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.”