He took the chair she indicated, and a servant brought in a tea tray. For several moments they engaged in desultory small talk, though Greyley listened with only half an ear. His mind was far too occupied with thinking of ways to contain the overly inquisitive Miss Thraxton.

He’d lost ground today, allowing her to sweep the children off for a ride. Had Lady Putney not been present and so obviously wanting the children to herself, he would never have agreed. As soon as he had the opportunity, he would make certain that Miss Thraxton knew he, and not she, was the ultimate authority over the children and everything else at Greyley. He was certain she would disagree, but he was more than ready to deal with her this very moment and would, in fact, welcome the opportunity. A faint sense of surprise made him pause; he was looking forward to the upcoming confrontation.

Anthony wasn’t a man who normally welcomed disputes. He liked things and people to know their places and to stay within those confines. It had always been thus with him; everything in its place, and a place for everything. Since the day he’d stepped foot in Greyley House, he’d determined exactly how he’d wanted it to look. And he’d meticulously worked to make it all it should be. Yet still, the house lacked something. Something…intrinsic. He stared blankly into his cup of tea and wondered what it could be.

Lady Melton set down her cup. “Lord Greyley, I cannot help but feel that there is some other reason you’ve come.”

“There is,” he said. “Perhaps we should move up the wedding date.”

A moment of silence greeted this statement and he was uncertain who was more surprised, Lady Melton or him. What the hell am I thinking? As if in answer, a picture of Anna Thraxton flew to the fore, sending him that mischievous smile when she’d told Selena to ask him her impertinent question.

He frowned at the memory. Perhaps it was time for him to marry, especially if Thraxton was able to restore the nursery to some sort of calm. “Greyley House is in need of a mistress and Charlotte will soon be out of mourning. Perhaps we can marry then.”

“It would have to be a quiet ceremony,” Lady Melton said in her usual calm voice. “We’ll still be in half mourning for six more months.”

He shrugged. He really didn’t care how big of a wedding it was, as long as he wasn’t bothered with any of the details. And he could think of numerous reasons why it would benefit him to get the entire ordeal behind him.

The door opened and Charlotte entered. Anthony stood, eyeing her closely. She was as small as Thraxton was tall, soft and gently rounded. She had wide blue eyes and a wealth of blond curls that tumbled carefully over her tiny ears in the most refined way, quite the opposite of the wild auburn tresses that had shone in the soft light in the library just that afternoon.