“You have no idea,” Anthony muttered, watching with dark amusement as Sara stared in horror at the inkstains marring her silk gown.

“How did—” She looked at her hand, black streaked from where she’d held onto the escritoire. “Those little devils! Nick just bought this gown for me in London.”

Anthony smiled grimly. “It is their favorite trick. They coated the edge of my dresser the first day they were here and I lost two good cravats before I realized what had happened. They’ve also smeared butter on the seats of chairs and the stems of the wineglasses, not to mention the step railing. Yesterday, for a change, one of them poured honey into my best boots.”

Blinking dazedly, Sara sank onto the settee. “That’s unthinkable!”

Bridgeton chuckled. “’Tis war.”

“So it seems,” Anthony agreed. “The children’s mother was a believer in the freethinking line of child rearing. They have had no rules and little discipline. And now Lady Putney encourages them to excess.”

Sara turned a questioning gaze on her brother. “Lady Putney? Not James’s mother? How could she…Is she here?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened. That was yet another problem. “She demanded to stay until the children had settled. I had thought it would help, since she is a familiar face.” And at first, it had seemed that she’d done just that. But lately it had become more and more clear that she was actively urging the children to new heights of impropriety.

Only the thought of the children’s reaction if he evicted their doting grandmother made Anthony tolerate her presence. Thank God she’d gone to London for the afternoon. At least he was spared that much misery today.

“She’s a horrible, horrible woman,” Sara said.

“To me. However, the children seem fond of her.” Anthony settled into a chair across from Sara’s, but only after he carefully checked the surface and then tilted it over to peer at the fastenings. “Meanwhile, they hate me.”

“But you’ve been so good to them.”

Anthony shrugged. He was used to that reaction from the Elliot family, though it was somehow more difficult to stomach when coming from a four-year-old with soft brown ringlets and wide blue eyes. “The children want far more than I’m willing to give. Sweets for dinner, no bedtime, fewer baths, and the right to live with their grandmother. I told them I would die before I’d allow such nonsense, and I think they took me at my word.”

Nick glanced at the ink-smeared escritoire. “Who is winning?”

“I will,” Anthony said coldly. “One way or another.”

“Hm,” Sara said, though she didn’t look as impressed with Anthony’s pronouncement as her husband. “Anthony, perhaps this has happened for a reason. It is time you married. This problem with the children is simply proof of that fact.”

Anthony shot her a hard glance. “I cannot, in all good conscience, bring a new bride into this household until I have managed to restore at least a little of its former tranquility.”