For some reason, knowing he was justified did not help one iota. And it was with a very heavy sigh that he went into his library and closed the door.

Chapter 14

It’s not that I don’t love Mother. It’s just that after an hour in her presence, I feel a very real need to float in a vat of bourbon and not swim to shore for at least a week.

Viscountess Rundall to her brother Lord Jessup on leaving their mother’s London town house

“This will not do at all,” Sir Phineas told the smirk-faced Elliot ancestors who looked down from their painted prisons on the east wing gallery wall. Greyley’s interest in Anna was not progressing at all as it should. Oh, it had begun strongly enough and there was enough tension in the air whenever they were together that it was quite possible the house might erupt into flames. But for the last week, things had changed.

The problem was Anna. She was simply not cooperating and had forced the earl to avoid her like the plague.

“Give the gal the chance of a lifetime and what does she do with it?” Sir Phineas asked the portraits. “Nothing. Not a blasted thing.”

He walked a little farther down the corridor, then glanced over his shoulder. Seeing no one about, he pulled his last, lone cigarillo from his pocket. He reverently sniffed it, the fragrant scent sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine. After a long, silent moment, he put the cigarillo back in his pocket with a regretful sigh, and continued on his way.

As awkward as it was, he was going to have to take a hand in the matter. The longer he stayed at Greyley, the more certain he was that this was where his granddaughter should be. It wasn’t just the imposing manor house or the wealth of servants. Rather it was the sense of stern formality that permeated every corner of the house, leaving it as musty and molded as a sepulcher. Someone needed to throw open the curtains and stir the dust into a shower of golden motes. And Anna was very good at stirring things up.

The thunk of his cane on the marble flooring echoed loudly down the hall and made him grimace. This wing was as welcoming as a tomb. And even worse was Greyley himself. He wasn’t much more lively than the frozen pictures that hung overhead. Except when embroiled in an argument. He livened up very nicely then.

For the most part, the earl spent each day holed up in the library with Dalmapple, his man of business, where they tended to the matters of the estate. Afterwards Greyley would take an hour or two to survey the planting of the fields, the construction of the new stables, or some other item. Then he would return to the library and bury himself once more.

Sir Phineas shook his head sadly. The library was the very room he had imagined himself ensconced in, feet on the desk, a box of fresh cigarillos at his elbow and a glass of port in hand. Someway, somehow, he had to get the Earl of Greyley out of the library and closer to Anna. But how?