Sir Phineas gave a complacent smile. “Pretty picture, eh?”

“They seem content,” Anthony said grudgingly. “They weren’t so well behaved with the last governess.

“Oh, this is just a lull in the storm. There’s still some fire in them. Just yesterday young Desford put a snake in Anna’s chamber pot.”

Anthony lifted a brow. “I daresay she put one in his in retaliation.”

“She probably would have, if she’d found it. But I took the liberty to intercede on her behalf. Desford didn’t know what hit him.” Sir Phineas chuckled.

“Up to every row and rig in town, are you?”

“And then some. Still, I have to admire his spunk. Energetic young man. Never stops trying, though he has been more careful since Anna fell and bruised her arm.”

Anthony frowned. “Perhaps I should speak to him.”

“No, no, there’s no need. Besides, Anna would see it as an insult. Daresay she just needs a few more weeks to settle them down a bit.” The old man pursed his lips. “I worry about her, though. She seems a little wan, don’t you think?”

Anthony looked at Anna once more. Sunlight dappled from the trees above, spilling a golden grid across her hair and touching lightly on the line of her nose and cheek. She read with great fervor, every line of her body engaged in the telling of the story, energy radiating from her in an almost visible glow. It was a pleasure just to watch her.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “She looks healthy to me.” Better than healthy. Radiant, even.

Sir Phineas sighed sadly. “She spends far too much time with the children. Even eats her meals with them, which is a mistake. We all need some time on our own.”

That was true. Anthony himself knew how wearing the children could be. Yet Anna seemed to have cast some magic over them, for there had been remarkably little trouble since she’d arrived. Oh, there’d been one or two skirmishes—Anthony’s shoehorn had disappeared and with it two of his best cravats, which later turned up hanging from a tree, made into a doll hammock of some sort. But nothing more daunting than that had occurred—at least, not to him.

“Poor Anna,” Sir Phineas said, sending a sidelong glance at Anthony. “Daresay you haven’t had the chance to see it yet, but she has a tendency to overdo things.”

“I’ve noticed,” Anthony replied shortly, his gaze falling on her missive once again. There was something to her grandfather’s concerns. It could not be healthy for Anna to overextend herself with the children.

He flicked a careful glance at Sir Phineas. “Perhaps you should say something to Miss Thraxton about pacing herself.”

“She won’t listen to me.” Sir Phineas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But she might listen to you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Nonsense. All you need to do is tell her the way things are, and don’t let her argue. That’s fatal.”

Anthony eyed the old man uncertainly. “From what I’ve seen of Miss Thraxton, being confrontational only makes her argue louder.”