“Two hundred pounds?” Jenkins said swiftly.

But it was a lost cause; Miss Turner never stopped. As she reached the drive, a lone carriage rattled from the stables and pulled to a halt. Miss Turner sent one last, virulent glare at Greyley House, hugged her ugly dog, then clambered into the carriage.

Jenkins had by this time noticed his master’s sister and her husband. His face colored and he quickly stepped forward. “My lady! My lord! I didn’t see you! Please accept my apologies. We’re in a bit of an uproar today and—”

“I’m sorry we didn’t let you know we were coming,” Sara said quickly, trying to soothe the ruffled servant. It was a sign of how badly things were faring at Greyley House to see the usually stoic Jenkins so overset.

“The earl is expected any moment.” The butler opened the door and escorted them inside. “A fire has been laid in the sitting room in anticipation of his return. I will light it now and bring some refreshments while you wait.”

Sara smiled pleasantly, but her attention was already diverted to the foyer. Someone had added two sets of imposing armor at the bottom of the stairs, and a new tapestry adorned one wall.

Anthony loved old things. As the years passed, his house looked more like a museum display than a home. It was yet another sign that he needed a wife. Before Sara could point out such an incontrovertible truth, Nick’s hand closed over her elbow and he firmly guided her toward the sitting room.

They crossed the foyer and Sara noted other changes; one of the bottom spindles on the stair railing was missing, and the mirror in front of the entryway displayed a large crack.

Jenkins caught her inquiring gaze. “Master Desford’s cricket ball.” He opened the door to the sitting room and bowed low. Just as Sara and Nick passed inside, a sound came from upstairs. It began as a low rumble, then increased in volume to a roar, passing directly overhead, then moving away.

“Large mice, perhaps?” Nick murmured, his gaze on the ceiling, a wry twist to his lips. “Or a pack of demons. Must be one or the other.”

Jenkins politely did not answer and Sara wished Mrs. Stibbons was about. The talkative housekeeper would have given her all the information any one could want. As it was, Sara barely waited for the door to click shut behind the stoic butler before she whirled on her husband. “Anthony has gotten in over his head.” As if to validate her words, a huge crash sounded, followed by a deadly silence.

Nick’s blue eyes lit with mischief. “You know, my dear, this visit may actually afford us some amusement.”

The sound of booted footsteps approaching the door stopped any reply Sara might have made. The door flung open and Anthony entered the room. Tall and broad-shouldered, he made the generous chamber seem small.

Unlike her other brothers who were all made on more elegant lines, Anthony was roughly masculine, his hands large and powerful, his face seemingly hewn from rock. The Elliot blood showed in the straightness of his brows and the sardonic curve of his lips, making him appear cold and impersonal to those who didn’t know him.