Still, he wanted that damned schedule. And he wanted Thraxton to bring it to him, neatly written, as any good governess would. When it was not forthcoming, he found himself peering out the windows, looking for her and the children, jotting down notes in a vain effort to see what activities were scheduled in the morning, and which in the evening. So far, he could see no sign that there was a schedule of any kind, and the thought irked him all the more. “Your granddaughter is quite unorthodox in her methods.”

“That’s why her fee is so high,” Sir Phineas said with an agreeable nod. “If she were like everyone else, she couldn’t charge such outrageous sums.”

“For what I’m paying, I would expect more than just unusual methods.”

Sir Phineas’s white brows rose. “You sound disgruntled. Is something wrong?”

“I asked her to make a schedule for the children. She won’t do it.”

“Not one for the formalities, my Anna.”

“No. But I have my hopes that she will soon see reason.” One way or another.

“I wouldn’t count on it myself. Stubborn woman. Takes after her grandmother, you know.”

Anthony didn’t reply. Just this morning he’d written a note to the stubborn Miss Thraxton, asking for a copy of the schedule by noon. Anthony cast a dour glance at the corner of his desk where her answer rested.

Greyley,

I am currently adjusting the children’s program per your request. I am aware that you expect no less than perfection, and I wish it to be correct in every instance. I have also been mulling over the best location to place such a document.

At first I considered the wall of the nursery, but that might not be convenient for you should you wish to reread it. Then I thought perhaps your library would be suitable, but alas, there doesn’t seem to be any room on the walls due to the shelving. After much thought, I believe I have hit upon a tolerably good idea of where I want to stick it.

In the meantime, I will continue to work on the “schedule” and sharpen it to my utmost ability.

Sincerely,
Thraxton

He’d read that damned note three times already. Just what did she mean by “sticking” it somewhere? Had the note come from one of his brothers, Anthony would have known for certain. Surely Thraxton didn’t mean—

“Ah, I hear Anna now.” Sir Phineas walked to the library window and looked out.

Anthony came to stand beside Sir Phineas. Anna sat in the middle of the garden, the children about her, all except Desford, who stood bouncing a ball a good ten feet away. She was reading aloud. If he leaned toward the glass, he could hear her velvety voice as she told the story of a princess, a gallant knight, and a horrible three-headed dragon.

Tucked in Anna’s lap, Selena sat mesmerized, her doll clutched to her as Anna read of a marvelous battle. Marian stood to one side, a metal tray tied over her chest with a rope, a wooden sword clutched in her hand. Her skirts were tucked into her pockets, and every time Anna read a particularly horrifying description of the battle, Marian would mime the action, her face as fierce as any warrior’s. Elizabeth seemed content just to sit at Anna’s feet, her arms clasped about her knees, her eyes wide. Even Richard sat listening a short distance away, his gaze seemingly glued to Miss Thraxton’s face as she read.