Still, as noxious as Anna found Lady Putney, she preferred her presence to the earl’s brooding company. He, too, came to monitor her progress in the nursery, though he rarely attempted to interfere except to ask for that ridiculous schedule.

But Anna knew that the second she put such a document into Greyley’s hands, he would expect her to follow it to the letter. She valued her freedom too much for that.

As for Lady Putney, her purpose was far less benign.

“Miss Thraxton,” Lady Putney said, her mouth thinned into oblivion. “It’s almost eleven o’clock. Aren’t the children allowed some time to play?”

Desford immediately threw down his pen. Anna grit her teeth—it had taken her most of the morning to convince the stubborn child to begin his lessons, and now that woman had ruined all.

Some of her frustration must have shown on her face for Elizabeth leaned closer and whispered, “Are you well?”

Anna patted the child’s hand before she turned to face Lady Putney. “How kind of you to join us yet again.”

The older woman’s frown deepened. “I have spent the last week watching you, and I must tell you that I dislike what I see.”

Anna turned back to the table and silently conjugated the Latin word for “attack.”

“You work them all morning without cease,” Lady Putney complained. “Then you take them for rides for hours on end.”

“Exercise is good for the children,” Anna said. She often allowed them to do their lessons out of doors, which they seemed to enjoy. Even Desford was more manageable when sitting under a tree, his bare toes in the grass, the wind ruffling his hair.

Lady Putney sniffed. “I cannot believe you allow the children to spend such an inordinate amount of time in the sun. Poor Elizabeth has a sad tendency to freckle.”

Elizabeth flushed a painful red, and Anna’s temper slipped another notch. “Well, I think Elizabeth looks lovely with a little color.”

The girl gave her a tremulous smile, which Anna returned with a firm one of her own.

“Color!” Lady Putney exclaimed. “She’ll look like a milkmaid if you continue.”

Anna’s smile began to ache. “Lady Putney, if you will excuse us. We have lessons to do and—”

“That is another thing,” Lady Putney said, wafting further into the room, her black hair in jarring contrast to her pale skin. “The girls are not improving in their watercolors. Just yesterday Marian was attempting to paint a flower and it looked more like a horse than else.”

“It was a horse,” Marian mumbled, her jaw set. “I don’t like flowers.”

Anna placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Lady Putney, perhaps we should have this conversation another time, when—”

“No. We will discuss it now.”

Anna stiffened. “Lord Greyley employed me. I answer to him and no one else.”

“Lord Greyley feels exactly as I do,” Lady Putney said, a narrow smirk on her red mouth. “We have discussed your inadequacies many times.”