“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?”