the neatly fitted coat. The man carried himself with real presence and a sense of contained power that bode well. Very well, indeed. It took a strong man to master a Thraxton female. It always did.

  “Hope you don’t mind if I remain sitting—bad knees, you know.” Sir Phineas motioned for the earl to take the chair opposite his. He watched as the earl examined the chair with the faintest lift of his brows. The red velvet chair was hardly the chair for a man of Greyley’s size; it was tiny and delicate looking. Worse, two springs were broken and the worn seat sagged pitifully.

  After surveying it for a moment, the earl perched on the edge, relaxing some when it didn’t so much as creak beneath his weight.

  Phineas decided that a full frontal attack was the only way to cut through the confining civilities before Anna returned. He harrumphed noisily. “So you’ve come for my granddaughter. An excellent choice, if I say so myself. You won’t find a better wife anywhere in London.”

  Greyley gave a lazy lift of an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. I am here to offer Miss Thraxton employment, not marriage.”

  “Employment?” Sir Phineas affected a scowl. “Not asking her to be your lightskirt, are you?”

  That should have shook the man, but instead of looking angry or upset, the earl said coolly, “I’ve come to ask your granddaughter to be governess to my wards, the largest parcel of brats ever to grace the earth.”

  Sir Phineas gave a grudging smile. “Elliots, I take it.”
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br />   “Every blasted one of them. They are about to run me out of my own house.”

  “Not surprised. Don’t mean to speak ill of your relatives, but they are bad ones, the whole lot.”

  “Unfortunately, I agree,” the earl said. “However, the children might be spared if they are exposed to the influence of a common set of rules and some discipline now, while they are still impressionable.”

  “Could be,” Sir Phineas said, regarding Greyley shrewdly. “I should warn you—my Anna’s a pricey parcel. She’s not a woman to be gained without struggle.”

  “I’m willing to pay whatever it takes. Peace must be restored to Greyley House, regardless the cost.”

  Sir Phineas’s blue eyes shone with approval. “Demme, but you’ve a direct way about you. I think you’ll do very well, Greyley. Very well, indeed.”

  Anthony glanced toward the door. The man was obviously addlepated. Where the hell was Anna?

  The old man chuckled, his thin face bright with humor. He was a tall man, but slender, his skin parchment pale, his white hair neatly brushed back from his temples. From the strength of his prominent nose to his glittering blue eyes, Anthony could tell that here was a man who had lived and not regretted a single moment. A pang of envy hit Anthony.

  He frowned. Damn it, why on earth would he envy a man like Phineas Thraxton, a man who had squandered his life on lost causes and, through gross mismanagement of his fortune, had sent his family to the poorhouse? It was ridiculous.

  Anthony decided that today had started out dismally and appeared to be getting worse by the minute. He’d risen far later than he’d meant to, mainly because some fool had closed all the curtains in his bedchamber and it was as dark as a tomb. Then, while he was attempting to find a decent waistcoat among the horrid display of florid atrocities his valet had packed, he’d received a missive from Dalmapple, his man of business who resided at Greyley House, who had written in great detail of the exploits of the children in the week since Anthony had left.

  Apparently Desford had taken his absence to heart and was leading the others into even worse behavior than usual. It was imperative that Anthony conclude his business in London, mainly that of securing Anna Thraxton as governess, and return home as soon as possible.