But for now, he had to deal with Charlotte. Perhaps he could use the play to his benefit—another opportunity to show her how unsuited they were.

Sighing, he followed Sir Phineas to the dining room. The children had hung a painted canvas behind the wide opening that led to the foyer, making a natural stage area. Chairs had been placed near the curtain in two narrow lines. Sir and Lady Melton sat in the front row of chairs, Charlotte beside them.

Seeing Anthony, the Meltons rose and made their greetings. Anthony shook hands with Sir Melton, said a few brief words to Lady Melton, and bowed over Charlotte’s hand.

“Perhaps you’d care to sit here?” Sir Phineas indicated an empty chair on the front row by Charlotte.

Banishing the urge to tell Sir Phineas to mind his own business, Anthony took the seat and fixed his gaze on the drawn curtain, imagining Anna just behind it.

A rustle moved the curtain and then Elizabeth stepped forward. Dressed in a blue satin gown, a conical hat on her head, a long veil draped over one shoulder, she curtsied. “Good evening, gentle ladies and gentle men.” She launched into a short monologue describing the aspects of the play about to be presented.

Apparently the rendition was a telling of the family history of sorts. As Elizabeth droned on, Anthony’s attention wandered and he stole a glance at Charlotte. She sat staring straight ahead, her eyes focused in the distance, her mind obviously elsewhere. Anthony tried to think of some obnoxious vice he could adopt that would so disgust her that she would recoil in horror. Perhaps if he mentioned that he snored…

The play went on and on, seeming interminably long, though in reality only twenty minutes passed. A whole parade of illustrious Elliot ancestors marched across the makeshift stage. Gradually drawn in, Anthony was impressed with the amount of knowledge the children conveyed about each of the time periods. Truly, Anna had wrought miracles.

Once in a while, one of the children forgot the lines. Immediately a soft voice whispered a prompt from behind the curtain. It had to be Anna. Anthony found himself staring at that place in the curtain, imagining himself with her, hidden from sight, his mouth on hers. He stirred restlessly, leaning back in his chair and shoving his hands into his pockets. Immediately, his fingers closed over the small circle of the talisman ring that Anna had left in his room.

The feel of the warm band of silver eased his frustration. He was far from through with Anna Thraxton. He was a St. John, damn it, and when a St. John wanted something, he made it his, one way or another.

The play continued. To everyone’s amusement, there were plenty of gaffes—Marian came out wearing her costume inside out and Desford stumbled against a table that collapsed beneath him. Once, while in the middle of a mock sword fight, Richard’s sword got tangled in the scenery and he yanked the curtain down on his head.