“I cannot envision the earl being anything as tame as a pigeon.”

“Ah, but then you know him better than the Elliots. You see, Greyley was raised by his stepfather, St. John, who kept the Elliots at bay until the earl reached his majority. Threatened some of them with bodily harm if they so much as talked to the boy.”

“Sara has mentioned that her father was very protective.”

“Which was a pity in a way. It must have been something of a shock to Greyley to realize just how depraved and deplorable his real family was.” Grandpapa absently pulled a rather crushed cigarillo from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers, the breeze from the open window wafting the pungent scent through the carriage. “Born an Elliot but raised a St. John. An interesting juxtaposition—knavery and honor. I wonder which he fights the most.”

Anna couldn’t picture Greyley wrestling with such weighty thoughts. If there was one thing she knew about the earl from witnessing his actions during his sister’s impetuous marriage, it was that Anthony Elliot’s besetting sin was pride. Anna supposed it was possible that she’d missed some of his finer traits, though time would tell. She’d have ample opportunity to study him in the ensuing months. The thought lightened her mood, and it was with a sense of anticipation that she waited for the appearance of Greyley House.

After several hours, the carriage rumbled through a wide iron gate, the road falling away to the smoother surface of a well-kept drive. “It can’t be much farther,” Anna said, leaning forward to look out the window. “We’ve made excellent time.”

“Indeed.” Grandpapa put the cigarillo to his nose and took a deep breath. After a moment, he gave a blissful sigh and, with obvious reluctance, put the cigarillo back in his pocket.

Anna pretended not to notice. She wondered what the children would be like. They couldn’t be as bad as Greyley made them sound. Still, whatever unpleasant surprises life had in store, Anna could handle them all. She was no stranger to adversity.

She looked out the window just as the carriage cleared the trees and Greyley House came into view. The vista surrounding the house was idyllic. At the bottom of the hill, a stream happily babbled into a blue pond. From the pond, a smooth green lawn rose in gradual slope that was crowned with glorious oaks. All told, it was the perfect setting for a jewel of a house.

But instead of a romantic villa or a typical English manor, high on the hillside stood a square-built house with thick, unrelenting gray walls. Stark, with narrow windows and a facade devoid of frills or ornamentation, Greyley House gloomily surveyed the surrounding countryside. Whoever had placed the house had set it so that the afternoon sun dropped behind it, making the manor appear darker and more sinister in the fading light.

“Good God,” Anna said.

“Makes me think of a prison.” Grandpapa tilted his head to one side. “But I like it.”